AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I know, I know. I’m working on it. Really! I just need a little more time to come up with the right story!” Nikki Gillette glanced up at the skylight where rain drizzled down the glass pane. The sky was gray and gloomy, the air thick with the storm, twilight hurrying across the city. Beneath the window to the sky, curled into a ball on the top of the day bed, her cat Jennings lay, eyes closed, tail twitching slightly as he slept.
At her desk, Nikki held the phone to her ear with one hand and fiddled with a pen with the other. The conversation was tense. Nearly heated. And for once, she knew she was at fault. Well, at least partially.
As her agent described why her latest book submission had been rejected by her publisher, Nikki glanced at her computer monitor, news stories streaming across the screen, another storm on its way inland.
“What was wrong with the idea about the Bay Bridge Strangler?” she asked, but, deep down, knew the answer.
“For one thing he’s in San Francisco.”
Nikki could imagine Ina rolling her expressive brown eyes over the tops of bifocals that were always perched on the tip of her nose. She’d be sitting in her tiny office, cup of coffee nearby, a second, forgotten one, maybe from the day before, propped on a pile of papers, pushed to one corner of her massive desk.
“The second thing is, you never met him. Since good old Bay Bridge is big news on the West Coast, I’ll bet a dozen stories are being written about him from that enclave of mystery writers they’ve got out there. You know, I probably already have a submission.”
“Okay, okay, but I sent you an idea about a story surrounding Father John in New Orleans.”
“Who knows what happened to that freak? Jesus, a killer dressing up as a priest! Gives me chills. Yeah, I know. He’s a better match, closer geographically and infinitely more interesting than Bay Bridge, but really, do you have a connection with him? An inside look?” There was a pause, a muffled “Tell him I’ll call him right back” on the other end of the line, then Ina was back, never missing a beat. “As near as I remember Father John’s disappeared, either moved on, or, more likely dead in some Louisiana swamp. Crocodile bait or something. No one knows and right now, not a lot of people care. He’s old news.”
“Wait a second. No one really knows what happened to Zodiac and he hasn’t killed in decades, but there’s still books being written about him. Movies.”
“Meh. From authors and producers without any new ideas. The reason your first two books did so well was because they were fresh, you were close to the investigation.”
“Too close,” Nikki said, shuddering inwardly when she remembered her up-close-and-personal experience with the Grave Robber.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. And I’m not advocating you ever becoming a victim again, trust me. But you know you have to write something to which you’re emotionally connected.”
“So you keep saying,” Nikki admitted as she looked around this little garret with its built-in bookshelves, easy chair and reading lamp to go along with her desk. A perfect writing studio, as long as she had a story to write.
“So here’s the deal,” Ina said, “The reason your first book worked so well, or at least in the publisher’s eyes, is your connection to the story, your involvement.”
“That might have been a once-in-a-lifetime thing,” Nikki admitted as she twisted her pen between her fingers and rolled her desk chair back.
“Let’s hope,” Ina said. “Look, no one expects you to be a victim again, oh, God, no, but, you know, you had a connection with the second book, too.
Therein lay the problem. She’d sold Coffin for Two, which was a true crime book about the killer she’d dubbed the Grave Robber, a psycho who had reigned terror on Savannah before targeting Nikki herself. She had no intention of coming that close to a psycho again—book deal or no book deal. Coffin for Two, in which she’d infused a little dark humor along with her own personal account of dealing with the madman, had sold thousands of copies and caught the eye of a producer for a cable network that was looking for particularly bizarre true crime stories; so the book was optioned, though not yet produced.
Her second book, Myth in Blood also had a personal hook as she had been close to that true crime story as it had unfolded. Working for the Savannah Sentinel, Nikki had pushed her way into the investigation, stepping on more than a few toes in the process and pissing off just about everyone in the crime department at the newspaper. That case, involving the rich and ill-fated Montgomery family, had enough grotesque elements to appeal to the public, so another best seller had been born.
So now Nikki was planning to write Book Three, but so far, no go.
“You know, there are dozens of true crime books out every month, but the reasons yours stood out was because of your personal involvement. Take a tip from Ann Rule; she knows what she’s doing. You’ve read The Stranger Beside Me. The reason that book is so damned chilling is because she knew Ted Bundy. She was there!”
“She seems to have done well with other books, where she didn’t know the killer.”
“I’m just sayin’ that we could use another Coffin for Two.”
“Or The Stranger Beside Me.”
“Yeah, I’d take that, too.” Nikki heard the smile in her agent’s voice.
“I bet.”
“You can come up with something. I know it.”
“Easy for you to say.” Standing, Nikki kicked out her desk chair and stretched her back. She’d been sitting for hours, working on a story for the paper and now, her spine gave off a few little pops. She needed to get out. To run. To get her blood pumping. For as much as she was arguing with Ina, Nikki knew her agent was right. She was itching to get to work on another project, couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into a new book about some grisly, high-profile murder.
Cell phone pressed to her ear, she walked to the window where she was lucky enough to have a view of Forsythe Park with its gorgeous fountain and display of live oak trees. From her vantage point above the third floor, she could watch people in the park and look over the trees to the rooftops of Savannah. She loved the view; it was one of the selling features that had convinced her to buy this old converted mansion with her advance from the three-book deal. She leased the two lower floors to renters and had kept the third and this newly converted office space for herself. She was in debt to her eyeballs.
“Look, Nikki, it’s getting to be crunch time. Maybe you should talk to Reed, see if he’ll let you help with an investigation.”
