“Oh yes,” Bruce said. “They write great books that sell well.”

“Bingo,” said Mercer. “That’s the plan.”

Bruce looked at Myra and said, “Well, there you have it. A successful intervention.”

“Not so fast. What about murder mysteries?” Myra asked.

“Not really,” Mercer replied. “My brain doesn’t work like that. I’m not devious enough to drop off clues and pick them up later.”

“Suspense? Thrillers?”

“Not really. I can’t do intricate plots.”

“Spies, espionage?”

“I’m too much of a girl.”

“Horror?”

“Are you kidding? After dark I’m afraid of my shadow.”

“Romance?”

“Don’t know the subject matter.”

“Porn?”

“I’m still a virgin.”

Bruce added, “Porn doesn’t sell anymore. You can get all you want for free online.”

Myra exhaled dramatically and said, “Those were the days. Twenty years ago Leigh and I could make the pages sizzle. Science fiction? Fantasy?”

“Never touch the stuff.”

“Westerns?”

“I’m afraid of horses.”

“Political intrigue?”

“I’m afraid of politicians.”

“Well, that does it. Looks like you’re destined to write historical fiction about screwed-up families. Now get to work. We expect some progress from this point on.”

“I’ll start first thing in the morning,” Mercer said. “And thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Myra said. “And since we’re on the subject of interventions, has anyone seen Andy Adam? Reason I ask is that I bumped into his ex at the grocery store a few days ago and she seemed to think he’s not doing too well.”

“Let’s just say he’s not sober these days,” Bruce said.

“Anything we can do to help?”

“Nothing I can think of. Right now Andy is just a drunk, and until he decides to sober up he’ll be nothing more than a drunk. His publisher will probably turn down his latest, and that will mean more trouble. I’m worried about him.”

Mercer was watching Bruce’s wineglass. Several times Elaine had said he drank too much, but Mercer had not seen this. At Myra and Leigh’s dinner party, and now again tonight, he sipped his wine, was slow to refill, and was in perfect control.

With Andy out of the way, Myra led them through a recap of their other friends’ lives. Bob Cobb was on a sailboat down around Aruba. Jay Arklerood was in Canada spending some time isolated in a friend’s cabin. Amy Slater was busy with the kids, one of whom was playing T-ball. Bruce grew noticeably quiet. He was careful to absorb the gossip but not repeat any of it.

Noelle seemed excited to be leaving the Florida heat for a month. Provence was warm too, but not as humid, she explained. After dinner, she again asked Mercer to join her there, maybe not for a month, for perhaps a week or so. Mercer thanked her but said she needed to work on the novel. That, plus money was tight and she was saving for the writer’s table.

“It’s yours, dear,” Noelle said. “I’m saving it for you.”

Myra and Leigh left at nine and walked home. Mercer helped Bruce and Noelle in the kitchen and managed to say good-bye before ten. When she left, Bruce was sipping coffee in the den, his nose stuck in a book.