Joani had one record for soliciting three years earlier. He wasn't surprised bui didn't think she had the strength or motive for killing anyone, letalone an actor she had probably never met until the first rehearsal.
The rest of the cast and crew were exactly who they said they were. No criminal records. Only a few parking violations and speeding tickets.
Imry himself was still his prime suspect. Growing up in a small town in the back of beyond with a minister father must have been horrible for him. He obviously craved fame and fortune in the arts, even though his lack of talent and unpleasant personality seemed to doom him to failure.
Even Sven and Hilda Turner were more interesting than Imry was.
At this point, Mel was becoming slightly discouraged. Gathering fingerprints, background information, and scraps of possible evidence was slow and tedious, and ninety-nine percent of it wasn't relevant. It wasn't all that unusual for a case to proceed slowly unless the criminal was stupid or caught red-handed committing the crime.
Often there was simply too much information to absorb at once and make connections. Census reports, title searches, and examinations of property taxes were often farmed out to professionals in those fields. Then there were transcripts of all the interviews that had been conducted by other officers.
Like most experienced detectives, Mel had his own way of working through the masses of paperwork and figuring out problems. First, he read
through all the reports again and again. Items found at the scene of the crime, information revealed in background checks, questions asked, and the answers given.
He made notes in the margins of anything he found remotely interesting. Most important and time-consuming, but most valuable, was the process of reinterviewing people other officers had interviewed and asking different questions. Quite often unexpected questions triggered more memories. Often people who had been interviewed later thought of something they saw or knew that seemed too trivial to bother reporting. Most of the interviews his subordinates had conducted didn't include a vital question: Had you ever met Dennis Roth before this play was cast?
Jane received a long-distance call that afternoon. It was from a 212 area code, and her heart skipped a beat.
"This is Melody Johnson. Have I reached Jane Jeffry?"
"This is she."
"I have good news. Please pardon the slight delay. I've passed copies of your book to a few of the marketing people, just to show them why I'm so eager to buy it. They loved it as much as I do."
Jane was speechless for a moment.
"Are you there?"
"Yes. It's just such a wonderful surprise that ittook my breath away for a second. Do you want changes?"
"That's your first question?" Melody said with a laugh. "No."
"So where do we go from here?" Jane asked. "You realize this is my first book sale."
"I'd like to work out the details of the contract with an agent. Do you have one yet?"
"No, I don't."
"I dislike dealing with a first-book author who doesn't know the ropes and might suspect she's not getting what she deserves. Would you like me to suggest some agents?"
"Could you wait a day for me to ask Felicity Roane about this? She's the one who encouraged me so strongly to submit it to you."
"That's a good idea. Then we can compare our lists. Congratulations, Jane. You're going to be published. I know how important this is, especially the first time. Get back to me as soon as you can find Felicity. Here's my telephone number."
Jane knew it was on her caller ID, but she was afraid she'd push the wrong button on the phone and lose it. She wrote it down on the back of her grocery list.
After dancing around the house, singing, "I've sold a book, lucky me," she transferred Melody's number to her address book in case she lost the shopping list.
Now the big question was who to tell first.
Shelley? Shelley would be the most thrilled. But maybe she should tell Mel first. Or her kids. But none of them were home. Finally she decided the first call should be to Felicity Roane. Felicity had given Jane her card with her real name and home and cell phone numbers written on the back. Jane had that in her address book as well. Felicity might be hard to run down.
Fortunately, Felicity was at home. Jane introduced herself and Felicity said, "You've sold your book, I'll bet."
"I have. Melody Johnson wants to buy it. She also wants to deal with the contract through an agent."
"Of course she would. It's best for her, and also for you, to do it that way."
"She told me she had three suggestions. I told her I wanted your suggestions as well before we decided."
"Did she agree?" Felicity asked.
"She did."
"Okay, do you have paper and a pen handy?" "Yes, go ahead."
Felicity listed three good mystery agents who were heads of their own agencies. One was her own. Then she went on to list five agents Jane should not, under any circumstances, contact.
Jane thanked her effusively and said she'd let her know which one she picked to be her agent — if any of them wanted her.
She called Melody Johnson back. "I've talked to Felicity already. These are the names she gave me." She read them out.
Melody laughed. "Exactly my list. I'll try Felicity's agent first since Felicity is so happy with her. Thanks for being so prompt. If you want to look the agent up, her name is Annie Silverstone, and you can go to her website." She spelled out the letters slowly so Jane could write it down exactly.
The next call was to Shelley. "Guess what?"
"You sold your book! I could tell from the way you screamed the words."
"I have," Jane said in a slightly calmer voice, then told Shelley about Melody Johnson wanting Jane to work with an agent on the contract terms. She added that she'd called Felicity and that Felicity had suggested the same names Melody did.
"I'm hanging up to come over and hug you to death," Shelley said. And she very nearly did.
"I still have to tell Mel."
"And your kids."
"None of them are home right now. Shelley, I know this is sort of stupid, but I don't want anyone else besides Mel and the kids to know about this."
"Why?"
"I'll tell the earth when it's actually a book. Not a manuscript. I'm afraid of jinxing it by blabbing too soon."
"Jane, how can you swear me to secrecy about
something this important? I want to brag on my best friend. I'm so proud of you!"
"Then you can tell your family, but no one else, okay?"
"Everyone in my family and Paul's? That's quite a few people."
"Most of whom won't be the least interested," Jane said with a smile.
"What about the needlepoint group?" Shelley was like a dog with an especially tasty bone.
"Only Tazz and Ms. Bunting, please. And we'll tell them at the theater."
"All right. I'll go home so you can tell Mel privately," Shelley said.
Mel, still deep in paperwork, answered his office phone briskly. "What's up, Janey? I'm really busy."
"Not too busy for good news?"
"I guess not," he said, still rustling through papers.
"I've sold my book. Well, sort of sold it. I need an agent to negotiate the contract."
She heard the thud of a big pile of paper. "Way to go! That's wonderful. I've always known you'd do it."
"If you knew that, I sure didn't."
"I'm working right now. But I'm leaving early. Dig up your fanciest clothes and we'll have that fabulous, expensive dinner tonight."
"I can't do it early. I need to tell the kids whenthey all come home. And then I have to be at the theater, tasting things."