Murder on the Orient Espresso(27)
Danny was nodding. ‘The protagonist of the last book I read – or tried to read, I should say – put a silencer on a revolver.’
Pavlik looked skyward. ‘See what I mean? That’s as bad as a having a revolver that ejects brass.’
‘Everybody knows that it’s semi-automatics not revolvers that eject casings.’
‘And, of course, that revolvers can’t be silenced.’
The two men – and I bestow that mantle of maturity loosely – cackled at the stupidity of it all.
‘I understand you’ve written a book,’ I said to Danny, trying to participate in the conversation. ‘What’s it about?’
‘I’m afraid it’s much too complicated to describe at a gathering like this,’ he said, dismissing me again.
‘Well, then it’s much “too complicated” to sell, as well.’ Zoe Scarlett slid onto the bench Audra Edmonds had abandoned after her introduction. ‘If you can’t describe your book, how do you expect publishers to categorize it and wholesalers and booksellers to display and sell it?’
‘Then I’ll publish it myself,’ Danny said. ‘Ebooks and on-demand publishing have changed the world for authors.’
‘You’re absolutely right,’ Zoe said. ‘But with something like a quarter of a million books being self-published a year, how is anyone going to find yours?’
‘Because I’m good.’ Danny’s face was sullen, like a five-year-old who’s been told he can’t have a cookie before dinner.
‘Yeah, you and two-hundred and forty-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine other authors who think the same thing.’
Disheartening words, I thought, from someone whose own conference was dedicated toward teaching people to write and, presumably, get published.
‘But there obviously are success stories,’ I pointed out. ‘I’ve seen books on the New York Times bestsellers list that are obviously self-published. The authors’ names and the publishers’ names are the same.’
‘Sure, it can happen,’ Zoe said. ‘But lightning has to strike. Even today, with all this opportunity, books become bestsellers the same way they always have. One person likes a book and tells somebody else. The only thing that has changed is the medium used to have the conversation.’
Pavlik grinned. ‘Zoe does a panel on changes in the publishing industry.’
‘And another thing,’ she continued her rant. ‘Even if you self-publish, you need to come up with a pithy hook. One sentence that sells your book in the time it takes us to scroll on by. What’s yours?’ She stabbed a finger at Danny.
The boy’s eyes widened. ‘Well, I—’
‘That’s what you’ll learn this weekend,’ Zoe finished triumphantly. ‘Now, go do your homework.’
‘You’ve got a tough-love approach to promoting your conference,’ I said, watching Danny slink, chastened, toward the passenger car.
‘Can’t coddle these writers.’ Her head was swiveling like a lighthouse beacon. ‘If you want something, you have to go out and get it.’
Which, of course, raised the question of what something – or somebody – she wanted.
I slid my hand off the table and onto Pavlik’s thigh slowly, so Zoe would notice.
He glanced at me before asking, ‘Umm, are you looking for somebody, Zoe?
‘Larry,’ she said. ‘I told him I was going to introduce our players.’
Which was most likely why the man had disappeared.
‘The last I saw of Potter was when he got up and stepped back to let you out,’ Pavlik said, laying his hand on top of mine. ‘He didn’t pass us to go forward to the club car, so he must have headed toward the back of the train.’
‘Well, we’d better find him before Missy’s “program” starts. Thank God Markus can be counted on to drone on and on.’
The librarian was still at the intercom, presenting his talk.
‘Larry’s probably in the bathroom,’ I suggested. ‘Has Audra seen him?’
‘No,’ Zoe said. ‘And he’s been gone for half an hour.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe he took his magazine in there with him. He’s obviously quite the reader.’
‘Huh.’ Zoe seemed to be thinking it over. ‘Perhaps I should go tap on the door.’
Pavlik watched her leave. ‘Was that a thinly-veiled knock on male bathroom habits?’
‘Hey,’ I said, smiling, ‘if the stool fits.’
Pavlik laughed and raised my hand to kiss the palm. ‘You’re one twisted woman, Maggy Thorsen.’