Mick notices red toenails peeking out of her sandals. The deep olive-green tone in the medallion pattern on her dress is a perfect foil for her dark auburn hair. That she tucks phantom strands behind her ears makes him smile. That, and the fact that the soft fabric of her dress caresses her curves.
“Didn’t I read something online about a special journal?” Emma asks.
“Yes, you did.” Libby walks to a thick book on an oak stand, rests her hand on the open page and continues, “We encourage guests to make entries during their stay. We have entries dating from 1980 when Pines & Quill opened its doors. It’s become somewhat of a living legacy, a way for writers to connect with those who’ve come before, and those who’ll come after.”
From a deep leather chair, Fran asks, “And if memory serves me well, didn’t it also say that on more than one occasion the journal has provided clues that were helpful in solving mysteries that occurred here?”
Jason, who seldom misses an opportunity for a negative barb or a cynical thrust, holds his tongue. I don’t remember reading about that.
“That’s right, Hemingway too,” Libby says, smiling at Fran. “Snoopy as all get out, he’s our resident Sherlock Holmes. But we’ll share those stories another evening. I’m curious to know what each of you is working on.” Directing her question at Jason, she asks, “What is your book about?”
Adept at redesigning the truth to fit the occasion, Jason answers, his words not quite slurred. “I was a limousine driver in The Big Apple for years, and the stories I can tell would curl your hair. My book is titled, Rearview Mirror: Reflections of a New York Limo Driver.”
“That sounds like an interesting read,” they all agree.
“Do you share stories about famous people?” Emma asks.
Though sitting down, Jason’s voice has a distinct swagger. “Sure. It’s going to be a tell-all.” He raises his glass high and swirls it before downing the rest.
“You’ve got something on your elbow.” Emma points to the fern leaf she noticed on Jason’s right elbow when he lifted his glass. “You must have taken the scenic route,” she says, smiling.
Heads turn in unison when Niall enters the room with a large, dessert-filled tray. “Can I interest anyone in some crème brûlée?”
“I’m going to have to jog in the morning,” Cynthia says, taking a colorful ramekin from the proffered tray.
“You offer tai chi classes in the morning, right?” Fran asks Libby in a hopeful voice, as she, too, accepts a calorie-laden dessert.
Emma moans as she lifts a ramekin from the tray. “If it went to my arms, I’d be okay. They get worked out on a regular basis. But this is going straight to my hips,” she says, laughing.
“I’ll pass on the dessert, but I’ll take another scotch,” Jason says.
Niall and Libby exchange glances. Libby says, “I’ll pour you a short one, and then the bar’s closed for the evening.”
The look that passes between Niall and Libby doesn’t go unnoticed by Cynthia.
Mick accepts a crème brûlée from Niall, knowing from experience that it’s delicious. He doesn’t worry about weight gain because he makes daily use of the workout equipment in his cabin. Mick looks into Emma’s moss-green eyes and asks, “What’s your manuscript about?”
“The working title is Moving Violations: A Sassy Look at Life from a Wheelchair. It’s about observations I’ve made since finding myself in this chair.” She pats the top of a wheel before taking a spoonful of the delicious dessert. After an appreciative moan, she returns Mick’s question. “Do you have a work in progress?”
Mick clears his throat. “Yes, I’ve been working on it for some time now, and it seems to be going nowhere fast. It’s titled, Collateral Damage: Incidental Devastation, but it’s been years on the back burner.”
“I noticed your limp.” Jason’s words have a faint slur. His fingers roll the edge of his cocktail napkin. “Is your book based on personal experience?”
In the now-quiet room, they can hear the wind-muffled sound of the distant surf.
“Yes,” Mick answers. “Although it’s a work of fiction, it’s based on true events.” The steel in his measured response warns Libby.
Accompanied by cold, gray eyes, Jason asks, “What are those events?”
Mick interlocks his fingers to avoid clenching his fists.
Aware of imminent disaster, Libby shifts gears, pretending she hadn’t heard Jason’s rude question. “Cynthia, what are you working on?”
Cynthia accepts the verbal baton with grace. “As a palm reader, I can tell you there aren’t too many books that address that topic. I’m working on a book titled, Guide Lines: The World In the Palm of Your Hands.”
“That’s an intriguing title,” Emma says. “I’ve read that a book has less than thirty seconds to grab a reader’s interest. Your title will do it.”
“What are you working on?” Libby asks Fran.
Fran’s soft words are directed onto her lap. “My manuscript is titled, Mother in Waiting: The Stigma of Childlessness. I want to share the lessons I’ve learned from my personal experience and how they’ve changed the way I see the world. And by extension, change the way the reader sees the world—for the better.”
“That’s a wonderful and worthy goal,” Libby says, smiling at Fran. “And to help us all with our tasks at hand,” she turns to the side table and lifts a small box, “I’ve brought The Observation Deck: A Tool Kit for Writers by Naomi Epel. I find it helpful in priming the writing pump.”
“How does it work?” Emma asks.
“Most writers tailor it to their own needs, but at Pines & Quill, each evening after dinner, when we gather in The Ink Well to decompress, one of the guests draws a single card from the box. There are dozens to choose from. Each flash card contains a word or phrase that will be our focus—food for thought—for the next day’s writing.” Handing the box to Emma, she says, “You select the first card.”
Emma picks a card from the middle of the deck.
“What does it say?” Fran asks.
“It
