Missing Marlene (11 page)

As Daniel sat in the reception area of Silver and Payne, it occurred to him that he had never seen any literary agencies other than Kenneth and Jane’s. He’d had no reason to until now. Posh was the only word to describe these offices, and he wondered if other large old agencies looked the same.

Silver and Payne’s reception area was larger than Jane’s entire office suite. At the back of the room stood a massive curved desk in blond wood, behind which sat a polished young dark-haired woman with a British accent who had invited him to make himself comfortable while she let Beryl know he had arrived. In the wall behind the receptionist, recessed glass shelves displayed the agency’s latest releases, four of them current
New York Times
best-sellers. A similar display in the wall opposite the cream leather sofa on which Daniel sat offered a selection of books for children and young adults. The walls were covered in cream grass cloth. On the polished pale wooden floor lay two enormous Oriental carpets in shades of cream, lichen, and gray.

The door to the elevator area flew open and a skinny young man in baggy jeans and a knitted cap sauntered in. “Pickup for Random,” he said. Wordlessly, without looking at him, the receptionist produced a large padded envelope from her desk and handed it to him.

“Many thanks, my pretty,” the messenger said jauntily. He waited for a response but, getting none, gave an exaggerated shrug and sauntered out with the parcel under his arm.

“Mr. Willoughby.”

Daniel turned toward the double doors in the far right wall of the reception area. Beryl Patrice was easily sixty, but Daniel could tell she’d been a beauty. Still a handsome woman, she was tall and slim and wore a gray wool suit. Her salt-and-pepper hair was pulled back tightly into a bun. Most striking about her were her eyes, a bright cornflower blue, which radiated acute intelligence.

Daniel rose and shook her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Patrice.”

“Oh, please, call me Beryl,” she said, leading the way into the office. “May I call you Daniel?”

“Yes, of course.”

He followed her down a corridor between cubicles at which young men and women sat talking on telephones, clacking away at computer keyboards, or poring over manuscripts. There was an air of busyness, of deals—and money—being made.

“Here we are.” Beryl opened a door at the end of the corridor and she showed Daniel into a spacious corner office with views of Fifth Avenue to the south and west. She indicated a cluster of chairs around a marble coffee table, and they both sat.

“Now.” She crossed surprisingly shapely legs. “Thank you so much for coming in. Would you care for some coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

She became all business. “As I told you, we recently lost one of our agents. Dana Ashton has gone to the Morris office.” She waved dismissively, as if to say, “Gone and forgotten.”

“So we need someone new. I’ve heard such impressive things about you. How would you like to come and work here?”

“Well, I—May I ask how you heard about me?”

“Ah,” she said, her eyes twinkling, “that’s our little secret. But you should know that you are very highly regarded.”

By whom, he couldn’t imagine, since most people knew him only as the voice of Jane’s assistant. “That’s very kind.”

She just smiled. “How do you like working with Jane Stuart?” she asked, her tone casual.

“I’m quite happy there.”

“Mm. You know, she used to work here.”

“Yes, I know.”

“So did her late husband, Kenneth. So sad.”

He nodded.

“Do you feel that Jane is ...” She searched for the words. “Do you feel she’s allowing you to grow, to handle the projects you’d like to?”

“My first responsibility is as her assistant,” he said dutifully. “She encourages me to take on clients if I have the time. But I only have a few.” Laura would have killed him for being so honest.

“What sort of projects are you taking on?”

“Novels. Mostly literary. That’s what I like best.”

“And do you feel that Jane is a good teacher, that you’re learning the right kinds of things from her?”

Beryl hated Jane—that was clear. Daniel fought to control himself. “She’s the best teacher I could have. She’s also my friend.”

Beryl’s brows rose ever so slightly. Only her mouth smiled. “I see. Well. At any rate, you would no doubt like to get more into the mainstream of things. If you’re interested in working here, Henry and I would love to have you.”

“That’s extremely flattering, but I—”

“We pay a draw against commission. Our attorney produces a document, of course, but the main points are that we’re offering you a draw of sixty thousand dollars a year. When your draw is earned back, we will split any remaining money with you fifty-fifty.”

A chill began in Daniel’s shoulders and traveled down his chest into his legs. Sixty thousand dollars. Nearly three times what Jane paid him. Laura would faint dead away.

“You will have complete freedom with respect to the writers you take on. I assume you’re interested in African-American writers, being African-American yourself.”

“I’m interested in any writer with talent.”

“Good answer,” she said, like a teacher to a student. “It’s just that it is the hot new area in publishing.”

He said nothing.

