The Return of Betty Snickerdoodle Read online

  Another sickening realization was sinking in: Aseem was the key to Cash’s entire score. Aseem’s download site, and all the social media to quickly promote it — these were the tools required for the big payday. If Aseem couldn’t finish his work, no buckets of cash for Cash. But Cash worried that if Aseem knew too much too soon, he could become a major liability. He wasn’t sure that he could trust Aseem — but it was becoming clearer that he had to.

  “I know you know how important it is to keep this under wraps, right?” Cash said. “Keeping it completely secret until we’re ready, that’s how we’ll get the major feeding frenzy when we launch. Agreed?” Aseem nodded, and Cash searched his face for evidence of mistrust. “I’m glad we can count on each other,” Cash said, hoping his words solidified their understanding. “The author,” Cash whispered, leaning uncomfortably close to Aseem, “is Betty Snickerdoodle.”

  Aseem sat back and tried his best to keep a neutral face, but felt his brow furrowing. Betty Snickerdoodle? The sweet lady who wrote all those mushy holiday books? No, he thought. No way. She couldn’t possibly have written that crude story he’d scanned for Cash. But Aseem didn’t say anything, just covered his mouth with his hand, hoping Cash wouldn’t pick up that he was thinking anything at all.

  “Something bothering you, Aseem?” demanded Cash, leaning back.

  “No, sorry, I’m just trying to remember how I know that name. I feel like I’ve heard it before. I guess she really is famous.”

  “I doubt you’ve read her books. Of course, I haven’t, either. Guys like us, we’ve got better things to do, right?” Cash hissed. “I mean, I know everyone’s heard of her, but nobody I know reads her damn books. Like that guy who wrote that book about Da Vinci’s code, or that chick who got divorced, traveled around whining, and now is on every talk show. Elizabeth something, you know who I mean, don’t you? Anyway, it’s not like you have to read books to sell them. And believe me, Betty sells. Can’t imagine who reads her silly crapola, probably just a bunch of silly women. All I care about is that she sells it by the fucking shitload. And we’re gonna sell a ton more – I mean, we’re gonna help her sell a ton more.”

  Aseem felt uneasy. Cash’s blustering made him wonder if the guy was even a real publisher. Aseem didn’t know much about books, but one thing he did know was that most people who worked in publishing seemed to adore them. It wasn’t usually a get-rich-quick kind of thing, Aseem thought; books were a labor of love. Sure, some authors hit it big, like Angela’s client – but even that took years and years of work.

  Aseem was even more confused about Betty Snickerdoodle. He vaguely remembered an interview with a gentle author on television who talked about her sweet Christmas stories and the wholesome characters who inhabited them. He thought for sure that author had been Betty Snickerdoodle. But surely that woman couldn’t have written the profane story he’d scanned for Cash – the one he was about to help Cash sell.

  Something just wasn’t right with all of this. He couldn’t let on to Cash that he felt that way, though. The guy was volatile – and who knows how the he got his hands on that manuscript in the first place. It wasn’t like he’d done a lot of work for Cash. The project had been simple so far, but he still needed to get paid for his time. His rent wasn’t going to pay itself. He had to manage Cash, and the situation, carefully.

  “You’re right, I’m sure,” Aseem said. “So I’ll get started on a domain – any ideas? I’ll prep the first chapter as a download, too, unless you think we should do something different?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Cash said. He seemed to relax a little, his focus returning to their big score. “Let me know as soon as you’ve got a download page up. How fast can you do it? Can it be done by Monday? I’ve got something else cooking that will knock this thing out of the park: We’re gonna get Betty on TV. Her return is gonna be a media event. And I’ve already leaked a teaser to prime the pump.”

  Hmmm, thought Aseem. Betty on television? Shilling for Cash? Maybe he’d remembered Betty wrong; maybe she wasn’t the modest, kindly lady he’d seen before. He’d have to dig into it a bit more, he thought, but now was not the time – and nor was it the place, with Cash sitting right across from him.

