Kitabı oku: «Midnight Cravings», sayfa 2

“You weren’t there.”

“No. Well, yes.” He had her flustered. This was bad. “I mean, I was just a couple of feet away. See, I set it down for a moment while I tried to make a call at the pay phone off the lobby. The phone didn’t work, so it couldn’t have been longer than a minute or so, but when I hung up, it was gone.” She tossed an apologetic look to Myrtle. “I’m sorry to trouble you with this. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation.” Please, please, please let there be a logical explanation, she prayed, returning her thoughts to the more important problem at hand.

“It’s no trouble,” Myrtle answered, but she looked very troubled.

“You say you left it over there?” Dan asked, indicating the hallway, where now there was a small crowd of people, apparently having a contest to see who could toss the most peanuts in the air and catch them in their mouths.

“Yes,” Josie said. “Right there where all the peanuts are on the floor now.”

Dan Duvall’s voice grew about one hundred and five percent less sympathetic than it had been when he’d first walked over. “And you weren’t keeping an eye on it?”

She swallowed a terse retort. “I got a little distracted for just a minute. But, as I said, I was only a couple of feet away.”

“You shouldn’t have left your things unattended. Anyone could come along and pick ’em up.”

“That seems obvious now.”

“Did you see anyone suspicious hanging around?” Myrtle asked, kneading her crepey hands.

“I’ll get the details,” Dan said, patting the older woman’s thin shoulder. “It looks like Lily Rose needs some help at the counter now.” He gestured toward the girl at the check-in counter, who was now looking fretful and fluttering her hands like birds in front of her as she tried to help an increasingly long line of impatient guests.

Myrtle gave an exclamation and bustled over to help poor Lily Rose, muttering about beer drinkers.

Dan Duvall smiled after her, then turned back to Josie, his smile disappearing, and asked for a description of the missing items.

She gave it to him, noticing that he didn’t bother to write any of it down. “There was an envelope in the side pocket that was clearly marked with the name Beatrice Beaujold,” she explained. “It occurred to me that maybe someone at the hotel had taken it up to Beatrice’s room, thinking it was hers, but it wasn’t there when I looked.”

“What was in the envelope?”

“Nothing very interesting to anyone but me. Beatrice’s bio and picture, and some flyers and information about this contest. My own notes.” She took a short breath. “A check for Beatrice. Her appearance fee from the brewery.”

“Well, it’s not like someone else could endorse it and cash it.”

“Maybe not, but she’s expecting to pick it up when she gets here.”

“I understand. You didn’t lose any cash?”

“No.” She tried to sound calm.

“Well, that’s good. I’m afraid I’m not sure how much we can do to help you,” he said, looking as if he didn’t want to do anything at all to help. “But we’ll certainly be on the lookout.”

There was the sound of smashing glass in the corner and Dan Duvall’s eyes jerked to the scene. His mouth went tight.

“’S’all right,” someone called, waving a feeble hand. “’N’accident.”

A muscle ticked in Dan’s jaw.

Josie tried to get his attention back. “Do you want me to write the description down?” she asked, trying to sound helpful although she was annoyed at how little concern he was showing for her loss. “So you don’t forget?”

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll let you know if it turns up.” He gave a short nod and turned to go.

“Wait a minute.”

He turned back, his face a mask of patience. “Ma’am?”

“What am I supposed to do now?”

He raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting for her to elaborate.

“I mean, that stuff is really important to me, even though it isn’t particularly interesting to anyone else. I need it back.” She thought of the letter Beatrice’s editor, Susan Pringle, had written. She’d barely had a moment to glance at it, but the first paragraph had mentioned there were some “special challenges” when handling Beatrice in public. It had also said that there was some “confidential material” in the letter and that Josie should be careful not to let it go astray, but before Josie had been able to read further, her flight had been announced and she’d put the letter away.

She’d intended to read it on the plane, but the flight had been turbulent, and as soon as she’d gotten off the plane, she’d had to drive a car, and…well, she just hadn’t gotten to read the note.

At the time it had seemed so offhand it hadn’t occurred to Josie that it was any more important or confidential than any personnel file. Now her mind reeled with imagined possibilities.

“I really need my briefcase back,” she emphasized. “Should I go to the police station and fill out an official report?”

