BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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I closed the window and thought about how right there, on that windowsill, Randy made the final decision of his life.
In the room’s center was a large, worn reclining chair, with room on its seat for a body and a manuscript, side by side. Obviously, this was where Randy did his reading. Suddenly it made sense, as there was no such chair in the rest of the loft — not in his office or his bedroom. And his living room was furnished with uncomfortable furniture that I used to complain about. He never seemed to care. Now I know why.
Sort of like this
Behind the reclining chair was a floor lamp. On the chair’s left was a table with a reading lamp, and on its right another table with an empty martini glass, several pens, a pad of Post-it notes, and an ashtray. Two butts in the ashtray. That damn Randy, he too was sneaking smokes. And in the chair, next to the indention caused by Rand’s butt over the many years, was a manuscript, face down.
There was a small “dorm room” refrigerator, a sink, several bottles of gin, vermouth, and tonic. In one corner, was a small table with a straight back chair. Probably for when Randy had to take a break from the recliner, or he needed to write.
I sat at the small table. It seemed somehow disrespectful and irreverent to sit in Randy’s reading chair. Not yet.
I looked around. Really nothing else of interest.
It looked to me like he was reading a manuscript, had finished it, had had a smoke or two, a last martini or two, then ended it. I was suddenly so sad. The feeling of loss filled me. My breathing was short, my chest tight.
I walked to Randy’s chair and picked up the manuscript. It looked old, yellowed on some of its pages. I turned it over.
Holy hell!
It was that manuscript from all those years ago! That one all about real spies and real threats from China in the Watergate years. The one that got Gen Grau killed.
That son-of-a-bitch Randy did make a copy of the manuscript! And now he was dead.
I got a bit dizzy. I leaned against the wall and looked out the secret room’s window. Holy shit, did Randy, as the cop said, “take a dive” or was he murdered?
Jesus! If this is not the world’s most exhausting and deadly blog, I fear to know what is.
I’m just trying to say a few things about publishing. That’s all. Argh!
Tomorrow: I go for a walk