  “I’m on it. Now let me get back to work,” he reassured Cash. Then he briskly packed up his laptop and headed out of the café.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Bea? Are you here?” Angela called out, letting herself into the back door of Bea’s house. The house was oddly still. Once inside, Angela found no sign of Bea. She set her paper bags – filled with the requisite breakfast sandwiches and iced coffees – on the kitchen counter, and called Bea’s name again. Bea wouldn’t miss one of their appointments. Bea rarely left the house for any reason, but Angela was especially sure Bea wouldn’t miss their session today. They were too close to done with the new Treacle Town. The only explanation was the one that Angela dreaded: Bea hadn’t made it back from the City the day before.

  Fear and guilt washed over Angela. Those calls she missed yesterday had to have been Bea – and now what if Bea was stranded somewhere, with no phone and no way home? It was all her fault. Even if Bea was okay – God, she had to be okay, right? – Angela wondered if Bea could forgive her for marooning her like that.

  Angela sat down at the desk. Head in hands, she tried to calm herself and figure out what, if anything, she should do. Should she call the police and report Bea missing? (But what if Bea wasn’t missing — calling the police would make her so mad!) Should she head back to the City and try to retrace Bea’s steps? Should she just wait a bit – work on the book, hope Bea showed up soon? She reminded herself that Bea was the most resourceful person she knew. Surely she’d have tried to call me again if she’d actually been stranded, wouldn’t she? And besides, no one would want to hurt Bea, right?

  Then Angela thought of how she and Bea had found the house turned upside down – and how Bea had bought that gun. Bea hinted she knew that intruder, but she still hadn’t explained how — or what the intruder was after. Whoever the intruder was, he couldn’t have known Bea would be in San Francisco, could he?

  Angela tried to shake off panic, but it wasn’t working.

  She half-heartedly picked up a stack of pages from the desk, hoping to distract herself. Bea had printed off the next several chapters for Angela to review. Maybe she should just try to get a jump on the work. Bea would eventually walk through that door, and wouldn’t she’d be happier if Angela had done the edits? She grabbed her red pen and tried to focus.

  This new book was good, she thought, digging in. Really good. Not that sweet Christmas romances like Betty’s were even Angela’s normal cup of tea. Angela was more of a procedural mystery kind of gal. But Bea had such a way with a story. You couldn’t help caring about what happened to the denizens of her imaginary holiday hamlet. Within just a few sentences of a Treacle Town book, even the most cynical reader would be transported to Betty’s charming world. Bea could dream up just the right mix of obstacles to keep love at bay (until just before The End, of course). There were disappointments, sometimes, but they were short-lived. And the Christmases that crowned each story were warmer and truer than the most sentimental yuletide card.

  As usual, barely any edits were needed. Once Bea got going, the story just flowed. And her typing and grammar were impeccable, too. Angela had to smile. Bea couldn’t keep “Bookface” and “Chatter” straight. But when she was describing the world she created, she didn’t miss a detail. Her spelling was nearly impeccable, too.

  Angela had stood up to grab another chapter off the desk and turn on a light – the sun was setting – when the phone rang. Thinking — hoping — it might be Bea calling for her, she hurried into Bea’s bedroom to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m looking for Bea Sickles,” a gruff woman’s voice said.

  “She’s not here,” Angela replied. “I’ll be happy to take a message for her. Can I have your name?”

  “I�
��m not sure she’ll remember my name,” the caller waffled. “My name’s Pat – she and I met yesterday, at Charlie Carter’s office. I’m the private detective in the office next door. I’m … I’m actually calling to apologize … I kind of kicked her out of the office.”

  “So that’s why I couldn’t reach her when I called back! Oh my word! Why would you kick her out? She’s Charlie’s most important client!”

  “I didn’t realize who she was,” Pat squirmed. “She just seemed like a crazy old lady to me. So nervy – who just walks into a closed office like that? You have to admit, she’s a little tough. She sure doesn’t fit the image of a homey romance writer, am I right? Charlie told me to keep an eye on the place. I just reacted.”