“You would have complete access to Henry and me for advice. And I’m sure any of our other eight agents will be more than happy to help you. Silver and Payne is, of course, one of the most prestigious and successful literary agencies in the world,” she said proudly. “Henry founded the firm in 1947, after the war. We handle more best-selling authors than I can name, and of course a tremendous number of authors’ estates. You would have access to all of our contract files to guide you. I daresay Jane’s files are lacking in that respect.”

“She’s done her share of big deals,” he said, trying not to sound defensive, “and Ken did, too. Jane has some pretty big names.”

“Oh,” she said politely. “Like who?”

He felt his face grow hot. What was he going to say—Bertha Stumpf? Pam Gainor?

“She’s just lost one of her biggest,” Beryl went on before he could speak. “If not the biggest.”

“Oh?”

“Roger Haines, of course—but I’m sure you know that. He’s come to us. Forgive me when I say he was not well served by Jane. I was horrified at the things Roger told me.”

Daniel stared at her in surprise. “Like what?”

“Oh, I’d really rather not say....”

“Please.”

“Well,” she said quickly, obviously quite happy to say, “in order to get Roger to sign with her, she . . . slept with him.”

“What!”

She nodded simply.

“That is absolutely untrue,” he said, seething with fury at Roger, the worst kind of cad. “Jane would never do something like that.”

“It is difficult to learn unpleasant things about a friend.”

“Friend or not, Jane would never do that. Is that how Roger says he selects his agents?” He leveled a meaningful glance at her.

Her jaw muscles tensed, but she pretended not to understand. “Of course, that wasn’t why he ultimately signed with her. He actually thought she could do him some good, thought she was an effective agent.” She threw her hands out. “We have big plans for Roger, but it won’t be easy to repair the damage that has been done to his career.”

Daniel felt his face grow hot. Fighting to remain calm, he sat up, dropping his hands on his knees in a gesture that indicated he was ready to leave. “I do appreciate your time, Ms. Patrice.”

“On the contrary,” she said, rising, “I’m grateful you’ll consider us. Perhaps you could give me your answer in a week?”

Her smile as she turned to lead the way out was smugly assured, as if the week was merely a quaint formality.

Jane found Daniel at his desk, quietly reading, when she arrived at the office. The room was chilly, and he wore his jacket, a charcoal gray one she couldn’t remember seeing before.

“Don’t we look spiffy today,” she said, hanging up her coat. “I finished the manuscript you gave me.” She pulled it from her briefcase and handed it to him. When he stood to take it from her, she noticed that his trousers matched his jacket.

“A suit! My, my. You sure do it up for the dentist.”

He gave her a wan smile. “Laura and I are going to dinner after work.”

She sat down in his visitor’s chair. “Special occasion?”

“No. Just for fun.”

“Good. I like that. Now, about that manuscript. In my opinion, it’s a no-go.”

“Really?” His eyes showed his deep disappointment. “You didn’t like it?”

“She shows promise, but she doesn’t pull it off. The whole bit about the daughter’s suicide doesn’t ring true, and that’s the basis of the whole story. Plus the book is quiet to begin with—already a difficult sell.”

He looked down at the stack of paper, then back at her. “It’s literary. Not everything we sell has to be
Sunset Splendor.”

She stared at him, shocked. “I’m aware of that. I think I know the difference between a historical romance and a literary novel. I also think I know what criteria to apply to each.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down again.

“Is something wrong? You’re not yourself today. Did the dentist hurt you?”

“No. I’m just a little down today.”

“Let me take you to lunch. I had planned to invite Roger—today’s his birthday—but obviously that’s off. You’re more fun than Roger anyway.”

“Thanks, Jane, but I’m not in the mood. Another day, maybe?”

“Sure, sure. Say when. And listen, about that book. You do what you think is right. My opinion is just my opinion. But if you take her on, you should have her do some revisions. I’ll give you my notes.”

“Thanks,” he said, and smiled. “Any word from Marlene?”

“No. And Ivy’s frantic.”

She brought him up to date, ending with her visit to Vernon List, who was reportedly hot for Marlene but denied any interest in her.

“I feel I’ve hit a dead end.”

“Then let it go. Why keep looking?”

“I owe it to Ivy. And to Marlene herself. I feel very guilty about her. I disliked her so much it never occurred to me that she was my responsibility—not just while she was taking care of Nick, but all the time. And I let her down. I should have watched her more closely, imposed some discipline. Set a curfew.”

“She
is
nineteen.”

“A child. Forgive me—I know you’re not many years past that. I have no trouble caring about you because you’re like family to me. It’s when you don’t like someone that you have to make a special effort and force yourself to care.”

