“But—” I almost said,But I’m nobody.Instead, though, I said, “ButA Work in Progressis just this little self-published book.”
“Mr.Dane—can I call you Dash?”When I nodded, he said, “Dash, the book is one piece of the puzzle.I’m interested inyou.In your book, yes.But also in future work you might do.And you yourself represent a significant piece of intellectual property.Why don’t we find a quiet place—”
“Dash!”Thatcher walked up to us so quickly that he was practically jogging.The dazed look on his face was trying to be a smile.“I think I got an agent!”
I blinked.“It’s been two minutes—”
“Do you know Margaux Mendez?I have to research her.”Thatcher glanced at Julian and held out a hand.“Thatcher Galloway.”
“He’s not an editororan agent,” I told Thatcher.
Thatcher turned his back on Julian.“She asked for my first three chapters.Should I send them to her?I should, right?This is an opportunity.”
“Let’s talk about it when I’m free—”
“I’m going to send them to her!”
He rushed off before I could answer.
“A friend of yours?”Julian began.
But at that moment, Charlie rushed up.Their eyes were manic, and they were holding an old, yellowed map.“I got it!”
“Got what?”I asked.
“The map fromDetectives and Dragons!And oh my God, Maggie McLaughlin is so sweet!She said my idea for castles that float on water is the best high-fantasy idea she’s heard in twenty years!”
“Charlie, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“Sorry, Mr.Dane!”And Charlie rushed off, map held over their head.
The expression on Julian’s face could politely be described aslosing patience.
“I’m sorry,” I said.“I’m here with some students.”
“Not a problem,” Julian said.“Let me give you the quick version:Mr.Murder.”
“Sounds…dark.”
But Julian shook his head.“LikeMatron of Murder.”And when I didn’t say anything, he added, “The TV show.”
I still didn’t say anything, mostly becauseAre you insane?didn’t feel like a great conversational move.
Matron of Murderhad been a bestselling series of mystery books written by Vivienne Carver.For those of you playing along at home, yes, this isthatVivienne Carver—the world’s greatest mystery author (according to her website), who had not only written bestselling novelsandhad a smash hit with the TV adaptation, but who had also traveled the world solving crimes in real life, using her expertise as a mystery writer to catch killers.
Of course, a lot of that turned out to be bunk.Vivienne had manufactured at leastsomeof the murders she claimed to have solved.And she’d been a killer herself.Yours truly was the one who figured it out.(I was particularly motivated since Vivienne first tried to frame me and then tried to kill me.)
“It’s perfect,” Julian said.“Vivienne Carverwasthe matron of murder, right?And now you’re here, in the same town where she lived, in the samehouse, and you’re a mystery writer, and you’re solving mysteries in real life.God, it gives me goose bumps.”
“ButA Work in Progressisn’t a series.”(Yet.Writing the second book was, apparently, even harder than writing the first one, and progress had been—to put it politely—slow.) “And I don’t thinkMr.Murdercaptures the spirit of the book—”
Julian shook his head, waved his hands, and said over me, “Mr.Murder isyou.Dash, you’re the story.What you’ve been doing up here.How you’ve solved all these murders—”
“Not solved,” I tried.“Helped the sheriff occasionally—”
“—and you’re young, you’re hot, you’re a star—”
My oh-so-charming case of social anxiety had reared its head athot,and now I was having a hard time taking a deep breath.“Not a star” was all I could manage.
