Jane Goes Batty

followed closely by a rush of rage.

“How dare she?” she said furiously, balling the flyer up and flinging it into the trash can beneath the front desk. Several people browsing Flyleaf’s shelves turned to look for the source of the noise.

“She dropped them off while I was at lunch,” said Lucy. “If I’d been here, I would have told her where to go with her stupid—”

“It’s all right,” Jane assured her. “I just can’t believe the gall of that woman.”

“What woman?” Ant asked, still following Jane and filming her.

“Nobody,” said Jane. “And turn that thing off!”

“Sorry,” Ant replied. “I’ve got to get everything. Besides, this looks like it might be good.”

“It’s many things,” said Jane. “And none of them is good.”

“I apologize for upsetting you,” said the twin who had given Jane the flyer. “I didn’t know who she was, and she seemed pleasant enough.”

“It’s all right.…” Jane hesitated.

“Ted,” the young man said.

“It’s all right, Ted,” said Jane.

“Who is she?” asked Ned, appearing beside his brother.

“Beverly Shrop,” Jane answered, her teeth grinding on the name.

“The ShropTalk woman?” said Ted, or possibly Ned.

“Yes,” Jane said. “That’s the one.”

“She’s a moron.” Shelby’s voice emerged from the uncomfortable silence that had descended.

“Quiet,” Ant hissed at his sister.

“I’m sorry,” said Shelby. “But she is. Have you seen her site? It’s crap.”

Jane suppressed a smile. “Not the word I might have chosen, perhaps,” she said. “But vividly accurate nonetheless.”

“So what’s this Austen A Go-Go?” Ant pressed.

Jane sighed. “Apparently Beverly Shrop has organized a festival of sorts for fans of romantic novels, of which she considers Austen’s prime examples.”

“And that’s bad?” asked Ant.

“In theory, no,” Jane answered. “But Beverly has an uncanny ability to make things … inconvenient.”

“She’s a horror show,” Lucy clarified. “She’s turned writers and books into a cottage industry, when really she knows nothing at all about them. Austen A Go-Go. Honestly.”

“There’s going to be a Darcy look-alike contest,” Shelby said, reading one of the flyers. “And a Team Austen versus Team Brontë softball tournament.”

Jane groaned. “Fabulous,” she said.

“Someone named Tavish Osborn is a guest speaker,” Shelby continued.

“What?” Lucy and Jane exclaimed in unison.

“Tavish Osborn,” Shelby repeated. “Do you know him?”

“Vaguely,” Jane muttered, thinking, How could he?

“He’s going to be giving a lecture called ‘The Real Jane Austen,’ ” said Shelby.

Lucy and Jane exchanged looks. That’s it, Jane thought. Why hadn’t Byron said anything to her about Beverly’s ridiculous event? And what exactly did he mean by the real Jane Austen?

“Oh, good. You’ve seen the flyer.”

Jane turned to see Beverly Shrop approaching at a brisk clip. As usual, she was dressed in pink, and her face wore a cheerful smile that appeared to be painted on with copious amounts of red lipstick, much like a clown’s ghastly perpetually grinning mouth.

“Beverly,” Jane said without enthusiasm.

“Doesn’t it sound delicious?” Beverly asked. “I’m especially looking forward to Tavish’s talk.”

“Aren’t we all?” asked Jane.

“I would have asked you to speak,” Beverly said. “But I know how very busy you are trying to get your next book written.”

And how would you know that? Jane wondered. Just what had Beverly and Byron talked about? She would most certainly have to have a word with him.

“It’s true,” Jane said. “I am quite busy at the moment.”

“Well, I hope you’ll at least grace us with your presence,” said Beverly. “Oh, and if you’d like to sell your book at the event, feel free to bring a few copies. Blockstone’s will be selling copies of Tavish’s Penelope Wentz novels.”

“Blockstone’s?” said Jane, the name of the rival bookstore bitter on her tongue. “Why not have us sell his—”

“I have to run,” Beverly said. “Lovely seeing you.”

Fuming, Jane watched Beverly leave the store.

“Wow,” said Shelby. “She really is something.”

“You’re breaking the wall!” Ant shouted at her. “Rule one. Don’t get involved with the subject!”

Shelby ignored him. “You should have a big sale on this Tavish guy’s books right before the event,” she suggested to Jane. “That would really piss her off.”

Jane nodded. “Yes,” she said, smiling at Shelby. “It certainly would.” She was liking the young woman more and more.

“Jane, you have a phone call.” One of the twins leaned over the counter, covering the receiver with his hand. “It’s a Jessica Abernathy.”

For a moment Jane couldn’t remember why the name was familiar to her. Then it hit her. “Oh!” she said. “Of course. I’ll take it in the office.” She turned to Ant, who was beginning to follow her. “This is private,” she informed him. Without waiting for him to object, she went into the office and closed the door behind her, relieved to finally be alone.

She took a moment to calm herself before picking up the phone.

“Hello, Jessica,” she said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said a husky voice. “I hear we’re used to waiting for you around here.” Jessica laughed. It sounded like sandpaper rubbing against an obstinate board.

“I’m sorry?” said Jane. “Waiting for me?”

“It’s a joke,” Jessica said. “You know, waiting for your manuscript. Wasn’t it due six months ago?”

“Something like that,” said Jane. “I’m working on it.”

“You might want to think about working faster. We’re already going to miss the holiday shopping season. Now you’re into spring at the earliest and more likely summer. You don’t want to come out in summer. You’ll get buried. Nicholas Sparks has a new one out in June. So does Jodi Picoult. And I heard King has three hitting the stores in time for vacation season. You’ll be lost in that bunch.”

“My last book did very well,” Jane reminded her. “It was number one for—”

“Three weeks,” Jessica said. “I know. But the remainder bins are filled with second books that flopped. You can’t assume anything. Especially if you wait too long between books. People will forget you.”

Jane wondered if Jessica remembered rejecting Constance. It certainly sounded as if she wasn’t entirely thrilled about working with Jane on the new book. At the very least she was hardly being encouraging.

“Anyway, I’d like to have it by the end of the month,” Jessica continued.

“I don’t know if—”

“Great,” said Jessica. “We’ll talk then.”

The line went dead. Jane stared at the phone for a moment. She felt shaky and disoriented, as she had as a girl when her brothers would hold her by the wrists and swing her around and around. Then she had enjoyed the giddiness that resulted. Now she merely felt sick. That didn’t go at all well, she thought.

The phone rang again. She picked it up with some hesitation, wary that it might be Jessica calling back to tell