  “Wow. Bea’s independent and strong and a little different,” Angela said, emotionally. “So in your mind, that makes her a criminal? And she’s the furthest thing from crazy!”

  “I know, I know now, and I’m sorry,” said Pat. “Charlie called me and set me straight. Like I said, I’m sorry.”

  “Well, you should be very sorry,” said Angela. “Bea never made her way back from Charlie’s office yesterday. I think she tried to call me while I was on another call. When I tried to call back, the phone just rang and rang.”

  “Oh no,” said Pat. “I think … I think she might have been calling you when I kicked her out. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to answer Charlie’s phone after she left. It’s been ringing a lot lately.”

  Angela’s attitude softened. She had to accept her own share of the blame. She wouldn’t have missed Bea’s call if she hadn’t wanted to flirt with Aseem – and she wouldn’t have lost track of time if she hadn’t stubbornly insisted she could do all the marketing while also writing a big chunk of the book. She could have gone to Charlie’s office to look for Bea, instead of focusing on work and assuming Bea would find a way to call her later.

  “Let’s just figure out what to do,” Angela said. “Bea gets out of all kinds of jams, but if she’s stranded, I’m not sure how she’ll get out of this one. I mean, she’s really resourceful, but she refuses to carry a cell phone or even a purse. We had a meeting scheduled this morning, and she missed it — and that’s not like her.”

  “I’m a little nervous too – and I don’t get nervous easy,” Pat admitted. “The main reason I threw Bea out is someone else broke into Charlie’s office last week – they even rifled through Bea’s file. At first, I thought she might be involved. Now I’m wondering if she could be a target.”

  “The good news is you’re a detective,” Angela said, perking up. “You must be good at finding missing people, right?”

  “That’s what detectives in books do. I mostly mine the internet. I’ve never been involved in a break-in or a missing person case. I’m usually tracking down hidden bank accounts and following fake social media profiles. I don’t know how much help I can be.”

  “Speaking of missing people, the whole reason Bea went to Charlie’s office was to track him down. She’s been calling him and he hasn’t called back.”

  “He’s traveling – on a Mediterranean cruise with his son. He’s been calling me every few days to check in. That’s the other reason I called. Charlie wanted Bea to know his son has been with him — and not in San Francisco.”

  “I guess that explains why he hasn’t returned Bea’s call. When will he be back?”

  “They’re scheduled to return in another week or so.”

  “I’ll tell Bea … once we find her,” Angela said, anxiety creeping back into her voice. “Have you got any idea where she went after you kicked her out of the office?”

  “I know she went down the elevator. After that … I just don’t know. If she had money or a credit card, it’s easy enough to get a taxi or hotel in our neighborhood. Could she have done something like that?”

  “Doesn’t sound like Bea. For one thing, like I said, no purse, so who knows whether she had any cash or a credit card. But I’ll check with the hotels near Charlie’s office – at least that’s something to try. Let’s stay in touch, okay?” Angela said. “Here’s my cell. Can you give me yours?”

  Angela replaced the old phone in its cradle with a sigh and walked back into the office. Pessimistically, she decided to start calling hotels. Could Bea have gotten a room somehow, with no cash and no credit cards? If anyone could do it, she supposed, Bea could.

  Two hours later, after she’d checked every hotel in the area, Angela was out of ideas. She went into Bea’s bedroom and curled up on Bea’s double bed. She gave in to fear and guilt and sadness. Big, salty tears moistened Bea’s pillow and the soft, antique quilt. Eventually, tears gave way to a fitful sleep. Angela tossed and turned for hours, until the bright wine country sun finally peeked through the curtain the next morning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Cash glanced at the buzzing phone beside the computer, irritated by the interruption. He didn’t recognize the number. I should just ignore it, he thought. It was late. He didn’t get a lot of calls at that hour; in fact, he didn’t get many calls at all. But the number wasn’t just unfamiliar, it was odd: it looked like it might even have been international. Curiosity got the better of him. He clicked on his wireless earpiece to answer it.

