husband is having an affair,” she said, and then she started softly crying.
“I’m so sorry,” was all that I could manage to say.
“She doesn’t know for a fact that he’s cheating on her,” Elizabeth said.
“Why else would he work late every night with that cute young secretary he just hired?” Hazel asked.
“Maybe we should cancel the meeting today,” I suggested.
“No, please don’t,” Hazel said. “Right now, you three are all I’ve got.”
Jennifer frowned a bit, and then she said, “Hazel, we’re not going to stand by and watch you destroy all of your hard work dieting and exercising. You may have one treat, just like the rest of us.”
I wasn’t at all certain how Hazel would react to the edict, but she stopped crying, dabbed at her eyes, and then nodded in agreement. “You’re right. He’s not worth it.”
“That’s the spirit,” Elizabeth said. “Now that you mention it, a bearclaw sounds great to me, too.”
“Elizabeth,” Jennifer chastised her.
“What? It does. Besides, I’m only getting one.”
I put three bearclaws on individual plates.
“I just asked for one,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m having one, too,” I said. It was time for me to indulge a little myself.
“You might as well make it four,” Jennifer said with a sigh. After I plated the last one, she carried the tray to our favorite couch and chairs, since she was the official hostess for the meeting, while I grabbed our coffees. Once we were settled in and we’d enjoyed our treats, Hazel asked, “Shall we get started?”
“If you’re sure that you’re up to it?” I asked her.
“That’s why we’re here, is it not? Let’s talk about Killing the Publisher .”
“I’m getting awfully tired of these mysteries where the main character is a writer. Don’t these people have any imagination at all?” Jennifer asked.
“It’s how they spend their lives, sitting in rooms by themselves making things up. What else would you have them do?” Hazel asked.
“Not the ones who have co-authors,” Elizabeth said.
“They probably still don’t get out much,” I said. “Besides, there have been plenty of mystery writers on TV for quite a while.”
“I love Castle,” Hazel said. “He’s so cute.”
“I’m an Ellery Queen fan myself,” I said. “I never miss a Jim Hutton marathon.”
“Maybe I spoke a little hastily,” Jennifer said. “I still watch Murder She Wrote every time I catch a rerun. At least this book was cleverly plotted; I’ll give Gwendolyn Fry that much. She’s really good, isn’t she? I thought her publisher was a really nasty fellow.”
I looked over and saw that Elizabeth was grinning. “What’s so funny?”
“You should hear the story of how the book came to be,” Elizabeth said smugly. She prided herself on being able to find the most private email addresses of our authors and often had correspondences with them.
“Tell us,” Hazel said eagerly. It was good to see her excited about something, anything.
“Well, it seems she wanted to get out of her contract, but her publisher wouldn’t let her. She owed them one more book, and even though she offered to return her advance, he refused. So what did she do?”
“She killed him in the book,” I said with a grin of my own. It sounded like something that I might do, if I had a fingernail of the combined talent, determination, and luck that most authors had.
“That’s exactly what she did,” Elizabeth said, crowing about it. “I looked up the man online and saw that she had portrayed his physical attributes perfectly, though of course she changed the man’s name. I have a hunch that a great many folks still recognized him, though.”
“That explains why she spent so much time describing his death so graphically. I thought she crossed the line for a cozy mystery.”
“The line is getting blurrier every day,” Hazel said, caught up in our discussion and forgetting about her own woes for a moment.
“I’m so sorry,” was all that I could manage to say.
“She doesn’t know for a fact that he’s cheating on her,” Elizabeth said.
“Why else would he work late every night with that cute young secretary he just hired?” Hazel asked.
“Maybe we should cancel the meeting today,” I suggested.
“No, please don’t,” Hazel said. “Right now, you three are all I’ve got.”
Jennifer frowned a bit, and then she said, “Hazel, we’re not going to stand by and watch you destroy all of your hard work dieting and exercising. You may have one treat, just like the rest of us.”
I wasn’t at all certain how Hazel would react to the edict, but she stopped crying, dabbed at her eyes, and then nodded in agreement. “You’re right. He’s not worth it.”
“That’s the spirit,” Elizabeth said. “Now that you mention it, a bearclaw sounds great to me, too.”
“Elizabeth,” Jennifer chastised her.
“What? It does. Besides, I’m only getting one.”
I put three bearclaws on individual plates.
“I just asked for one,” Elizabeth said.
“I’m having one, too,” I said. It was time for me to indulge a little myself.
“You might as well make it four,” Jennifer said with a sigh. After I plated the last one, she carried the tray to our favorite couch and chairs, since she was the official hostess for the meeting, while I grabbed our coffees. Once we were settled in and we’d enjoyed our treats, Hazel asked, “Shall we get started?”
“If you’re sure that you’re up to it?” I asked her.
“That’s why we’re here, is it not? Let’s talk about Killing the Publisher .”
“I’m getting awfully tired of these mysteries where the main character is a writer. Don’t these people have any imagination at all?” Jennifer asked.
“It’s how they spend their lives, sitting in rooms by themselves making things up. What else would you have them do?” Hazel asked.
“Not the ones who have co-authors,” Elizabeth said.
“They probably still don’t get out much,” I said. “Besides, there have been plenty of mystery writers on TV for quite a while.”
“I love Castle,” Hazel said. “He’s so cute.”
“I’m an Ellery Queen fan myself,” I said. “I never miss a Jim Hutton marathon.”
“Maybe I spoke a little hastily,” Jennifer said. “I still watch Murder She Wrote every time I catch a rerun. At least this book was cleverly plotted; I’ll give Gwendolyn Fry that much. She’s really good, isn’t she? I thought her publisher was a really nasty fellow.”
I looked over and saw that Elizabeth was grinning. “What’s so funny?”
“You should hear the story of how the book came to be,” Elizabeth said smugly. She prided herself on being able to find the most private email addresses of our authors and often had correspondences with them.
“Tell us,” Hazel said eagerly. It was good to see her excited about something, anything.
“Well, it seems she wanted to get out of her contract, but her publisher wouldn’t let her. She owed them one more book, and even though she offered to return her advance, he refused. So what did she do?”
“She killed him in the book,” I said with a grin of my own. It sounded like something that I might do, if I had a fingernail of the combined talent, determination, and luck that most authors had.
“That’s exactly what she did,” Elizabeth said, crowing about it. “I looked up the man online and saw that she had portrayed his physical attributes perfectly, though of course she changed the man’s name. I have a hunch that a great many folks still recognized him, though.”
“That explains why she spent so much time describing his death so graphically. I thought she crossed the line for a cozy mystery.”
“The line is getting blurrier every day,” Hazel said, caught up in our discussion and forgetting about her own woes for a moment.
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