Chapter Twenty-Three

She heard the footsteps as she neared the houseboat. She could also feel the wharf rocking as the person picked up speed. Fear choked her, but she forced herself to turn around rather than make a dash for the door. She wasn’t sure she could have made it in time anyway. When had she gotten so on edge?

In the gathering dusk, she could see it was a woman, but she couldn’t see the face. She slowly let out her breath.

“I’m sorry to startle you,” the woman said, getting closer. She was a girl, really, and Shelby recognized her after a couple of seconds. Rachel Michaels.

“I’m surprised, that’s all. Was it me you were looking for? How did you know where I live?” She tried slowing her breathing without it being too noticeable.

“I saw you in the coffee shop just a few minutes ago and followed you. I know, not cool, but I wanted to talk to you, and I didn’t want to have to pay the boat fare again.” Her smile made her look like an embarrassed teenager.

“What can I do for you, Rachel?” Shelby still wasn’t sure if she wanted to invite her on board.

“I want to ask you something; a favor, really.” She hugged herself, and Shelby realized that, with the sun going down, the dampness from the river was settling in.

“Why don’t you come inside?” she said. She’d met Rachel, after all, and they had a mutual interest in Savannah’s book. Shelby opened the door and stooped to scoop up J.T. before he made it outside. She liked to keep him in overnight now that it was getting cooler. Who knew what four-legged creatures were out there getting ready for winter.

“Have a seat,” she said, indicating the chairs to her left.

“What a cool cat. What’s his name?” Rachel reached out to pat him, but J.T. didn’t stick around for long.

“Would you like some coffee or something?”

“No, thanks, I just want to talk, if that’s okay.”

Shelby slung her coat over the back of a chair as Rachel sat in the paisley slipper chair closest to the door.

“You see, I’m a writer,” Rachel began. “I’m sure I told you that last time. At least, I’m trying to be. I’ve written a couple of books now, which have done okay, but I can’t seem to get a big-name publisher.”

“What do you write?” Shelby didn’t want to prolong the conversation, but she did want to come across as friendly.

“I’ve just branched into true crime; that’s why I wanted a copy of Savannah Page’s latest. Like I said, I’d actually hoped to get here and meet her in person and then go out for coffee, but I got delayed. I wanted her to read over my outline, and I’d hoped she’d have some suggestions about how I could advance my career or maybe even put me in touch with her agent. That would be a big help. But I missed my chance.”

“That was too bad.” Shelby wasn’t sure what to say, nor was she sure where it was leading.

“Uh-huh, it sure was. So, I was hoping that maybe, instead, you could help me.”

“Me? How?”

“Would you introduce me to Matthew Kessler? I’ve seen you talking to him at the castle. I’m a big fan of his, and I’d like to see if he might help me, to pick his brain. I’m sure he could give me some great pointers on research. Maybe he’d even read my new manuscript.”

That wasn’t what Shelby had expected. But she was pretty certain what Matthew would say. Also, she wondered when Rachel might have seen them together. That sounded odd.

“I’d have to ask him first, of course, but I’ll warn you, I don’t think your chances are very good.”

“Why not? I’m a serious writer. I’m just asking for a break now that Savannah isn’t here. I’m sure she would have helped me. All the big-name authors know people who have helped them over the years. There’s a lot of networking going on. I just want to get in on some of that. I’ve put in the time honing my writing skills, but now I want what I deserve.”

Shelby had stiffened at the increasing irritation in Rachel’s voice. She could give her a tip right now that this wasn’t the way to make friends and get people to help you. However, it wasn’t her place to tell her any of that. She would mention it to Matthew, but that would be the extent of it.

Shelby stood, hoping her intent was clear. “I will ask him, Rachel. Do you live around here? How can I get in touch with you?”

Rachel stood, back to her original self, all smiles. “I live just outside Cape Vincent, but I’m staying at a B and B in town. I’ll give you my number and you can text me. I can meet him anytime, really. This is so, so cool of you.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and spotted a pen lying on the side table. She wrote down her number and handed it to Shelby. “Thank you so much.”

She left quickly, and Shelby once again stooped to grab a scampering J.T. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of her visitor, but she was glad Rachel had refused the coffee. There had therefore been nothing to keep her lingering.

Shelby locked the door and took a deep breath. She would have to ask Matthew, of course, but she was certain he would want nothing to do with this young author.

*   *   *

After a quick supper of pasta, pesto, and chicken strips, Shelby felt restless, in need of a walk. She could head up to Edie’s, although they’d had a long talk on the phone earlier in the day. Or maybe she’d walk over to the James Street Wharf and enjoy the lights playing on the water. Something that was mindless and would help settle her down.

She dressed warmly and found a small flashlight, then ducked out before J.T. could rouse himself from his sleep on the chair. The sky was overcast, and she felt pleased she’d brought the flashlight. The parking lot had a lot of cracks in it, and even the sidewalk into town could do with a redo. By the time she reached the wharf, she realized the restless feeling had given away to one of feeling spooked. Her hand found the smartphone in her pocket, and she thought about calling Zack. Maybe he’d like an after-dinner walk, too. That might sound romantic, rather than someone giving in to foolish fears. Unfortunately, the call went to voice mail. She left a short message so he’d know the call didn’t need to be returned.

She thought about going into Riley’s to warm up with a coffee but suddenly had the desire to get home as quickly as possible.

By the time she stuck the key into the doorknob, she’d worked herself into a tizzy. Too much thinking about murder, she decided. A good book, a cup of tea, and a cat on her lap were what was needed.