"You're taking it on an outing?"
"Releasing it."
"I'll-I'll come with you."
Molly should have enjoyed seeing her sophisticated former editor so discomposed, but the mouse had discomposed her, too. With the cage held far from her body, she led the way outside and began winding through the back alleys of downtown Evanston toward the park by the lake. Helen, in her black suit and heels, wasn't dressed for either the heat or stumbling around potholes, but Molly hadn't invited her to come along, so she refused to take pity.
"I didn't know you'd moved," Helen called from behind. "Luckily, I ran into one of your neighbors, and he gave me your new address. C-couldn't you release it somewhere closer?"
"I don't want him to find his way back."
"Or use a more permanent trap?"
"Absolutely not."
Although it was a weekday, the park was filled with bicyclists, college students on Rollerblades, and children. Molly found a grassy area and set the cage down, then hesitantly reached for the latch. As soon as she sprang it, Mickey made his leap for freedom.
Straight toward Helen.
Her editor gave a strangled cry and leaped up on a picnic bench. Mickey disappeared into the shrubbery.
"Beastly things." Helen sagged down on the tabletop.
Molly was feeling a little wobbly-kneed, too, so she sat on the bench. Beyond the edge of the park, Lake Michigan stretched to the horizon. She gazed out and thought of a smaller lake with a cliff for diving.
Helen pulled a tissue from her purse and dabbed at her forehead. "There's just something about a mouse."
There were no mice in Nightingale Woods. Molly'd have to add one if she ever found a new publisher.
She gazed at her old editor. "If you've come here to threaten me with a lawsuit, you're not going to get much."
"Why would we want to sue our favorite author?" Helen pulled out the envelope that held Molly's check and set it on the bench. "I'm giving this back. And when you look inside, you'll see a second check for the remainder of your advance. Really, Molly, you should have told me how strongly you felt about the revisions. I'd never have asked you to make them."
Molly didn't even try to respond to that piece of Slytherin crapola. Nor did she pick up the envelope.
Helen's tone grew more effusive. "We're going to publish Daphne Takes a Tumble in its original version. I'm putting it on the winter schedule so we have time to line up promotion. We're planning an extensive marketing campaign, with full-page ads in all the big parenting magazines, and we're sending you on a book tour."
Molly wondered if the sun had gotten to her. "Daphne Takes a Tumble is already available on the Internet."
"We'd like you to remove it, but we'll leave the final decision up to you. Even if you decide to keep the Web site, we believe most parents will still want to buy the actual book to add to their children's collections."
Molly couldn't imagine how she'd been so magically transformed from a minor author to a major one. "I'm afraid you'll need to do better than this, Helen."
"We're prepared to renegotiate your contract. I'm sure you'll be pleased with the terms."
Molly had been asking for an explanation, not for more money, but she somehow got in touch with her inner tycoon. "You'll have to deal with my new agent about that."
"Of course."
Molly had no agent, new or old. Her career had been so small that she hadn't needed one, but something had definitely changed. "Tell me what's happened, Helen."
"It was the publicity. The new sales figures just came out two days ago. Between the press coverage of your marriage and the SKIFSA stories, your sales have soared."
"But I was married in February, and SKIFSA went after me in April. You're just noticing?"
"We spotted the first rise in March and another in April. But the numbers weren't all that significant until we got our end-of-the-month report for May. And the preliminary June figures are even better."
Molly decided it was a good thing she was sitting down, because her legs would never have held her. "But the publicity had died down. Why are the numbers shooting up now?"
"That's what we wanted to find out, so we've spent some time on the phones taking with booksellers. They're telling us that adults originally bought a Daphne book out of curiosity-either they'd heard about your marriage or they wanted to see what SKIFSA was so upset about. But once they took the book home, their kids fell in love with the characters, and now they're coming back to the stores and buying the whole series."
Molly was stunned. "I can't believe this."
"The kids are showing the books to their friends. We're hearing that even parents who've supported SKIFSA's other boycotts are buying the Daphne books."
"I'm having a hard time taking this in."
"I understand." Helen crossed her legs and smiled. "After all these years you're finally an overnight success. Congratulations, Molly."
Janice and Paul Hubert were the perfect couple to run a bed-and-breakfast. Mrs. Hubert's eggs were never cold, and none of her cookies burned on the bottom. Mr. Hubert actually enjoyed unstopping toilets and could talk to the guests for hours without getting bored. Kevin fired them after a week and a half.
"Need some help?"
He pulled his head out of the refrigerator and saw Lilly standing just inside the kitchen door. It was eleven at night, two weeks and one day since Molly had left. It was also four days since he'd fired the Huberts, and everything had turned to crap.
Training camp started in a couple of weeks, and he wasn't ready. He knew he should tell Lilly that he was glad she'd stayed to help out, but he hadn't gotten around to it, and it made him feel guilty. There'd been something sad about her ever since Liam Jenner had stopped showing up for breakfast. Once he'd even tried to mention it, but he'd been clumsy, and she'd pretended not to understand.
"I'm looking for rapid-rise yeast. Amy left a note that she might need some. What the hell is rapid-rise yeast?"
"I have no idea," she replied. "My baking is pretty much limited to box mixes."
"Yeah. Screw it." He shut the door.
"Missing the Huberts?"
"No. Only the way she cooked and the way he took care of everything."
"Ah." She gazed at him, amusement temporarily overriding her unhappiness.
"I didn't like how she treated the kids," he muttered. "And he was making Troy nuts. Who cares if the grass gets mowed clockwise or counterclockwise?"
"She didn't exactly ignore the kids. She just didn't pass out cookies to every scamp who showed up at the kitchen door like Molly did."
"That old witch shooed them off like they were cockroaches. And forget about taking a few minutes to tell the kids a story. Is that too much to ask? If a kid wants to hear a story, don't you think she could put down her damn Lysol bottle long enough to tell 'em a story?"
"I never heard any of the kids actually ask Mrs. Hubert to tell them a story."
"They sure as hell asked Molly!"
"True."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
Kevin opened the lid on the cookie jar, but closed it again when he remembered the ones inside were store bought. He reached into the refrigerator for a beer instead. "Her husband was even worse."
"When I heard him tell the kids not to play soccer on the Common because they were ruining the grass, I figured he might be doomed."
"Slytherin."
"The B &B guests did love the Huberts, though," she pointed out.
"That's because they don't have kids here like the cottage people do."
He offered her a beer, but she shook her head and got a water tumbler from the cupboard instead. "I'm glad the O'Brians are staying for another week," she said, "but I miss Cody and the Kramer girls. Still, the new kids are cute. I saw you bought more bikes."
"I forgot about the rug rats. We needed some Big Wheels."
"The older kids all seem to be enjoying the basketball hoop, and you did the right thing hiring a lifeguard."