Envy Mass Market

“I gotta warn you, it’s different from what you’re used to. Folks like you—”

“Folks like me?”

“—usually vacation on the more developed islands. Hilton Head. St. Simons. Amelia.”

“This isn’t a vacation trip.”

“No?”

“I’m coming to talk to you.”

“We’ve talked.”

“Not face-to-face.”

“What’ve we got to talk about? The flora and fauna of Georgia’s sea islands?”

“Your book.”

“I’ve already told you that my book isn’t for sale.”

“You also told me that there is no book. Which is it?” She had trapped him. His stony silence indicated that he knew it. “I’ll be arriving tomorrow evening.”

“It’s your money.”

“Could you recommend a—” She was talking to a dead line. He’d hung up on her. Stubbornly she dialed him back.

“Yeah?”

“I was asking if you could recommend a hotel in Savannah?”

When he hung up on her again, Maris laughed. As her father had said, he was protesting too loudly and too much. Little did Mr. P.M.E. know that the more he balked, the more determined she became.

She had just slid her suitcase from beneath the bed to begin packing when the telephone rang. She expected it to be the author. He’d probably invented some very good reasons why it was inconvenient or impossible for him to see her when she arrived tomorrow.

Bracing herself for a barrage of excuses, she answered with a cheerful, “Hello.” To her surprise, a man with a broad Brooklyn accent asked to speak with Noah. “I’m sorry, he isn’t here.”

“Well, I gotta know what to do with this key.”

“Key?”

“We don’t make house calls after hours, ya know. Only, see, Mr. Reed give me twenty extra bucks to get it here tonight. You his ol’ lady?”

“Are you sure you have the right Noah Reed?”

“Deals with books or something?”

“Yes, that’s my husband.”

“Well, he give me this address in Chelsea, said—”

“What address?”

He recited an address on West Twenty-second. “Apartment three B. He axed me to change out the lock yesterday, on account of he’d already moved some stuff in there and didn’t want old keys floating ’round, ya know? Only I didn’t bring an extra key yesterday, and he said he needed at least one extra. So I tole him he’d have it tonight.

“I’m here with the key, but the super’s out for the evening. There’s a note on his door, says call, but a call ain’t gonna help me, is it? I don’t trust leaving a key to Mr. Reed’s apartment with the neighbors. You never know about people, am I right?”

“What kind of stuff?”