“You could,” he said, a hint of slow molasses in his accent. “But there’s really no point.”

“It would make me feel better to know it was properly reported.”

“You’re reporting it now.”

“I am,” she said, trying to keep from gritting her teeth. “But are you?”

He gave a maddeningly lazy smile. “Why, yes, ma’am. I am. I don’t have time to go into the station to take your report right this minute, but I’ll file it as soon as I can.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspecting he was patronizing her. “Look, there were some really important papers in that envelope. I’d feel better seeing someone commit this report to black and white right now.” Though she thought better of it an instant later, she couldn’t resist adding, “The way most police would.”

“I see.”

“So where is the station house?”

“Corner of Elm and Magnolia. But we’re really shorthanded. If you go in they’ll just have you wait until the chief of police gets in and that’s—”

“Good,” she said, her voice tense. “I’m eager to speak with him.”

He smiled again. Not a friendly smile, but an amused one. On a different person, under different circumstances, it might have been boyish, mischievous. “I’ve got a feeling you may change your mind about that,” he said.

“I won’t.” She gave a polite smile and turned to leave the room. A minute later, she stepped into the muggy sunshine and walked purposefully out to the street. God knew where she was going to go once she got there, but she had the feeling that Dan might be watching her, smugly assuming she’d get lost, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her standing on the sidewalk wringing her hands and trying to figure out which way to go.

Luck was on her side. As soon as she reached the sidewalk she saw that the sign on the nearest cross street indicated it was Elm. So she kept on walking, as if she’d lived here all her life and knew just where to go.

When she was safely out of sight of the inn, she slowed her pace and looked around. The street was about twice as wide as the little suburban street she’d grown up on, and it was lined with tall, shady oaks. Enormous Victorian mansions faced out, looking for all the world as if they had been drawn by Walt Disney. As a matter of fact, the people looked like that, too. A couple of older women stood on either side of a garden fence, each wearing floppy hats and gardening gloves, talking and smiling and nodding to Josie as she passed.

It was hard to reconcile the fact that she’d been robbed, since she felt so completely safe walking through the streets alone. It was a feeling she wasn’t entirely familiar with, since part of her was always on alert when she walked in the city.

By contrast, the pace was so leisurely in this town that Josie actually felt as if her own heart rate had slowed to about half its usual pace, despite the urgency of getting her things back. Why bother to pound any faster? it probably thought. There’s nothing in Beldon to get excited about.

Where the houses stopped, a large, verdant stretch of woods started. In Manhattan, this kind of change signaled dangerous isolation, but in Beldon it was just a pleasant break before a lovely little row of storefronts with apartments over them. The shops all had elaborate colonial facades and were painted in vivid colors. The quaintness was so uniform that Josie wondered if there was a penalty for having a plain building.

That question was answered, though, when she got to the police station. It was a redbrick box, with nothing to distinguish it except a cement sign over the door that read, in block letters, Police Station.

Josie took a short, bolstering breath and opened the creaking wooden door to go inside. There were three empty desks, a single bookshelf with volumes with titles such as Beldon Police Report, April ’72—August ’73, and a plain, round clock with black hands that told her it had taken approximately seven minutes for her to walk there from the inn.

This was one small town.

“Hello?” Josie called out. “Is anyone here?”

There was a startled exclamation and the clanging of metal before a man called, “Hello? Who’s there?”

“No one you know,” Josie answered. “Just a visitor to the town. I’m looking for the chief of police.”

“Er, he’s not in.”

“Who are you?”

Long pause. “I’m…uh…Deputy Fife…er. No, Deputy Pfeiffer.”

“Well, could you come out and talk to me, Deputy Pfeiffer? I have a robbery to report.”

“Don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“I’m not. Do I have to be from here to report a crime?” she asked, annoyed. What was it going to take to get someone to act responsibly around here? Or just to act?

“I’m a little…indisposed.”

She counted to five before saying, “Look, Deputy, I’m sure you’re very busy, but would it kill you to come out and have a word with me?”

A moment passed before he said, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Another moment passed. “I’m locked in.”

“What?” She didn’t even bother to hide her astonishment.

“Well, uh, I was cleaning one of the cells and I let the door shut behind me.” A beat passed. “Can you let me out?”

