Pepper, the Highlander & the Dead Guy

Ian shook Burke’s hand for the second time that day.

“Just so you know,” Burke said as their hands fell away. “Pepper refused to date me in high school and afterwards, but I’ve never given up trying.” He grinned. “And I never will. As far as lunch—it was a non-date and she paid more than her share. It was the only way I could get her to meet me to find out information she already knew, but then she’s always been one step ahead of everyone. Talk with you soon, Pepper,” he said and with a playful salute walked to his car.

“Do I dare hope I can convince you to join the crew and Amy for at least one drink,” Ian asked.

I shook my head. There was no way I was going back in there. I’d had enough drama for one day, actually all week. “I really have to get home and work.”

“Aye then, I’ll see you later?” he asked with please-don’t-say-no smile.

“I’m looking forward to the movie,” I said when I really meant I’m looking forward to spending time with you.

“You get to choose the next one.”

“Hitchcock, The Birds,” I said.

He pressed his hand to his chest. “You’re stealing my heart, lass. I love that film.”

Okay, so he was stealing my heart too. I mean what was there not to like about him? He was checking off all the boxes and then some. Still, I intended to be cautious. After all, he was on the suspect list for murder.

As I pulled in my driveway, my cell started ringing for the fifth time. I had one of those things that held your cell phone attached to the dashboard, since my truck was an older make and didn’t have Bluetooth. I had ignored the other calls from my brothers and two from my dad. I wasn’t in the mood to be questioned like a suspect.

This time, though, it was my agent, Sylvia Rubin from the Rubin Literary Agency, a name to be reckoned with in the publishing world. She usually contacted me by e-mail so when she called, I always knew it was important.

I hit speaker to answer as I neared the house. “Hi, Sylvia.”

“Where are you? Are you on speaker?”

I got used to Sylvia always sounding like she was demanding something. It was just her way.

“I’m in the truck just pulling up to my house.”

“What are you doing still driving that old thing? Didn’t you buy that SUV I told you to get—I can’t recall the name, but I’ll have Eve send you the info on it—with all the new technology and thingamajigs?”

Eve was her harried assistant and when I first met her, I felt sorry for the thin-as-a-rail woman until I saw that she gave as good as she got from Sylvia. The pair were a perfect match and longtime friends.

“Like I told you, Sylvia, a prepper wouldn’t be driving that type of vehicle, but to appease my dad who thinks like you, I bought an SUV. It sits in my garage.” Before she could question me anymore, I asked, “What’s up, Sylvia?”

“Plenty. You’ve been invited to speak at six prepper conferences, and you know how your publisher loves that. They’re ready and eager to supply your books to be sold there. Eve will email you the particulars and you can decide which ones you want to accept but pick at least four. And remember that series of prepper journals you talked to me about? I floated it by your editor and he’s really interested. You need to get me a proposal ASAP. And advertising wants a new photo of you. I’ll have Eve book a photo shoot here in the city and you can come in for the day and stay over at my place.”

That meant she would have a small cocktail party with a few choice friends in the publishing world for me to schmooze with. Not my thing.

“I think I have someone here who could handle that,” I said.

“Professional photographer, dear, professional. The kind that makes you look even better than you do.”

“I think these guys could handle it.” I chuckled, thinking of Ian and his crew.

“Guys?”

“Do you know Ian Macgreg—”

“Ian Macgregor that drop-dead gorgeous cover model who went off on his own and is now in more demand than ever? What does he have to do with this?”

“He’s my new neighbor, and friend, and he has everything needed to make me look better than I do.”

“He has no agent from what I heard, maybe I’ll come visit you and—”

“He’s not looking for an agent.”

“That never stopped me, sweetie.”

I recalled the big modeling deal Ian was contemplating and I knew the Rubin Literary Agency dealt strictly with publishing. But Rubin Agency Inc. dealt with all other types of representation.

“I’ll tell Ian about you and if he wants to talk, I’ll let you know and you can call him.”