I told him I wasn’t going to be able to do that, he had a fit.”
“You should find a new syndicator,” Zach said.
“Our contract’s pretty airtight, and you know it. We’re stuck with each other until Derrick exercises his escape clause, and you know he’s not going to do that, at least not as long as I’m making money for him. Don’t worry, I can handle him.”
“But can you do it without giving him a taste of that famous temper of yours?”
I laughed. “I’m not going to make any promises. Sometimes I think that the only time he really hears what I’m saying is when I raise my voice.”
“Fine, yell at him all you want then.”
We’d wasted enough time discussing my editor. “Let’s change the subject. I thought you were going to let me call you. You’re not checking up on me, are you?”
“No, ma’am. To be honest with you, I’m a little lonely here. I decided to go ahead and leave myself, so I’m on the road to Knoxville.”
I glanced at my dashboard clock. “You weren’t supposed to head out for an hour.”
He paused, and then admitted, “What can I say? This cottage feels kind of empty without you in it.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t like being apart either. We’ll see each other soon.”
“Sure we will. Listen, I’d better hang up now; traffic’s starting to get a little busy. Don’t let Derrick get you too riled up, and give Jenny a hug for me.”
“I can promise the latter, but the former’s a wasted wish, and we both know it. I love you.”
“Love you, too,” he said.
BY THE TIME I GOT TO RALEIGH, I’D MANAGED TO GET MYSELF in a state of mind that would allow me to deal with Derrick without losing my cool.
At least that’s what I hoped I’d be able to do.
But as I parked in the guest lot of the Crest Hotel where we were having our meeting, all my good intentions vanished. I didn’t like being summoned now any more than I had when he’d ordered me to appear three days earlier, and I was going to make certain that he knew it. I started building up a good head of steam as I walked swiftly toward Conference Room C.
At least that was the plan. However, when I got to the meeting room, someone else was already waiting to see him.
It appeared that my little diatribe was going to have to wait.
“ARE YOU HERE TO SEE DERRICK, TOO?” THE MAN SITTING by the door asked me as I joined him at the empty row of seats. He was a nondescript little fellow, with thinning gray hair and a sallow complexion.
I glanced at my watch. “Apparently not for another twenty minutes.” I offered my hand. “I’m Savannah Stone.”
His face suddenly lit up. “I love your puzzles,” he said. “They’re part of my daily routine.”
“Why thank you,” I said. I wasn’t a celebrity in any sense of the word, but it always pleased me when someone let me know they enjoyed my puzzles. “They’re great fun to create.”
“Are they? Honestly?”
“Of course they are,” I said, startled by his reaction. “Why do you ask?”
He shrugged. “I’m Brady Sims. I do the Wuzzle World puzzles for Derrick,” he said. “I struggle with them every day. To make matters worse, I don’t earn much making them, but they’re all I’ve got.” He grew even more somber as he added, “Even worse, I think Derrick’s about to fire me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Come on, think about it. We’re all away from our home bases, and Derrick is lining his clients up like dominoes ready to push over. This can’t be good news any way you look at it, can it?”
The thought that my syndicator was about to drop me had never entered my mind. “I’m sure you’re wrong.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Savannah. There are computer programs to make word jumbles all over the Internet now,” he said. “The only really creative thing I do is the drawings that go with them, and frankly, they’re the weakest part of my puzzles.”
“I don’t know; I find them charming.” In truth I did, but much like a mother might enjoy the masterpieces of her kindergarten children. “Much the same thing can be said about my puzzles as well.”
“Oh, I love your snippets,” he said as he smiled for a moment, referring to my little musings that accompanied each published puzzle.
“So, there you go. No computer can replace your drawings, or my writing. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
At that moment, the conference room door slammed open, rattling it in its tracks. A large woman stormed out with a red face and unnaturally platinum hair, shouting, “If you think you can just write me off, you’re mistaken. My Bridge column is too popular with the readers; you’ll see that when you crawl on your knees begging me to come back, but Sylvia Peters will not budge.”
As she stormed off, Brady turned to me and asked, “Do you still think it’s just my imagination?”
Before I could reply, a mousy-looking woman with brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and thick glasses perched on her nose came out of the conference room. “Brady, Derrick will see you now.” Was that an expression of pity on her face? She said his name so softly it was almost too low to hear.
Brady looked at me for a moment with real sadness in his eyes, and then he got up and started walking toward the door as though he were making his way to the gallows.
Instead of following him inside, the woman approached me and said, “Miss Stone, Mr. Duncan will be with you shortly.”
“Actually, it’s Mrs.,” I said as I stood and held out my hand. “We haven’t been introduced.”
“Sorry about that. I’m Kelsey Hatcher. I’m Mr. Duncan’s new executive assistant.” Her hand was cold and a little clammy, and I wondered if the slight tremor in it was from nerves.
“It’s nice to meet you, Kelsey. You can call me Savannah.”
She looked taken aback by the suggestion. “Oh no, I couldn’t do that.”
“Of course you can. It’s pronounced just like the city in Georgia.”
She smiled briefly at me, and then disappeared back into the conference room. It appeared that whatever was going on today would be happening to me next.
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG FOR ME TO FIND OUT. SEVEN MINUTES after Brady Sims went into the conference room, the door opened again, and he stumbled back out. He looked as though he’d just been shot, though there was no sign of blood anywhere on him.
I hurried toward him. “Brady? Are you all right?”
He didn’t even look at me as he brushed past. What had Derrick said to him?
Kelsey came to the door again, and beckoned me inside. As I looked at her, I could feel a wave of queasiness creep over me, but I fought it back. Now was the time to be strong.
I was two steps from the door when my cell phone rang, filling the small space with the cacophony of ducks squawking. It had been a joke assigning that particular ringtone to my husband, but I wasn’t in the mood to laugh at the moment.
I flipped it open quickly, said, “This is not a good time,” and then slid it back into my pocket.
“What was that noise?” Derrick demanded as I walked into the conference room. He was a slight man, barely a hundred and fifty pounds, and if I wore heels, I could look down on him, not that I ever wore heels when we met. I refused to dress up for the man. He was a thorn in my side, and I didn’t care who knew it, including him.
“That was my cell phone,” I explained as I looked around. The room was bare and simple, a plain chocolate brown table with a cushioned chair on each side of it. I looked around and spotted a third seat by the door, no doubt Kelsey’s sentry position, Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades.
“Turn it off,” he snapped.
“I already did,” I said, steeling myself for the coming assault.
“Then sit down, Savannah. I don’t have all day.”