“How?” Amazing. As if she didn’t already have enough to handle, now she had to free the police from jail. It was incredible. This was like a bad sitcom.

“I, uh, left the keys in there on the wall.”

She looked around at the walls. There was nothing on them except the clock, some FBI Wanted posters that looked to be several years old, and a Vargas Girl calendar that was, on closer inspection, from 1959.

“I don’t see any keys hanging on the wall,” she called.

“Must have left them in my desk, then,” the voice returned. “See the desk by the door? One with the pinup-girls calendar?”

“Yes.”

“Try the top drawer.”

She couldn’t believe she had to release the deputy from a jail cell before she could report her stolen bags. How in the world did she end up in this ridiculous town? Why wasn’t it rife with criminals, since the police were so inept?

If she weren’t an honest person she’d consider robbing a bank right about now.

In fact, if things with Page-turner didn’t work out after this weekend, she’d keep it in mind, she thought wryly.

“I’m looking,” she said, opening the drawer. There were some pens and pencils, a couple of paper clips bent out of shape, a pack of cinnamon gum, a set of handcuffs and a cracked black-and-white photo of a handsome young man in a police uniform, flanked by what appeared to be his proud parents.

Josie lingered on the picture for a moment, wondering who the man was and what his story was, then set it down.

“Find them?” the voice called from the back.

“Not yet.”

“Look in the back of the drawer.”

She pulled it out as far as it would go, then reached in. Sure enough, she snagged a set of keys on a large brass ring. “I think I found them,” she said, slamming the drawer shut just as the front door creaked open and Dan Duvall came in.

“Officer Duvall,” she said in a clipped voice, closing her hand around the cold set of keys. “I thought you were too busy to come into the station.”

For a moment he didn’t speak. He looked at her, then at the key ring in her hand. Then he asked, “What the hell are you doing going through my desk?”

Chapter Two

CHOCOLATE PUDDING

(from page 86 of The Way to a Man’s Heart by Beatrice Beaujold)

Chocolate makes you feel like you’re in love…or in lust. The better the chocolate, the better the lust….

1 cup sugar

¼ cup cornstarch

½ teaspoon salt

¼ teaspoon pure chili powder

8 oz. bitter chocolate, chopped

2 egg yolks

2 ²/₃ cups milk

2 tablespoons butter

2 teaspoons vanilla

In a heavy saucepan, whisk together sugar, cornstarch, salt and chili powder. Then add chocolate.

Whisk egg yolks and milk together and gradually whisk into chocolate mixture. Bring mixture just to a boil over moderate heat, whisking constantly, and boil 1 minute, whisking. Remove pan from heat and whisk in butter and vanilla.

Divide pudding between 6 ramekins or small custard bowls. Chill and serve.

“Your desk?” Josie asked, looking around at the other desks. “I didn’t go through your desk.”

In the back, there was the faint sound of Deputy Pfeiffer clearing his throat.

Dan strode over to Josie and took the key ring from her hand. “My keys,” he said, in a low, controlled voice, “were in my desk.” He thumped his hand on the desk in front of her. “So I repeat, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

She stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Deputy Pfeiffer—” whom she dearly hoped outranked Dan Duvall “—locked himself in a cell back there and asked me to get his keys for him so he could get out. I’m doing just that.”

Dan looked incredulous. “Deputy Pfeiffer?”

She felt her face grow warm, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. “Yes, Deputy Pfeiffer,” she said, gesturing toward the open doorway in the back. “He locked himself in and asked me to get the keys for him.”

“Oh, I’ll bet he did,” Dan said, shaking his head. Then he laughed. He actually laughed.

At her.

“Just what’s so funny?”

“Usually, people like you are begging me to lock the troublemakers up, they’re not coming in and springing them.”

“I’m not springing anyone. I came in here to file a proper report and I found your deputy locked in.”

A long moment stretched thin in silence while he looked at her in a way that made her skin tingle from head to toe.

“Honey, I don’t even have a deputy.”

Horrible realization came over her like a bucket of cold water. “Oh, my God.”

He shook his head. “Didn’t you think it was a little strange that the deputy was locked up in a cell?”

“Yes, of course.” It was hard to defend what was, in retrospect, such an idiotic action, but she tried.

“But so far the police department has been so efficiency-challenged that nothing about it could surprise me.”

