Read Online Somebody Killed His Editor: Holmes & Moriarity, Book 1 by Josh Lanyon - Free Book Online
Authors: Josh Lanyon
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wandered. I studied Rachel.
She looked better than she had earlier. She must have taken time for a nap as well. She appeared fresh and carefully made up as she always did. It occurred to me that although I’d known her for over a decade, I really knew very little about her. She had been born in British Hong Kong, wasn’t married, didn’t have www.samhainpublishing.com 41
Josh Lanyon
children and was allergic to dairy. That was the entire extent of my knowledge. Well, and she was a good agent. Yet I felt I knew her well enough to be sure that her reaction to Peaches’ death was not that of a casual acquaintance.
When I tuned back in, Debbie had departed with our drink order, and Rachel was frowning into her laptop screen like a gypsy fortuneteller gazing into her crystal ball.
She muttered, “We’re seeing some success with these mystery hybrids. The chick-lit heroine is a close relation to the contemporary amateur sleuth, you know.”
“Their shoes are too tight, their credit cards are maxed out and all the men they know are jerks,” I replied. “Why wouldn’t they turn to murder?”
“Still…” She got that faraway look in her eyes. “We might be better off taking a completely fresh direction.”
I nodded encouragingly.
Speaking of completely fresh directions, Debbie returned then with our drinks. I gratefully slammed half of my G&T. Rachel took a ladylike sip of wine as Debbie recited our dining options. Rachel went for the herbed chicken filet and I opted for veal medallions. Debbie retreated once more and Rachel resumed clicking and scowling.
“Sexy demons, I believe you said.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Mmmm. Of course once something is openly recognized as hot, it’s already starting to chill. Let’s dig deeper.”
“Sure. Let’s mine for coal.” I ran my hands through my hair, which brought a frown to those tiny features so reminiscent of Japanese hina dolls.
“Christopher, petal, hair sticking on end is truly not a good look.”
“But very appropriate for this place.”
She ignored this. “Right. Let’s think back to the late eighties. Vampires, werewolves, sexy historicals—these were all huge then, and we’re seeing their resurgence now, so my instinct is we’re starting to cycle around once more. If we can anticipate what will recrudesce…” She typed away. “What else was selling well in the late eighties?”
I tore my thoughts away from her use of the word “recrudesce”. I mean, who talks like that in real life? “Spinster sleuths were very popular in the late eighties,” I said. “Maybe Miss Butterwith is due for a revival.”
“Oh, Christopher,” she muttered, not even bothering to answer that.
“Regency novels,” I said gloomily.
She flicked me a thoughtful look.
“The Regency is tricky right now. A number of houses have cut the Regency from their roster, but it’s been in decline for so long it might be due to—”
42
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Somebody Killed His Editor
“Recrudesce?” I suggested.
She was nodding thoughtfully to herself. “It’s not a bad notion. Time travel is still strong. But think Regency spec fiction. Space captains, vampires, werewolves, ghosts and witches have all been done.
What’s new?”
“Centaurs.”
“Christopher, do try to concentrate.”
“Centaurs are sexy,” I argued. “Or maybe satyrs.” Not that I personally have a thing for cloven hooves—or I’d have stayed with David—it was more to make a point.
Raucous laughter from the bar next door. The knots in my stomach pulled tighter still.
I drained my glass and leaned across the table towards her. “This is hopeless. Can’t we postpone even a few hours?”
“We were lucky to get this meeting.” I could tell Rachel instantly regretted the words.
I sat back as though she’d slapped me. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Steven Krass is a very busy man, that’s all.”
“He didn’t want to meet with me, did he?”
“Of
She looked better than she had earlier. She must have taken time for a nap as well. She appeared fresh and carefully made up as she always did. It occurred to me that although I’d known her for over a decade, I really knew very little about her. She had been born in British Hong Kong, wasn’t married, didn’t have www.samhainpublishing.com 41
Josh Lanyon
children and was allergic to dairy. That was the entire extent of my knowledge. Well, and she was a good agent. Yet I felt I knew her well enough to be sure that her reaction to Peaches’ death was not that of a casual acquaintance.
When I tuned back in, Debbie had departed with our drink order, and Rachel was frowning into her laptop screen like a gypsy fortuneteller gazing into her crystal ball.
She muttered, “We’re seeing some success with these mystery hybrids. The chick-lit heroine is a close relation to the contemporary amateur sleuth, you know.”
“Their shoes are too tight, their credit cards are maxed out and all the men they know are jerks,” I replied. “Why wouldn’t they turn to murder?”
“Still…” She got that faraway look in her eyes. “We might be better off taking a completely fresh direction.”
I nodded encouragingly.
Speaking of completely fresh directions, Debbie returned then with our drinks. I gratefully slammed half of my G&T. Rachel took a ladylike sip of wine as Debbie recited our dining options. Rachel went for the herbed chicken filet and I opted for veal medallions. Debbie retreated once more and Rachel resumed clicking and scowling.
“Sexy demons, I believe you said.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Mmmm. Of course once something is openly recognized as hot, it’s already starting to chill. Let’s dig deeper.”
“Sure. Let’s mine for coal.” I ran my hands through my hair, which brought a frown to those tiny features so reminiscent of Japanese hina dolls.
“Christopher, petal, hair sticking on end is truly not a good look.”
“But very appropriate for this place.”
She ignored this. “Right. Let’s think back to the late eighties. Vampires, werewolves, sexy historicals—these were all huge then, and we’re seeing their resurgence now, so my instinct is we’re starting to cycle around once more. If we can anticipate what will recrudesce…” She typed away. “What else was selling well in the late eighties?”
I tore my thoughts away from her use of the word “recrudesce”. I mean, who talks like that in real life? “Spinster sleuths were very popular in the late eighties,” I said. “Maybe Miss Butterwith is due for a revival.”
“Oh, Christopher,” she muttered, not even bothering to answer that.
“Regency novels,” I said gloomily.
She flicked me a thoughtful look.
“The Regency is tricky right now. A number of houses have cut the Regency from their roster, but it’s been in decline for so long it might be due to—”
42
www.samhainpublishing.com
Somebody Killed His Editor
“Recrudesce?” I suggested.
She was nodding thoughtfully to herself. “It’s not a bad notion. Time travel is still strong. But think Regency spec fiction. Space captains, vampires, werewolves, ghosts and witches have all been done.
What’s new?”
“Centaurs.”
“Christopher, do try to concentrate.”
“Centaurs are sexy,” I argued. “Or maybe satyrs.” Not that I personally have a thing for cloven hooves—or I’d have stayed with David—it was more to make a point.
Raucous laughter from the bar next door. The knots in my stomach pulled tighter still.
I drained my glass and leaned across the table towards her. “This is hopeless. Can’t we postpone even a few hours?”
“We were lucky to get this meeting.” I could tell Rachel instantly regretted the words.
I sat back as though she’d slapped me. “What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Steven Krass is a very busy man, that’s all.”
“He didn’t want to meet with me, did he?”
“Of
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