  “Hello?”

  “Good thing you answered, Cash. If you hadn’t, I’d have called the cops next. I’ve got about five minutes for this call, and that better be enough time for you to explain exactly what the hell you’ve been up to.”

  Cash paused. The voice was familiar, but it took him a second to place it; the connection was staticky, and there was a slight delay.

  “Nice to hear from you, Chase,” Cash stammered. “To what do I owe …”

  “Save it, Cash, you know why I’m calling,” Chase replied. “My dad just got off the phone with his office neighbor. Imagine his shock to hear that his office had been broken into – and that a certain file had been accessed.”

  “I don’t think I know what you’re talking about,” Cash defended melodramatically.

  “So it’s just a coincidence that Charlie’s office is broken into, and the person who did it was snooping the file of the author you and I just happened to be discussing before I left for the trip? The one I told you made my dad’s career?”

  “A break-in? At your dad’s office? Oh, gee, that’s awful!” Cash sputtered.

  “Just cut the crap, Cash!” Chase yelled. “This is your one chance to save yourself. We’re cutting our trip short. My dad is booking us on a flight home right now. We’re getting off the ship in Piraeus in three days and heading right to the airport. Give me a good explanation, and I’ll tell him it was you – and not to call the cops. I can’t promise you won’t be in trouble, but if you don’t tell me the truth, you’ll be in jail for sure. So start talking – and it better be good.”

  Dammit, thought Cash, panicking. His mind reeled as he tried to come up with a plausible explanation. He cursed himself for not preparing better – and for leaving a trail at Charlie’s office. But he’d had to run out so quickly to avoid that nosy cow in the next office. Now it appeared she’d tracked Chase and his dad down on their cruise – and he hadn’t a clue how to persuade them not to cut their vacation short.

  “Chase, I swear, I had nothing to do with this, you have to believe me,” Cash babbled, struggling to regain his bearings and improvise. “But how about this. I’ll go check out the office. I’ll ask around a little bit. Maybe I can figure out who did this. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, Cash. You haven’t convinced me I can trust …”

  The connection crackled a bit before dropping with a beep.

  “Chase? Chase?” Cash shouted into his phone. Crap! He tried to redial, but only got an error tone.

  What if they go to the police? he thought. But there was no point in worrying about that now. The only way forward was more hustle – and that meant the other two players in his little scheme would need to pick up the pace, too. Luckily, Aseem still seemed as hungry for t
he money as ever – and probably still willing to do whatever he was told. He bet Aseem was ready to open up those web pages as soon as Cash said the word “go.” Cash had the feeling that player number two might not respond so well to rushing, though. She was a more delicate creature.

  This was going to require finesse, and even he realized deftness was not his strong suit. He took a deep breath and tried to find his inner smooth operator as he dialed the number of the person his entire plan now depended on.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Now what? Angela thought, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. It had been two nights now since Bea had left for San Francisco. Much as she thought Bea would hate the idea, she was considering contacting the police. But a trip back to the City, to visit Charlie’s office and retrace Bea’s steps, seemed like a better next move. She chided herself for not doing that in the first place. At least now she could chat through strategy with Pat – even though the detective wasn’t experienced in finding people, the two of them might be able to come up with some leads together.

  She stood up from Bea’s bed and rearranged the pillows to approximate Bea’s normal standard of disarray. She smiled a little, thinking how Bea wouldn’t want to come back to too much tidiness.

  Caffeine – Angela desperately needed some before she hit the road for San Francisco. She padded into the kitchen, in search of the two iced coffees she’d brought yesterday and tucked in the fridge. She pulled one out and drew a long sip on the straw – a little watery, but not bad. She gave one of the egg sandwiches a zap in the microwave. As she was gathering up the hot breakfast, her drink, and her purse to hit the road, she was startled by a loud rattling at the back door.