“Well, we keep the criminals locked up here in Beldon. What do they do with them where you come from?”

She pressed her lips together for a moment. “All right, I get it. Who is he really?”

Without averting his eyes from hers, he called, “Tell her your real name, Deputy.”

After a moment, the voice answered, “Henry Lawtell.”

“What are you in for?”

“No good reason!”

Still holding her gaze, Dan said, “Henry’s in jail for the third time this year after drinking a trough of beer and riding his motorcycle into the statue of Alexander Beldon in the town center. Naked.”

“Oh.”

The corners of his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to smile. “Didn’t the name Deputy Pfeiffer sound familiar to you?”

Deputy Pfeiffer. Deputy Fife. Of course it did, she just hadn’t made the connection. Suddenly, it seemed painfully obvious. Humiliation burned in her cheeks, made worse by the fact that she knew he could see it.

“You all right, Ms. Ross?” He stood up and made a show of ushering her into his chair. “You look a little flushed. Guess you’re not used to the heat down here.”

“I’m fine.” She shrugged her arm out of his warm grasp. “We have heat in New York.”

He gave her a long gaze, which made her wonder if it was an offense to snap at a police officer in this town. She wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of playing out her own Mayberry Midnight Express.

“Different kind of heat,” he said.

“Bring her back here so I can get a look at her,” Henry called from his jail cell. “She sounds real cute.”

“Oh, she is,” Dan drawled, looking her over so brazenly that she felt as if she’d been touched.

But she didn’t want to be touched, she reminded herself. She had a lot of troubles to deal with right now; she definitely didn’t need to add a man to the mix. She already knew she didn’t have good luck with men—there was no point in even trying.

Too bad her body didn’t agree with her mind on that. Every time she looked at Dan, her pulse quickened and her nerves sprang to life. Even now, the flush in her cheeks flamed so hot she thought her eyelashes might get singed.

“But she’s a pain in the ass,” he added.

Josie stood tall, hoping he didn’t notice her agitation. “This is hardly professional behavior, Officer.”

“No?”

“Certainly not.”

“Sweetheart, if I were to behave professionally, I’d have slapped the cuffs on you the minute I walked in and saw you going through my desk and stealing my keys in order to release a prisoner.” One side of his mouth curled into a smile. “That what you want?”

Suddenly, she had the distinct impression that those handcuffs had seen less criminal action than personal. Her face went hot again.

She swallowed hard. “No, thank you. And for your information, if I had gone back there and seen that man wasn’t in uniform, I would not have let him out.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Satisfied that she’d redeemed herself at least a little, she said, “I’d like to speak with your supervisor now, please.”

“What’s she look like, Danny?” Henry called from the back.

Josie and Dan exchanged glances, each challenging the other.

“She looks pissed,” Dan said.

“No, I mean, like, what color hair does she have?”

“’Bout the color of that dark lager you pickled yourself in the other night.” Judging by the way he looked at her, for a moment Josie thought he might reach out and touch her. “What do you call that color?” he asked, with the kind of cocky pirate smile that Josie sometimes, on the right person, found irresistible.

“Does your chief approve of you talking to people this way when they come in for help?”

“He approves of everything I do.”

The mental list she was making of his offenses was growing by the second. By the time she was finished talking with his boss, she wouldn’t be surprised—or sorry—if he was fired on the spot. “We’ll see about that. You do realize I’m here to see the chief, right? I assume he’s not locked in a cell or bound and gagged in a closet.”

“Nope. Around here, you can tell the police by the fact that they’re not locked up.”

“That seems to be the only distinction,” she said.

“Can you call him on your radio and get him here?”

“No need to do that, he’s here.”

She looked around toward the door, expecting to see a kindly gray-haired man who could save her from the unsavory scrutiny of Dan Duvall. Although if he was here, why on earth hadn’t he stepped in earlier? “Where?”

“Right here.” He splayed his arms wide and smiled even wider.

She felt it coming a split second before he said it.

“I’m the police chief.”

Josie’s stomach felt like a popped balloon. “Of course you are,” she said, more to herself than to him. “I’ve seen this movie before.”

Dan laughed. “You wanted to talk to me about something? The insubordination of one of my men, I believe?”

“That’s very funny. Who’s your boss, Chief?” She reached into her purse and took out her PalmPilot.