She rose, shaking her head. “I owe the girl an apology.”

She opened the door to her office and stopped. “Something’s different.”

“I picked up the papers.”

She gave him an affectionate smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded. She went into her office, leaving the door open. Sitting down at her desk, she picked up a thick stack of pink message slips and riffled through them. She still hadn’t called back Barbara at Silhouette about Pam Gainor. She’d do that now. She could certainly use the commission on that signing payment, the sooner the better. She was grateful for deals like this—steady, reliable sources of income. Without Roger, now even her top authors were B-level at best.

She realized she hadn’t told Daniel about her visit with Roger yesterday, and Daniel hadn’t asked. That was just like him.

Jane also realized now that in her fury about Roger and Marlene, she’d forgotten to ask Roger who his new agent was. Not that he would necessarily have told her.

“Daniel,” she called.

“Yes?” came his voice through the intercom.

“Do me a favor. If you hear through the grapevine what agency Roger’s gone to, will you let me know?”

There was a strangely long silence. Then, “Yes.”

“Thanks.”

With a deep sigh, Jane picked up the phone to make the Pam Gainor deal.

By lunchtime she actually felt cheerful—something she wouldn’t have thought possible in light of the last few days’ events.

She’d gotten Pam Gainor a four-book deal at Silhouette, with a decent increase in her advances from her last contract.

Gary Kostikian at St. Martin’s had called to start negotiations on a new contract for Bill Haddad, a thriller writer they published in hardcover and paperback.

And, most important of all, Jane already felt herself getting over the whole Roger situation.

She decided to take herself to lunch.

“Sure you won’t come?” she asked Daniel on her way out.

“No. Thanks again.” He gave her a decidedly forced smile.

Something was definitely bothering him. She hoped things were okay between him and Laura. Jane liked Laura, but the girl was intense. It amazed Jane that Laura hadn’t strong-armed Daniel into setting a wedding date yet. Could they be breaking up? Jane fervently hoped not. Daniel loved Laura deeply. That would destroy him.

She’d give him his space. He knew he could always confide in her if he wanted to.

It was raining lightly when she left the office. She had decided to eat at Whipped Cream, which had recently begun serving sandwiches and salads to the lunch crowd. If Daniel had come along, she would have taken him to Eleanor’s, but Whipped Cream would do for her just fine. She hoped her table would be free.

Popping open her umbrella, she set off across Center Street and down one of the brick paths that cut across the green. She was alone except for a young woman in a hooded raincoat pushing a baby carriage covered with clear plastic against the rain. The woman could have been the baby’s mother or nanny.

Had Marlene ever taken Nick for a walk after school? What exactly
had
Marlene done with Nick after school? Probably nothing. Probably left him to watch TV, something Nick would never have complained about. Jane wanted him to spend more time with other children, to play outside, to read.

More guilt. She had to stop this. You live and you make mistakes and you learn—and you don’t make the same mistakes again. They had Florence now, an entirely suitable choice. A find, a treasure.

Nearing the bandstand, Jane passed the woman with the carriage and smiled at her. The woman smiled back and nodded demurely.

Jane reached the other end of the green, crossed the street, and started along the line of shops toward Whipped Cream. She came to the Village Shop and stopped. Marlene’s friend Helen worked there. Jane peered through the window and saw the stocky dark-haired girl behind the counter, ringing up a sale, her face expressionless.

It occurred to Jane that Helen must know Vernon, if they all hung out together at the Roadside Tavern. Maybe Helen could tell Jane more about him. It was a long shot, but Jane had nothing to lose.

The man Helen had been serving was on his way out as Jane entered the cluttered little convenience store. Helen had sat down on a stool behind the counter and was reading the
National Enquirer.
She didn’t look up.

Jane approached the counter. “Hello.”

Helen looked up blankly, clearly not recognizing Jane.

“We met at the Roadside Tavern last week,” Jane said. “I spoke to you about Marlene . . . ?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Helen’s expression barely changed. “What do you need?”

“Nothing—nothing to buy, that is. I’d like to talk to you.”

Helen waited, staring blankly.

“I spoke with Peter Mann, who told me about Gil beating up Vernon List because Gil thought Vernon was interested in Marlene. I went to see Vernon, hoping he might know where Marlene went, but he said he had no idea. He also said he’d never been interested in her.”

Helen let out a derisive chuckle. “What do you expect Vernon to say after Gil almost killed him? Vernon
was
interested in Marlene. Did Marlene ever tell you about her birthday party?”

Jane shook her head.

“Vernon was always bothering Marlene, trying to talk to her, but he was the worst at this party I threw for her at the Tavern in September.”

