Dying to Get Published (5 page)

"So what do you want him to say? 'Hey, Babe, you make my blood boil'?"

"Nice alliteration," April observed.

"Is that the best you can say about my writing?"

"It wasn't your writing. The blood boiling thing was my idea," Teri reminded her.

"Ladies, please." Monique spoke in a quiet, commanding tone. "You know the rules, Jennifer. When one group member is reading her work, we all listen. No comments are welcome until she has finished. Do we all understand? Go on, Leigh Ann. I think you were somewhere amid the sensual secrets of your heroine's body."

"'Sensations he had never experienced stung his fingertips as he…'"

Maybe Leigh Ann was right, Jennifer thought. Maybe she had no romance left in her. She'd given Sam a chance Friday night and look what he'd done with it. He'd only asked her out to gain access to Steve Moore, and she'd let him seduce her into agreeing. He hadn't even done it with sex. He'd found her Achilles' heel—the lure of writing a true-life crime book.

She hoped she hadn't made a complete fool of herself when he took her home. He'd walked her to her apartment, and she turned to say good-night, leaning back against the door, still warm and comfortable from the wine. He took the key from her hand and moved toward her. She closed her eyes as she felt his breath come close to her face. And then she heard the tumblers click in the lock and the door give way behind her. Her eyes popped open, and he slipped the key in her hand.

"Thanks for the evening. It was fun." He kissed the tip of his index finger and touched it to the end of her nose. "Let me know as soon as Moore books the party. See ya."

He turned, stuffed both hands into his pockets, pulling the back of his jacket unbecomingly apart, and sauntered off toward the elevator.

Men. She hadn't wanted Sam to kiss her, but…Oh, hell. She didn't know what she wanted.

"'Gasping, they parted, her breast heaving with unbridled passion.
'
You must leave before someone finds you here.'"

"You mean they still didn't
do
it?" Jennifer asked.

"Of course they didn't
do
it! I'm building tension here, Jennifer. I don't know why you can't grasp the simple dynamics of the genre."

"Don't worry about Jennifer, Leigh. When she has two people alone in a room together, only one of them comes out alive," Teri said.

"All right. April let's start with you," Monique said. "What is your opinion of Leigh Ann's scene?"

"Well, it certainly stirs the senses. I did have one question about logistics. When he's on the floor and she's on the bed, just exactly how were they able to…
"

Four whole days, and Sam hadn't called her—not that she cared. If it weren't for Jaimie, she'd be happy if she never saw another man. She'd considered having Jaimie through artificial insemination, but she just didn't think it would be fair. She could hear herself trying to answer Jaimie's questions.

"Why don't I have a daddy at home like other kids?"

"Your dad is a famous astronaut. He's on the first manned flight to mars and won't be back for three years."

"When he gets back, can he come to my birthday party?"

And there would be other questions.

"What's my dad look like?"

"That's hard to say. The records describe him as tall with dark hair slicked back with just a few sexy strands straying loose to brush his right eyebrow. And he had the deepest, darkest, bluest eyes."

She shook her head. Obviously she had too much on her mind and her anger at Sam was getting mixed up with her thoughts of Jaimie. That little paternalistic display with Eddie the other night at her apartment wasn't helping her keep them separate.

"Jennifer?"

"What?" she asked.

"What did you think of Leigh Ann's scene?" Monique repeated.

Curses. She didn't have a clue how the hero had almost seduced the heroine this time. "It was great… great and unique."

"Did you really think so?" Leigh Ann gushed. "Everyone else trashed it so badly, but if you thought it was good…"

"Maybe
good
is too strong a word. It could use some work. I agree with what Teri said."

"Teri? Teri told me to start over. What's with you?" Leigh Ann demanded.

"Are you all right, Jennifer?" Monique asked in that maternal tone that drove everyone mad.

"I'm fine. I'm just a little ambivalent about Leigh Ann's scene."

"Maybe we should let this drop until Leigh works on it and brings in a revision next week. Did you have something for us to discuss?" Monique asked, staring straight at Jennifer.

"Yes. I need a perfect alibi—for my murderer. I need to establish beyond a doubt that he was somewhere else when he committed the crime."

"Oh, one of those cases that no one can crack because the killer is so clever," April gushed. "I just love those. They go so well with peanuts. What's in that bowl over there, Leigh Ann? I hardly had time for supper before I came over."

Leigh Ann scooped up the dish of striped hard candy and presented it to April with a flourish.

"That baby is going to be addicted to sugar and salt before it even gets out of the womb," Teri declared, rolling onto the floor, grabbing her ankle and pulling her calf up against the back of her thigh.

April dropped the piece of peppermint back into the bowl and set it down on the end table.

"Just where were we the last time we discussed this plot?" Monique asked.

Leigh Ann sucked hard on a piece of candy. "I remember. We had the murderer masquerading as an insurance investigator in the victim's fancy apartment building."

"Right, but forget that," Jennifer said. "What I need now is an alibi that the murderer has set up for the night of the crime."

"What if you have him attend a society party in his honor, and have him slip out in the middle of it and back in again?" April suggested. "That's worked in lots of plots. No one ever knows what time it is at those galas."

"No. There aren't any galas to go to."

April clucked her tongue. "Jennifer, just what is going on with you? You act like you've lost all control over your story."

A bead of sweat formed on Jennifer's forehead. "It's just that…my murderer…is a recluse, and his character is essential to the plot."

"He can't be a complete recluse," Leigh Ann argued. "Where's the fun in that? I say have him seduce some woman and then knock her out somehow so that when she wakes up in the morning, she's in his arms and swears he's been there all night."

Such a simple solution, and certainly not an original one. She was amazed she hadn't thought of it herself. But it had one major flaw: where would she find a man to seduce?