“I’d like the name, number and address, please.”

“That’d be the mayor. You can find him at City Hall.”

“Fine.”

“But I don’t think you’re gonna like him as much as you like me.”

“Meaning…?”

“I’m your best hope for satisfaction here.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What the—”

“In the matter of your stolen property, that is.” He looked at her as if he couldn’t possibly have meant anything else. “Now, as I told you before, we’re doing all we can to get your suitcase back, but it might just take some time. You can come on into the station every day and file more reports, but all that’s gonna do is keep us from getting out to where we might find your things.”

“I don’t get the impression that you’re out looking for my things, anyway.” She put the idea of him satisfying her out of her mind as best she could.

“I don’t know what else you want me to do. Send an APB out to the state police? If someone stole your suitcase, they’ve probably either hidden it away in their room—in which case, we can’t search every room—or they’ve rifled through it and tossed it somewhere outside, in which case we’ll come across it any time now.”

“Or maybe they’re wandering around with it right now, or shoving it into the car trunk so they can get away with it.”

He laughed. “I’ll keep an eye out for that, too.”

It was hopeless. She may as well just go shopping for new clothes, because she was never going to see her old ones again. She’d also have to find a fax machine somewhere in this town and hope that someone in the office had copies of everything except the letter to fax to her.

But before she did anything else, she had to contact the brewery and ask them to cut another check for Beatrice.

“Thanks for your help, Chief.” Josie was unable to keep the edge off her tone. “You certainly know how to make a girl feel safe.” She turned to go but was stopped by a strong hand on her upper arm.

He turned her to face him and his expression was serious. “You’re safe, Ms. Ross. Don’t doubt that.”

For just a moment, she didn’t. He was tall and strong and obviously capable, at least in a physical sense. It had been so long since she’d had someone to lean on that, for just one insane moment, she would have liked to fall into the cloak of his arms and let the whole outside world disappear.

She shook herself out of the thought immediately. “Thanks. But at this point, I would settle for simply being dressed this weekend.”

His gaze swept over her like wind. “Look dressed to me.”

Funny, for a moment there, she didn’t feel dressed. “This is the only outfit I have now,” she said, swallowing the disconcerting sexual awareness of him that she felt. “My clothes, my shampoo, my toothbrush, everything was in that suitcase.”

Dan’s expression softened. “Listen, I don’t mean to seem insensitive, but there’s always trouble during this contest. The odds of finding a stolen suitcase, with everything else that’s going on, are pretty low. Thieves in this situation tend to do one of two things, as I told you. They either hide the item away, so it can’t be found, or they take what they want and toss the rest. If it’s the latter, we’ll find it. Otherwise, don’t hold your breath.”

“Nice little town you’ve got here.”

“Believe it or not, normally Beldon is a nice place. Maybe not the kind of place you city folks would want to hang out in, but a nice, quiet place. However, during this cook-off, things are a little different. Every year, for this one weekend, the whole town becomes a bar.”

She softened. “I’m sure that’s a nightmare for you, but I don’t get the feeling you’re concerned about my stolen property at all.”

“I am. You’ll just have to trust me on this.”

She looked into his eyes, wondering how many gullible women had heard that very line.

She swallowed hard. “I’d appreciate whatever you can do.”

He smiled. “That’s more like it. Around here we take things more slowly.”

“I fully appreciate that you do things differently around here,” she said, her voice tight. She was off to a terrible start this weekend. “But I’m only here for four days and I don’t have the luxury of taking things slowly.”

She thought again of the missing envelope, with the letter about Beatrice. It wasn’t as if she could call the editor, tell her the letter had been lost and ask if she could send another copy. Beatrice’s publisher was a major client of Page-turner Promotions and Josie absolutely couldn’t afford to risk alienating the publisher, for fear that they would drop her company altogether. And that the company, in turn, would drop her.

On top of that, Josie thought with horror, what if the confidential information was sensitive in the sense that the public shouldn’t get wind of it? Beatrice was the celebrity author of the moment, and a lot of journalists were trying to tear her down. On top of that, thanks to the theme of her cookbook, Beatrice had come under the feminists’ wrath, so that was another whole group looking for ammo against her.