Jane had forgotten Marlene’s birthday. Marlene would never have volunteered it. Another wave of guilt swept through Jane.

“I did it up real nice,” Helen said. “Balloons, streamers—I even got a cake. We were all having a great time when Vernon walked in with one of those camcorder things. He started taping the party, which kind of freaked us out, but nobody said anything. Then he started aiming the camera at Marlene and not taking it off her. Marlene told him to knock it off, but he wouldn’t. Then Peter saw what he was doing and yelled at him to cut it out or leave. Finally Vernon stopped, the nerd. He took a piece of cake, stuffed it into his mouth, and walked out. It’s a good thing Gil wasn’t there.”

“Gil wasn’t there?” Jane asked. “At Marlene’s birthday party?”

“No, they weren’t going out yet,” Helen explained. “Gil’s not there every night anyway, not like the rest of us.”

“You told me Marlene was interested in Gil pretty early on.
She
would have wanted Gil at her party, wouldn’t she?”

Helen gave a little shrug. “I guess so, but she didn’t know about it ahead of time. It was a surprise.” She chuckled again. “So when Vernon says he wasn’t interested in Marlene, he’s full of it. And he’s also lying when he says he didn’t come on to her, because he did, and I saw the whole thing.”

“What whole thing?” Jane asked, frowning in puzzlement.

“Gil beating Vernon up.”

“You were
there?”
Jane faltered. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Why would I?” Helen’s voice rose defensively. “What did it have to do with Marlene leaving?”

Jane nodded concedingly. “All right. Can you tell me now what happened?”

“Sure. It was late, and Marlene and I were leaving. She was going to give me a ride home. As we were getting into the car, Vernon drove into the parking lot and jumped out of his car. He ran up to Marlene. They went off to the side for a minute. I figured she was telling him to bug off. He took something out of his jacket.”

“Something?”

“A smallish package—I couldn’t see it so good. It must have been a present. Marlene grabbed it like she didn’t want anybody to see it and stuffed it into her bag. She looked really embarrassed. Then she walked back to the car.”

“Did Vernon go into the Tavern?”

“No,” Helen replied, her eyes growing wide. “He
chased Marlene.
He said, ‘Marlene, wait—I want to talk to you,’ but she just ignored him.” She shook her head. “Marlene could do that real good.”

Yes, Jane thought, recalling the times she had addressed Marlene and received no response.

Helen went on, “She told me to get in, which I did, and she got in, and Vernon started banging on her window. She looked totally aggravated and rolled down the window and said, ‘I told you to leave me alone.’ Then she rolled the window back up.

Helen held out clawed hands. “That made Vernon nuts! All of a sudden he yanked open her door and grabbed her arm. I don’t think he meant to hurt her, but he pulled her too hard, and she fell right out of the car onto the ground. She screamed—really loud.”

“That’s when Gil came out?” Jane asked.

Helen nodded. “And Mann, and whoever else was inside. Gil was holding a beer bottle. He ran up to Marlene, saw her on the ground, took one look at Vernon, and hit him right in the face with the bottle.” She might have been describing an everyday encounter in the supermarket.

Jane screwed up her face in horror. “How awful!”

Helen gave a nonchalant shrug. “Yeah, lots of blood. Vernon was on the ground, moaning, and Gil picked him up under his arms and dragged him around behind the building. That’s where he finished the job. Beat Vernon up really bad.”

“How do you know if you didn’t see it?” Jane asked.

“Because about five minutes later Gil came back around to the parking lot—”

“You were still there?” Jane cried.

“Yeah, Marlene wanted to see what happened. Gil told us to get the hell out of there, which we did. The next day we heard that Mann called the ambulance and you know the rest. Vernon was in St. Clare’s about a week and a half.”

“What was it Vernon gave Marlene?” Jane asked.

Helen shook her head. “No idea. She never showed me, and I never asked.”

“Why not?”

“Why didn’t I ask?” Helen glared at her defensively. “Because it wasn’t any of my business.”

“I thought you were friends,” Jane said, dryly sarcastic.

“We are, but I could tell she was embarrassed, and I didn’t want to make it worse. Did she tell
you?”
Helen demanded, leaning forward slightly. “She worked for
you,
lived with
you.”

“No, of course she didn’t tell me,” Jane admitted.

Helen smiled triumphantly.

The door opened, and a woman entered and headed for the milk section of the refrigerator.

“I better get back to work,” Helen said, turning toward the woman, who was approaching the counter with a gallon of milk.

Reluctantly Jane drew her gaze from Helen and left the shop.