“Not all of them, just when I can. It’s exciting to see how well he’s doing and how much people love his work. I have a lot of fun working with him, being able to relive some of the highlights of my career. In the case of the new novel, I even got to solve a crime between the pages that I never got to solve in real life.”
“That must be a real change from what you used to do. Danny said that he used to be on the wrong side of the law?”
“Oh yes, he was a right ratbag back in his youth. Shoplifting, stealing cars, drugs, getting involved in gangs. I threw him in the clink more times than I can count. Like all young offenders, I hoped he’d straighten out, but it was just the opposite. Danny looked to be heading toward a life of hard crime before he woke up to his talent. It was actually the garroting case that turned him around. He was sweet on the victim, and he might’ve been stitched up for the crime if he hadn’t already had an alibi.”
“Wow. And he went straight after that?”
Angus nodded. “He wrote a story about a couple of geezers he met in the clink. Entered it into a national competition and won first prize. Two thousand quid, just like that. Danny said it was the easiest two gs he ever made, much easier than selling drugs or fleecing stolen TVs. He stuck to the writing after that. I followed his career closely – you got to realize, miss, it’s rare I got to see a young guy like Danny go straight and stay straight. It warmed my cockles. One day after I retired, I contacted Danny and said I was the copper from back in the day, and how impressed with him I was. He remembered me, an’ offered me a decent wage if I came to work as his advisor. Really, I’m just here for him to bounce ideas off, come up with motives and red herrings, fill him in on police procedures and such. Danny’s the real genius – he gives me more credit than I’m due since he’s such a good bloke.”
“He said you read his drafts. I wondered, are you the only person who does? What about his wife?”
Angus laughed. “Oh, no, Penny can’t stand Danny’s books. She thinks them trashy, not real literature. She’s happy enough to take his money, though, and his fame. She loves the literary scene – the parties, the festivals, the expensive cocktails, the pseudo-intellectual twaddle. Danny doesn’t want a bit of that wank, but Penny makes him do the festival circuit. He’d much rather do smaller events like this, have a bit of fun. No, no, the only people who read his work before the public are me and Brian. Even then, we’ll only get to read something if Danny thinks it’s close to perfect. He kept his work under lock and key until the last possible minute.”
“I’m so fascinated by his creative process. I’m going to be sitting in on his workshop tomorrow,” I said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Oh, are you a writer, too?”
“No.” I waved my hand, gesturing to the piles of books. “I could never do anything like this. I just… I’ve witnessed some strange things recently. The kind of things that you’d think were too outlandish even for a novel. I was thinking it might be fun to try writing them down or something…”
Morrie tapped me on the shoulder. “We should get started. Someone just asked Heathcliff if they could have an 1837 edition ofThe Pickwick Papersin mint condition for ten quid, and I think his head’s going to explode.”
I nodded. Morrie went off to speak to Danny and Brian. A few moments later, Danny made his way to the stage. Brian tapped the microphone to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d like to take your seats. We’re blessed tonight to have a true literary genius in our midst. Through his dark and gritty stories, Danny Sledge has allowed us to enter the criminal underbelly without leaving our comfy recliners. I’d like everyone to join me in welcoming Danny to the stage to tell us about his latest book,The Somerset Strangler!”
I took a seat in the back row beside Quoth, who must have quickly gone upstairs to change, because he was human and gorgeous in a black silk shirt shot with silver and dark jeans. He looked nervous being in the room with so many people, but he’d chosen a chair near the door so he could run if he felt a shift coming on. I squeezed his hand and he smiled that beautiful sad smile and my heart flip-flopped in my chest.
Even though I could barely see in the dim light, I recognized my mum in the front row by the three silver patches she wore proudly down her arm.Please don’t let her say anything during Danny’s talk.
The whole room burst into applause as Danny leaned against the podium and beamed at the audience. To my surprise, Heathcliff’s hulking figure stood in the doorway, even more imposing clad all in black, his dark skin standing out against the mostly white room. He tugged on the collar of his shirt and flashed me an intense stare.
Behind us, Morrie fiddled with knobs on his soundboard. “We should have installed strobe lights,” he muttered. “This guy thinks he’s a rockstar.”
I snorted. It was true that Danny basked in the glow of his audience’s love. He held his hands out while the applause rolled over him, blatant in his revelry of their adulation. When the applause died down, he grabbed the mic and launched into a gory reading from his book, followed by a hilarious tale from his days as a petty crook, and then the story of how he got his publishing deal (by getting Brian drunk at the pub and then refusing to pay the tab unless he agreed to read his manuscript). The audience roared with laughter. Even Heathcliff – who leaned in the doorway, his bulk blocking out almost all the light from the bookshop – let out a low chuckle.
Quoth leaned over and squeezed my hand. “Tonight’s a real hit.”
“I know. And if the guy can write the way he captivates an audience, I think tomorrow will be a hit as well.”
Danny finished a short reading of a gruesome garroting scene from his latest book. Brian took the mic and asked if anyone had questions for the author. Fifty hands shot up. Behind me, Morrie waved his arm in the air, a wicked grin on his face.
“Hand down,” I warned. “I don’t think anyone in this room wants to hear the answer to whatever question you’re trying to ask.”
Morrie stuck his lower lip out at me, but he lowered his hand. Across the room, I met Heathcliff’s steady gaze, remembering what he’d said earlier about all audience questions being terrible.We’ll see, I thought smugly.
I was proven wrong in the first six minutes, as Danny smiled his way through one gushing fanboy who talked about his own failed crime manuscript and a woman with a fur stole who wanted to know ‘where he got his ideas.’
“I get them from the same place I bury the bodies,” he told her in his charming way. “But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
A woman in the front row raised her hand. “Hi, Danny. I’m an author, too, and one thing I really struggle with is removing myself from the narrative. I’m just too connected to the characters, too invested in my role as the auteur. I’m wondering how you make your characters so real, so visceral, while also maintaining narrative distance?”
“Oh yes, well, the skill of a writer is to make you believe all sorts of wild things.” Danny grinned. “In my case, I’ve always been fascinated with the criminal mind – what makes the bad guys do what they do. I like to burrow in like a tick and suck out all the delicious character juices. Also, I have a first reader with real police experience who answers my questions any time, day or night. That true, aye, Angus?”
From his chair in the front row, Angus smiled.
“That there’s Angus Donahue, he’s a fine fellow. And ladies, he’s single.” Danny pointed to a hand waving at the side. “Yes?”
“Danny, I wondered if you’d be interested in a remarkable business opportunity to transform the lives of your readers through a revolutionary wellness product—”
“Mother,” I yelled. “Sit down!”