But Josie couldn’t let Dan Duvall know all of that. Who knew what motivated him? “Look,” she said, “I really need some of the papers that were stolen. For work. They’re not of interest to anyone else, but if you find anything that looks like it could be relevant, you would save me an awful lot of hassle.”

He shrugged. His shoulders were really quite broad under the thin cotton of his shirt. If he wanted to catch criminals, he probably could, bare-handed. “You got it. Well, it was nice meeting you, Miss Ross.”

“Ms.,” she corrected automatically, then immediately regretted it.

“Ms.,” he amended, showing the almost-dimple.

“My apologies.” He was dismissing her, there was no doubt about it.

She hesitated. Dismissive or not, he was obviously trying. He didn’t know how important those stolen papers were to her. “I’m sorry about the desk. And—” she gestured “—Deputy Pfeiffer back there. Although, as I said, I wouldn’t have let him out.”

A little warmth came into his eyes and they crinkled at the corners. He was a great-looking man. In fact, he would be a deadly combination for some women. “It’s like I always say, you city folks are just too trusting.”

“We are, huh?” She couldn’t help but smile, albeit reluctantly.

Incredibly, he smiled back. “Oh, yeah.”

A tremor coursed through Josie.

Suddenly there was a loud ruckus at the door. A man who looked like a thin, wiry version of Dan Duvall was led in, apparently against his will, by two older gentlemen.

“I didn’t know it was a wig!” the dark-haired man was protesting loudly.

Dan sighed. “Excuse me,” he said to Josie, and got up from his desk.

Although she was curious about what was going on, the office was so small that there was no way she could stand by unobtrusively and watch. “Please call me at the inn when you’ve found my things,” she said. “I’m in room 508.”

“I know where you are.”

Josie watched as he strode across the room. He moved well, she noticed. Not many men could look graceful and masculine at the same time. It was hard to take her eyes off of him, but she managed, then left.

Dan Duvall did have his hands full, Josie had to admit. Maybe she should have been more patient with him. How many thousands of times had her mother repeated the cliché about catching flies with honey instead of vinegar?

She also had Beatrice to consider. It wouldn’t be good for Beatrice’s public image to have her publicist arguing with the chief of police.

Which reminded her, Beatrice must surely have made it to the Silver Moon Inn by now. It was after seven o’clock.

She hurried back through the town, barely noticing the many picture-postcard scenes, to the inn. After a ten-minute search of the lobby and upstairs rooms, Josie feared that Beatrice not only wasn’t there, but she might not be coming at all.

No sooner did she have the thought than the front doors banged open. A round elderly woman, with gray curls atop her apple-cheeked visage, made her way in, using a knotted cane for support. Behind her was a young woman, with lank dark hair and a figure like a toothpick, holding a baby.

It was Beatrice. It had to be. Josie let out a long pent-up breath and thanked God that things were finally going to get back on track.

Her thanks went out just a moment too soon.

“Get the hell out of my way, boy, I don’t need your damn help!”

Josie stopped short and watched in open-mouthed horror as Beatrice Beaujold whacked the bellboy in the shins with her cane.

That’s not Beatrice, Josie thought as the woman raised her cane again and thumped it against the hapless bellboy’s leg. That can’t be her.

But it was her, all right. Josie recognized her from her publicity photos.

Something must have happened that Josie didn’t see, something to justify Beatrice’s outburst. Maybe the bellboy had touched her accidentally, she reasoned. And Beatrice thought he was being fresh.

Josie didn’t quite believe it, but no better explanation was coming to her. There had to be a good reason for what must surely be a rare outburst. Beatrice Beaujold was kind, a grandmother figure, the sort of wise older woman people went to for advice. That was the image her colleagues at Page-turner Promotions had projected for her.

Obviously, she’d just been caught at a bad moment. Josie would have a delicate word with her about publicity and how important it was to maintain a good public image.

She steeled herself and crossed the lobby to where the older woman was still creating a commotion.

“Ms. Beaujold?” Josie said as she drew near.

“Who’s that?” Beatrice snapped, squinting behind thick round glasses.

Josie extended her hand. “I’m Josie Ross, from Page-turner Promotions. We spoke on the phone.”

“Oh, yeah?” Beatrice looked Josie up and down, as if she were assessing a prize on Let’s Make a Deal.

From the look on her face, Josie expected her to either bid a dollar or ask for the goat behind door number three.