involved and lots of painful lurching until the kinks in my back and legs let go their paralyzing grip.
The blinking red light on my answering machine commanded my attention when I walked in the front door.
“Mia, it’s Tomas. Can you meet with me later today? I know it’s early, but GQ didn’t keep our appointment yesterday. I’d like to get your signature right away. Hopefully, I can catch up tomorrow with h-h-uh, GQ, so we won’t be too far off schedule.”
GQ’s failure to sign was the last thing I expected to hear. It was all we’d talked about for months. She wanted this as much as I did so I logged online to zap her an email, insisting she contact me. Then I logged off, suddenly afraid that I wouldn’t like what she had to say.
Maybe it was just as well that I didn’t connect with her. I ached to blast the traitor for using my plot and getting me into so much trouble. I wanted to ask who she thought she was, but the even bigger question was, “Why?”
It didn’t make any sense unless Twitchell had also plagued her with his bad manners and arrogance. That could have forced her to use my ingenious plot to eliminate him in a way I’d only had the courage to do on paper.
Yeah, sure! Then we’d discover an even bigger coincidence and learn that GQ and I live in the same city. Now that was reaching way too far, even with my imagination. Besides, I’d never mentioned Twitchell to her.
I took a deep breath and dialed the number my agent left on my machine.
“Mia! Thanks for returning my call. Hope it isn’t too inconvenient to see me this afternoon.”
“No problem, Tomas. I have to work, so how does four-thirty sound?”
“I’m staying at the Golden Hotel. Coffee shop okay?”
I hung up and collapsed in my easy chair. This was it! I’d sign that contract and finally be a professional writer.
Just in case I missed something, I rechecked my computer for messages from GQ. There were none so I logged off, a little disappointed, a lot relieved.
I admit I was bursting to brag a little to someone, anyone, about my huge adventure. It isn’t every day that I become the prime suspect for attempted murder, but boasting would have been in bad taste so instead of that, I’d have had to complain.
I settled instead for a hot shower and stale corn flakes.
Detective Smith stood on the porch two hours later when I opened my door to leave for the office.
“You left the hospital without telling anyone,” he complained.
“I didn’t think it was any of your business.”
Darn! Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut? I really want to find the creep who stole my plot, but antagonizing the police wouldn’t help.
“In this investigation, everything is my business.”
“If you insist. I’ve taken a shower, eaten breakfast and am now going to work.” I moved to step around him.
“Not so fast.” He held up a twisted hand, blocking my way.
“Am I under arrest?” I felt my face flush. A frisson of raised hairs chilled my scalp and arms.
“Not yet, but I still have some questions. I don’t see how you could have known that Mr. Twitchell was in danger of poisoning if you hadn’t done it.”
“If I’d kept my mouth shut, he’d have died and I wouldn’t be standing on my front steps answering your questions,” I snapped. “Why are you hassling me? I saved his life, Detective.”
“Oho, many would-be murderers are stricken with remorse and try to undo their crimes. But they are still just as guilty after all is said and done.”
“It’s been nice, but I have to go to work. Are you going to arrest me, or may I leave now?”
“There’s some people I want to see at the office, so I’ll follow you in. We’ll finish this interview there. You may go now.”
How I hate being dismissed, but did I really want to stand there arguing with him?
CHAPTER TEN
The stack of assignments piled on my desk had grown. I was looking at an all-nighter if I wanted to finish them. Even though my life was down the drain, it didn’t mean the rest of the world cared.
I worked until Smith intruded upon my concentration yet again.
“So, Miss Ingalls, you say you told a friend about your plot to kill Mr. Twitchell and this friend actually committed the crime. Is that how it happened?”
“Hardly, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t believe anything but a complete confession.”
He nodded with a smug grin, “Who is this friend? Give me a name and number so we can confirm your story.”
“Wish I could help you there, but I don’t know who she is.”
“If that’s your story, I doubt any jury’d buy it. You’re such a hotshot author, I should think you’d come up with a better alibi than that,” he scoffed, rubbing his hands together.
He was right. That traitor could get away with murder and I had supplied the method. Does that make me an accessory? I didn’t tell her to kill anyone, but where was my proof?
“So you don’t know who your friend is? Okay, I’ll bite. Explain it to me.”
“She’s someone I met online. We’ve been sort of pen pals for nearly two years. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know if she’s a she or a he!” I tried to mask my uncertainty by rearranging some pens in an old broken handled coffee mug. What have I done? Even I wouldn’t believe that lame story.
“We both want to be professional writers and began a writing challenge online — to help improve our skills. She suggested that we try to get the short stories that resulted from the exercise published. All I know about this ‘Net friend is that I’d begun to think of him or her as her over the years and that she frequently publishes freelance articles. She never told me her name and I didn’t tell her anything about myself except that I write mystery novels.”
“So, if your friend published articles, you’d know her name, wouldn’t you?” Smith sneered.
“Normally I would, but she uses a pseudonym. Something about her family not approving her work as an investigative reporter. They think it’s a dangerous occupation.”
I studied Smith, trying to measure his level of conviction. He shifted in the chair next to my desk and signaled for me to continue, his expression told me nothing.
Slightly encouraged, I continued, “We met in a chat room, sort of a support group for writers. We’d post our stories or poems or whatever and others’d read them and send feedback. I had a bad first experience and she rescued me from the sharks who only wanted to impress each other with their literary prowess by attacking me.”
That
