“If that’s the next step,” she said in the brightest tone she could muster. “and how do I find an editor? Can you recommend one? I’d hoped you might help because—well, look at the first page. I’ve written a dedication.”

Diane opened the folder and read. Her manner altered at once. The faux smile left her face replaced by a sad-clown frown, her lips pushed out in an exaggerated pout. She shook her head as she spoke.

“To Diane, for being there at the right moment in my life.”

She looked up at Nem.

“Oh, heck, what was I thinking? Shame on me. I’m sorry honey, I didn’t want you to get your hopes up. It’s a heart-breaking business. Been in this game fourteen years. You know how many books of unknown authors we return, unsold, each month?”

Nem could hazard a guess after working here for five months. A lot!

“Unless you’re King, Nora Roberts or James Patterson, well you’re writing for peanuts. Every successful author I’ve ever heard quoted says they owe it to hard work and a small ration of talent. Then they add the biggest factor. Luck. Even if it’s amazing. You’ll need that luck too, sweetheart.”

Nem relaxed, realizing Diane wasn’t against her, that her heart was in the right place. That dedication, written because she knew she’d need help, had worked. She didn’t know anyone else well enough to ask. One day, she might even have the diary reward Diane if she helped enough.

Diane must have seen the flicker of disappointment Nem had tried to conceal.

“Hey, don’t you listen to me,” she added, her voice and manner softer. “I’m old and over-cautious and I should just mind my business. How do I know who’ll be the next big thing? Someone has to break through, right? Why shouldn’t it be you?”

Diane reached out and rubbed a gentle hand up and down Nem’s arm.

“You’re smart. You’ll work it out. Or not, because these things are in the lap of the gods most of the time. You’ve got my help. Whatever you need. What about a mentor? Enough authors come through the store that we might find one for you. We can only try, right?”

A grin spread across Nem’s face. What a great idea. A mentor was a perfect idea, and she could do more than try.

“Yes, I like that plan,” Nem said, the glow of excitement returning to her. “Perhaps I’ll get lucky.”

56

Thank you for the luck.

That’s what the note said. The words made no sense at first, and William had stood hunched against the building surrounded by the bustle of pedestrians and the busy street. His mind wasn’t there though. He didn’t even notice when a long-haired teenager hurrying past bumped his shoulder and caused him to take a step to rebalance.

He had stared at the paper taken from poor Jan, who wanted everyone to be assured he was a man—soon he’d be a tragic accident news story.