Bell, Book, and Scandal

Mystery.“
    Felicity grinned. “You promise?“
    “Girl Scout’s honor,“ Jane said, raising her hand.
    Their discussion was suddenly cut short when a couple came through the door of the restaurant. It was the country-western pair Jane and Shelley had seen entering the hotel. The woman looked around and shouted a sort of yodeling greeting of “Yippee! I reckon y’all are the mystery writers,“ she said, raising her hefty arms as if embracing the whole room. Her turquoise and silver jewelry jangled.
    Heads turned with annoyance.
    “I’m Vernetta Strausmann, and this is my everlovin’ hubby, Gaylord. Pleased to meetcha, y’all.“
    She glanced around the room and spotted Felicity and screeched, “Omigod! It’s Felicity Roane! You’re my favorite author!“
    Dragging along Gaylord, who looked both proud and embarrassed, she galloped over to their table. She all but jerked the chair out from under Jane.
    “Here, honey, let me grab this chair. You set yourself down over in that one. I gotta hug my favorite writing gal.“
    Jane grabbed the bottom of her chair and held her ground. Felicity had her arms extended, palms out, to stave off the hug. She was blushing at being singled out so outrageously in public.
    “I’m sorry, but I’m having a chat with friends. Maybe we could meet later,“ Felicity said coldly.
    “Pretty wimpy friends, it looks like,“ Vernetta said, her expression turning mean, her eyes going piggy, and her already strident voice becoming even louder.
    “They’re my friends and you aren’t,“ Felicity said firmly.
    “Who’da thought you were such a bitch!“ Vernetta screamed, looking around the restaurant to make sure everyone was listening. “You’re just jealous of me because I’m gonna make a lot more money than you’ll ever see. C’mon, Gaylord.“
    She stomped out. Gaylord leaned toward the table and said, “Miss Roane, I’m surely sorry ‘bout this. She don’t always mean what she says. It’s what she says is ‘artistic privilege.’ “
    Felicity was obviously having trouble suppressing tears of rage.
    “What a terrible woman,“ she said in a shaking voice.
     

Six
     
    Somebody in the restaurant clapped a couple of times, and most of the other patrons joined in. “You go, girl!“ one woman said, raising a fist to Felicity and grinning.
    Felicity relaxed a little and waved back. “I need another jolt of coffee,“ she said under her breath.
    “Why don’t you come up to our room for it,“ Shelley asked. “There’s anything there you’d like to drink.“
    “Let me take care of the bill first,“ Felicity said.
    “No, you won’t. Not after you told us so many interesting things,“ Jane said. “We’ll take care of yours.“
    “Nope,“ Felicity insisted. “My cost is tax-deductible.“
    She hailed a waiter to pick up the bill, and during the slight delay, several of the other diners came over and asked who that awful woman was. Or who Felicity was. Several who weren’t even attending the conference had heard of her and asked if her books were for sale and could they catch her later to have them signed.
    As Felicity scrawled her real name on the credit card slip and put the card back in her purse, she said to Jane and Shelley, “Who’d have thought that scene would have paid off so well?“
    They strolled through the lobby and looked over the registration booth, which was just opening up for business. They each were given a canvas bag full of goodies, including a complete booklet giving the times and rooms where each session would be held and extensive bios of the speakers; free books by writers who were attending; pens with authors’ web sites; bookmarks with lists of the author’s books; and even a tiny pink-and-white box of peppermints from one writer. Jane and Shelley studied the booklet. It was much more complete than any of the materials they had received earlier.
    “Jane!“ Shelley exclaimed, “turn to page four. It’s a picture of Mel.“
    “Good grief. He didn’t tell me he was a speaker. How sneaky,“ Jane said.
    “Who is Mel?“ Felicity asked.
    “Jane’s honey,“ Shelley said.
    “Damned good-looking man,“ Felicity said.
    Jane flipped to a page at the back and said, “Wow! There are agents and editors here that you can see and talk to privately for fifteen minutes,“ Jane said. “I had no idea. Which would be a good one, Felicity?“
    “Let’s take it up with us and look it over,“ Felicity responded.
    Felicity