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?He wasn’t at all the traditional hunk you see on the cover of a romance novel, but then, who is? He was average height, so I had a good three inches on him. He had a full head of brown hair that was gray in the temples and he had strong features, but more than that, he looked kind.
?With a start I realized it was Mark Watkins.
?I looked him over again, pleased with what I saw. He was a little chubbier than the last photo I had seen of him, but it made his features fill out nicely. I also thought he would be taller. I’m five-ten, and it is a real turn-on to meet a man I can look eye-to-eye.
?But he had an energy around him that pulled my attention. Which was not bad, not bad at all.
?As my escalator reached the top, I decided I would go over and introduce myself. I liked his books, and if Gloria was right, he enjoyed mine. Maybe I could get him to write a “pull quote” on my next Holmes book. That would be good as well.
?Just as I made up my mind to do so, I noted he was talking to Charles Nederlander, who started to walk away. I hesitated when I saw that Charles was replaced by Jon Kane and the bane of my existence, Candy Poole.
?I decided it would be better to approach when he wasn’t surrounded by my foes, and I moved into the crowd and looked away, though I am sure Candy saw me. After all, I was a head higher than almost everyone who was in that room.
?I slouched to blend into the crowd better, and moved to the elevators on the far side of the convention lobby, so I could observe.
?Watkins talked to Jon and Candy, and Candy kept doing little possessive things as they spoke—touching Mark’s arm and moving into his personal space. What was she playing at? Had I ever mentioned I found Mark Watkins attractive in front of Candy? I don’t think so. In fact, I didn’t know I found him attractive until I actually laid eyes on him.
?Just then Winsley Cunningham arrived, and I was glad I’d moved to a safe distance. The last thing I needed was to hear her complaints about Randall. I had enough of my own. Finally, Winsley and Jon moved off, and Candy gave Mark a card and drew close to whisper in his ear as he began to turn red.
?I’d had enough.
?Mark apparently was another stupid man who thought with his sex organ instead of his brain, and Candy was working her wiles so that he would follow her around like a love-struck puppy. Really, I had hoped the famed Mark Watkins would be a higher form of life, but who was I kidding?
?I decided I’d best unpack and get ready for my jog from panel to panel.
? I reached the bank of elevators just as a voice called out, “Well, there is one red-hot redhead.”
?I turned with disgust to see a familiar face approach. Allen Alexander, or as I called him, “the man with two first names.” He wore a green and gold tweed suit that looked as if he’d mugged a clown. With his greasy hair parted in the middle and slicked back, as well as his pointed features, he was a walking caricature.
?I sighed. “Hello, Allen.”
?“Looking good, Sheryl. Have you been working out?” He drew close. He was my height, but in this case, it was not appealing.
?I gritted my teeth. “Yes, so I could punch out creeps who bother me with lame lines.”
?He stepped back and held up his hands. “Whoa, Sheryl, take it easy. I was just giving you a compliment.”
?“Which is only a little less creepy than any other suggestions you’ve made over the past few years. What do you want, Allen?”
?He moved in close again, as if wanting to impart a secret, or perhaps to peek at my bosom from a better angle. “Did you hear Mark Watkins is the speaker tonight?”
?I sighed and wanted to step back so he wasn’t in my personal space, but it only doubled my anger that I even had to, so I stood my ground. “Yes, I know. I also know that you think he ripped you off.”
?“Yeah? Well, Death In The Borley Rectory is a complete copy of my book, A Crime Of Passion. It follows my plot line completely.”
?I shook my head. “Borley Rectory takes place in a different year than yours, and it takes place—oh that’s right—at a rectory. Meanwhile, your book took place at Buckingham Palace.”
?“You can’t convince me otherwise,” Allen ranted. “I could understand that one, but when he stole my notes—”
?I exhaled heavily, as I fought the desire to clock this lunkhead. “How could he have stolen your notes?”
?“All I know is he comes out with The Case Of The Casual Crook, which was my story completely.”
?“Allen, seek help. You are insane, do you know that? Insane.”
?“Maybe I am, but I noticed he stopped writing Holmes books the same time I did. Coincidence?”
?I looked at the floor and wondered if I was ever going to get away from this creep. “Look, Allen. You had one Holmes book that was published—”