Chapter 9

A huge, fenced-in dirt lot bathed in Mother Nature's best morning sunlight—that's what was across the street from O'Hara's Tara, Penney Richmond's apartment building. Jennifer stared at it in disbelief. No apartments, no stores, no offices, not even a construction site—just dirt—and a sign proclaiming the COMING SOON of Atlanta's newest professional complex. Well, not soon enough!

What kind of insurance claim was she going to investigate in an abandoned lot, probably the only vacant lot in Atlanta?

"I ain't gonna sit here all day while you survey the landscape," the cabbie growled behind her.

Jennifer fished around in the bottom of the tote bag that held her purse and the video camera she'd borrowed from Dee Dee as part of her cover. Her hand closed on a twenty-dollar bill. She thrust it through the car window and into the hand of the cabbie. He looked at the money and then back at Jennifer. "Some tip! Next time, walk!"

Oh, crumb. Things were not going well. She'd been hoping he'd give her back her two dol
lars change. Dee Dee was right.
The catering business was bringing in barely enough money to live on, and she couldn't make it at all if it weren't for all the cholesterol-laden hors d'oeuvres Dee Dee insisted she take home after every job. She certainly didn't make enough to support a life of crime.

Well, no matter. Steve Moore had called, his beautiful voice oiling through her phone. The date for his party was set for this Saturday, and she had boosted Dee Dee's rates so as not to insult him. Hopefully, she'd clear enough money to do in Penney Richmond.

The cabbie was still glaring at her, waiting for enough of a break to let him get back into the stream of traffic. Her image would be burned into his mind. Well, let it burn. It might be better if he did remember her—a pudgy frump with long, dark curly hair and glasses.

She must look ridiculous, but it didn't matter how she looked as long as she didn't look like Jennifer Marsh. She wasn't an expert at disguise like her character Maxie Malone, and she certainly didn't have Maxie's resources. But then this was real life. She had to settle for an outfit she'd found at Goodwill, glasses from Eckerd's Drugs, and a wig her mother had bought her when she played Snow White in her seventh grade class production. Her one fling with fame—but not her last!

She shoved the oversized, brown-rimmed reading glasses back onto the bridge of her nose and stared at the apartment building directly across the street. It came into focus at one and a half times its normal size. What a majestic building—so
big
—and all glass, gold and steel with lush potted plants.

Guarding the entrance was a gray-suited, white-gloved doorman. White gloves? Where did he buy them? Through a supply catalog for doormen? They left such
ordinary
fiber evidence.

She brushed the wiry black curls of her wig off her shoulder and sighed. So here she was in Atlanta on a Wednesday morning, and there, across the street, was the apartment building that Penney Richmond lived in. And behind her—behind her was the vacant lot. She'd have to devise some other plan to get into Penney's building.

Jennifer tugged at the towel she had belted beneath her shapeless dress to provide some girth and pushed the loosely knit sleeves of her mud-colored cardigan up to her skinny elbows. Enough of this dillydallying. It was time to get to work, time to cross the street, time to case the joint.

She joined the crowd as it swept her the fifty feet to the stoplight and the crosswalk. The light turned red. Four cars rushed through the intersection as the little walking man in the crossing light replaced the red hand. He tried to lure her into the street, but she was too savvy for him. She'd been to Atlanta before, and she knew better.

Without warning, the crowd surged forward, buoying Jennifer and depositing her on the opposite corner. Whoa! Managing curbs that were one and a half times lower than they appeared was not an easy task. She had to have a moment to steady herself.

Suddenly she felt an overwhelming need for caffeine. She preferred her caffeine in the form of chocolate—lots of chocolate, the dark semi-sweet kind—but coffee would do in a crunch, and floating in her direction, mixing with the stench of gasoline, was the unmistakable aroma of coffee laced with vanilla and almonds. She sniffed the air. The odor seemed to be wafting from an establishment directly in front of her.

Jennifer tugged open the heavy wooden door of the café and slipped inside. A woman in a long, loose-fitting floral dress was filling honey jars behind a counter. Jennifer settled herself onto one of the bar stools. The woman shoved the jar aside and licked her index finger before wiping her hands on a towel.

"What'll you have?" she asked. "We've got some wonderful herbal teas," she suggested, eyeing the bulge under Jennifer's dress.

Jennifer looked down at the roundness the towel was creating. "Oh, no, I'm not… Just make it coffee—strong coffee with lots of caffeine and some kind of chocolate flavor if you've got it."

What rotten luck! She'd tried to leave all thoughts of Jaimie at home. She didn't want him/her/whatever mixed up in this mess with Penney Richmond.

"Mint is the day's chocolate flavor," the woman explained. "Will that do?"

"Just fine."

The woman plopped a large mug of fragrant coffee in front of her. "Honey and cream are right in front of you. That'll be a buck fifty."

Jennifer handed her the money and carried her cup to a small window table where she could watch the crowds as they walked down Penney Richmond's street. Jolene Arizona would have no trouble getting into that apartment building. Jolene would sleep with the doorman. But then Jolene slept with everybody. What a disgusting thought. After all, she had Jaimie to think of, an example to set for her child-to-be.

What kind of example was murder?

"How far along are you, honey?"

The words seemed to float up from nowhere.

"When are you due?"

Jennifer turned, and in the shadow of a tall, wooden booth she could detect the outline of a tiny, fragile woman. Her face lay in shadow but light streamed through her wispy white hair, creating something like a halo about her head.

"Are you talking to me?" Jennifer asked.

"Of course, I'm talking to you. Do you see anyone else in here?" The woman leaned forward bringing her wrinkled face into the light. "Now bring your coffee over here and sit with me for a spell."