I didn’t want to get into the details, but it was a big opportunity that had cost me a hundred bucks, and I wasn’t exactly swimming in cash.My recent move to Hastings Rock had brought a lot of good changes to my life, but a paying job wasn’t one of them.
“No, I meant, why are you standing in the middle of this intersection bothering me?”
“Deputy Bobby!”
“While I’m trying to work.”
“Rude!And for your information, I’m helping you.Look, that guy’s trying to sneak past you.Oh, and I’m waiting for my cone.”
I don’t have proof, but I’m pretty sure he was smiling as he turned, blew his whistle, and held up his hand to stop the overenthusiastic family of four from Missouri.
After restoring order, Deputy Bobby said, “You hate being called Dashiell.”
“Well, yeah, but it’s my full name.That’s what’s on the manuscripts.In theory, if there’s ever a book, that’s what will be on the cover.”
“Why?”
That was another thing about Deputy Bobby: he loved asking questions that sounded simple but were actually mind-melting brain pretzels.
The thing about me, though, was that I could give as good as I got.So, I just said, “Because.”
Again, I’ve got zero proof, but Iswearhe was about to smile.
Bliss Wilson, a local—I was still learning faces and names—tooted her horn at us in greeting as Deputy Bobby waved her into the parking lot where the craft fair was being held.
“Why would you tell an editor that you solve mysteries?”
“Because I did!”
And that was, technically, true, although I’d had some help.
Deputy Bobby had made his position clear vis-à-vis sleuthing—he was firmly of the opinion that I shouldn’t ever do it again, and that I should leave all future snooping to professional law enforcement, and that everyone’s lives would generally be safer and easier and better if I kept strictly to writing mysteries in the future, rather than investigating them.
Right then, he was giving me another of those looks, in case I’d forgotten where he stood on the matter.But all he said was “I meant, shouldn’t you tell him about your other stories?Isn’t that what an editor wants to hear about?”
“Well, yeah, eventually.”
“Eventually?How much time do you have for your pitch session?”
I ignored that.“The most important thing is to start with a hook.”
“And your hook is going to be that you solve mysteries.”
“Why did you say it like that?”
He was definitely hiding a smile at that point.
“Dash,” Chaleena—one of the aforementioned girls of Two Girls and a Scoop—called from the truck.She poked her head out the window, glanced around for me, and held up a cone.
“You’re up,” Deputy Bobby said.
“Just for that,” I said, “I’m not getting you any ice cream.”
“I don’t want any ice cream.I want to do my job and enjoy a beautiful day.”
“What is wrong with you—” I began.
But then, as I watched from the middle of the intersection, Chaleena ducked her head back inside the truck.She was still holding the cone out, waiting for me to take it.And while her attention was diverted, an old woman reached up, plucked the cone from her hand, and turned to stroll away.
