accepted by a major publisher? Why was her book so good and her column so bad? I looked back at Martha, who seemed to be ready to dedicate an entire room of the library to her. Then it hit me. Martha wasn't protecting the memory of her friend, she was protecting her book. A book that Vanessa could have never written. If she didn't, who did?
"Miss Hoffman, you wrote the book, didn't you?" I said. For once, Martha Hoffman didn't jump back at me. She didn't say anything but toyed with a pad of yellow sticky notes on the desk for a moment. Finally, her eyes met mine.
"She paid me. Well, at first she paid me. She just thought it would look good if she was a columnist and a novelist. She tried writing a book on her own, but you were right. She wasn't very good at writing ... anything. Her emails were atrocious. So when she offered me money to write for her and then a percentage of the book sales, I agreed. I had always wanted to write a book, any kind of book. I could be a fashionista for money. I wrote it in four months, and then Vanessa started submitting it with her picture and her column on her writing resume. She got an agent and a book deal in less time than it took me to write the book. She was so beautiful – the publisher was thrilled to be able to put her on the back of their books." She picked up a newspaper that was folded on the circulation desk. "I mean look at this, even the vampire guy has a book signing at Petal's Books on Friday. Are his books any good? Who cares, what a great book jacket picture he takes!"
"So why did you need to talk to her at the meeting that night?"
"Because she stopped paying me. She told me to forget about ever seeing any more money for the book because now she was the one who was doing the work selling it, doing book talks, making the appearances. She deserved all the money and I was out."
"But she wouldn't have had anything to sell if you hadn't written the book."
"Damn straight," Martha said.
"What are you going to do now? The book is in her name, and all of the profits will go to her husband."
"I have a record of her emails, and I have my original manuscript. I don't know if that will work, but I'm going to try to sue for ownership. The thing is, once that publisher really sees who wrote Girl Meets Fifth Avenue , I probably won't get a second book deal."
Wow, we'd just had a conversation without her calling me a murderer. Surely she still couldn't believe I killed Vanessa. If anyone had a motive, she did.
"So who do you think killed Vanessa?"
"You."
"Okay, just checking," I said. "You're wrong, and I'll prove it." I backed out to the tile entrance and picked up my coffee. "By the way, have you told the police what you just told me?"
"I guess I will now. Oh, and one more thing ... I'm revoking your borrowing privileges."
Good old Martha. Mean to the last drop.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I took a sip from my coffee cup and was thankful the brown cardboard liner had kept it pretty warm. Checking my watch, I still had almost an hour until Zach was finished. Maybe I would head over to the ballpark to watch Zach practice and talk to Dad.
So Martha was the girl in Girl Meets Fifth Avenue . Unlike dogs and their owners, writers do not often look like the protagonists they write about in their books. I pulled out of the library and headed toward Little League practice. I pulled up to the stoplight and turned some music on the radio. It must have killed Martha to see her book become a success and Vanessa take all the credit for it. If Vanessa cut Martha off, what did she plan to do about a sequel? Maybe she had herself believing she actually did write it herself.
The car behind me honked its horn. I had missed the light turning from red to green. That wasn't like me. I pulled through the intersection, and suddenly began to feel dizzy. Why were the streets so slanted? The street department had a lot of work to do in this part of town. What was that tree doing in the middle
"Miss Hoffman, you wrote the book, didn't you?" I said. For once, Martha Hoffman didn't jump back at me. She didn't say anything but toyed with a pad of yellow sticky notes on the desk for a moment. Finally, her eyes met mine.
"She paid me. Well, at first she paid me. She just thought it would look good if she was a columnist and a novelist. She tried writing a book on her own, but you were right. She wasn't very good at writing ... anything. Her emails were atrocious. So when she offered me money to write for her and then a percentage of the book sales, I agreed. I had always wanted to write a book, any kind of book. I could be a fashionista for money. I wrote it in four months, and then Vanessa started submitting it with her picture and her column on her writing resume. She got an agent and a book deal in less time than it took me to write the book. She was so beautiful – the publisher was thrilled to be able to put her on the back of their books." She picked up a newspaper that was folded on the circulation desk. "I mean look at this, even the vampire guy has a book signing at Petal's Books on Friday. Are his books any good? Who cares, what a great book jacket picture he takes!"
"So why did you need to talk to her at the meeting that night?"
"Because she stopped paying me. She told me to forget about ever seeing any more money for the book because now she was the one who was doing the work selling it, doing book talks, making the appearances. She deserved all the money and I was out."
"But she wouldn't have had anything to sell if you hadn't written the book."
"Damn straight," Martha said.
"What are you going to do now? The book is in her name, and all of the profits will go to her husband."
"I have a record of her emails, and I have my original manuscript. I don't know if that will work, but I'm going to try to sue for ownership. The thing is, once that publisher really sees who wrote Girl Meets Fifth Avenue , I probably won't get a second book deal."
Wow, we'd just had a conversation without her calling me a murderer. Surely she still couldn't believe I killed Vanessa. If anyone had a motive, she did.
"So who do you think killed Vanessa?"
"You."
"Okay, just checking," I said. "You're wrong, and I'll prove it." I backed out to the tile entrance and picked up my coffee. "By the way, have you told the police what you just told me?"
"I guess I will now. Oh, and one more thing ... I'm revoking your borrowing privileges."
Good old Martha. Mean to the last drop.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I took a sip from my coffee cup and was thankful the brown cardboard liner had kept it pretty warm. Checking my watch, I still had almost an hour until Zach was finished. Maybe I would head over to the ballpark to watch Zach practice and talk to Dad.
So Martha was the girl in Girl Meets Fifth Avenue . Unlike dogs and their owners, writers do not often look like the protagonists they write about in their books. I pulled out of the library and headed toward Little League practice. I pulled up to the stoplight and turned some music on the radio. It must have killed Martha to see her book become a success and Vanessa take all the credit for it. If Vanessa cut Martha off, what did she plan to do about a sequel? Maybe she had herself believing she actually did write it herself.
The car behind me honked its horn. I had missed the light turning from red to green. That wasn't like me. I pulled through the intersection, and suddenly began to feel dizzy. Why were the streets so slanted? The street department had a lot of work to do in this part of town. What was that tree doing in the middle
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