Mum harrumphed, but she did take a seat. Danny pointed to another woman.
“Danny, I was wondering if you and perhaps your publisher could comment on the current state of the publishing industry. What do you think about self-publishing?”
I leaned forward. Actually, that was an interesting question. We often had self-published authors come into the shop begging us to stock their books. As a rule, their books were about weird subjects like past-life regression and memoirs of dead relatives who never did anything exciting, and they were only marginally more intelligible than a mossy rock. Heathcliff usually told them to move on. I’d read that self-publishers could do quite well in ebooks, but that was all I knew because Heathcliff wouldn’t tolerate any discussion about electronic devices in the shop. Although, I was secretly hoping to change that with a few of the upcoming authors I’d chosen for events.
Brian’s lips tightened into a thin line. “Self-publishing is pure vanity. It’s the realm of hacks and bludgers – people who want to be authors but don’t want to put the real work in. Even writers with a decent amount of talent like Danny here have to go through the process if they want to be discovered. You can’t skip the queue.”
A skinny bloke with dyed purple hair who I was almost ninety-nine percent positive had been in the shop before trying to get us to stock his terrible erotica novel called out, “But what about all the authors who are doing well on A—”
“Don’t use that word in this shop!” Heathcliff bellowed from the door.
The man cowered. “I mean, selling ebooks… I heard about this one author named Steffanie something writing in a genre called reverse harem—”
“The media have made a big deal about a couple of writers who hit it big,” Brian scoffed. “But most self-published authors write glorified fanfiction that shouldn’t even be called literature. It’s an insult to real artists like Danny—”
Quoth leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Can you see Danny’s face from here?”
I shook my head.
“He looks super smug, and he’s just made a rude gesture behind Brian’s back. Brian’s wife is tittering. It seems like something’s going on.”
I stared at Quoth in surprise. “It’s not like you to go looking for a mystery to solve.”
He flashed me his heart-melting smile. “You’re a bad influence on me.”
At the front of the room, Danny wrestled the mic back from Brian. “I just have a few things to add. Unlike my dear out-of-date publisher, I’m not one of those snobby writers who think self-publishing is for hacks and wannabes.” Danny flashed another of his brilliant smiles. “Here’s a little life advice from me to you – don’t trust the word of someone who’s got skin in this game. Brian here wants to keep the industry the way it is. I believe that self-publishing is just another tool to help authors reach readers, and you should treat it as such. It won’t be long now until even big names like me are using it. Next question.”
Mrs. Ellis stood up. “Hello, you handsome man. I’d like to know what you’ll be writing next. Will it be a sequel toThe Somerset Strangler? I can’t get enough of that buff crime boss.”
Danny leaned over the podium, his eyes glittering. “I’m not supposed to say anything. This is going to be a surprise to everyone, even my friend Angus. Only Brian has had a peek so far, but what the hell… you guys are going to be the first to know. I’m actually taking a break from fiction to work on a memoir right now. A completely true and accurate account of my rise to fame out of the criminal underground. There’s a lot of mischief and shenanigans and at least three whisky bottles broken over someone’s head. I promise you it’s wilder than anything Norman Mailer got into.”
Excited whispers circled the room as the crowd digested this bombshell, especially when Danny added, “And I’ll be self-publishing this memoir. Let’s see if I can compete with the hacks and bludgers, aye?”
The crowd broke into enthusiastic chatter. “Brian looks positivelymurderous,” Quoth whispered to me, squeezing my hand.
I bet he does.
After a couple more questions, Danny stepped back from the microphone and nodded to me. I stood up and addressed the room. “Thank you so much for coming to the first of many such events here at Nevermore Bookshop. Danny’s going to stick around for a bit to sign books. We’ve got a stack over by the wall you can purchase. All the artwork around the room and of course any other books in the shop are also for sale. Please talk to me or one of my helpers—” I gestured to Quoth and Morrie “—if you need assistance. We’ve got—”
“Aeeeeeeeee!”
I was cut off by a bloodcurdling scream.
Chapter Five
“What happened?” I whirled around, my heart in my throat.Not another dead body, please… not another victim.
An older woman with salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a thick gingham coat and clashing red gloves and a leopard-print scarf, stood in front of one of Quoth’s paintings, her mouth open in a piercing shriek. Every head turned toward her as her scream carried through the room, bouncing off the high ceiling and ringing in my ears.
I scrambled over the back of my chair and rushed towards her. “Are you okay, ma’am? What happened?”
She cut off her scream abruptly, leaning back against the painting so her hair tangled around the corner of the frame, and glared at me with such blinding hatred that I staggered back in shock. “I’ll never be okay again, and it’s allhisfault.”
Gasps filled the room as she lifted a finger and pointed it at Danny.
Heathcliff was at my side in a flash. “You can’t just start screaming in the middle of an event,” he snapped at the woman.
“Especially not this bookshop,” Mrs. Ellis piped up. “There’s already been one dead body—”
