A Mysterious Mix Up by J.C. Kenney

Author:J.C. Kenney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lyrical Press
Published: 2019-10-17T22:49:31+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

I’d seen—and felt—firsthand the results that came with giving a murder suspect a chance to escape. The result wasn’t pretty. In fact, the result could be quite painful. Because of that, I couldn’t stand by, with my hands in my pockets, while a killer remained loose on the streets of my beloved hometown.

It didn’t help that after parting ways with Jeanette, I’d interviewed another intern candidate. The meeting started out well enough but took a nosedive when the woman, a retired teacher, said she wouldn’t be able to work on books that contained sex scenes or profanity.

It was an objection I completely understood. Every reader had their likes and dislikes to which they were entitled. Shoot, Sloane had never been much of a reader until I turned her onto cozy mysteries. After reading her first Miss Marple novel, she was hooked on the genre.

“I like the puzzle without the blood and gore. There’s enough of that in the real world,” she’d told me one time as she helped herself to my collection of The Cat Who books. She never returned the books, but Luke had let me know she still read them, especially when she was stressed about something.

The thing was, as an agent who represented writers who wrote in a variety of genres, my portfolio included manuscripts with sex and violence. It was part of the business. I couldn’t have an assistant pick and choose what he or she wanted to read. If a story was good enough for me to represent it, it was good enough for an intern to work on it. Every single one of my authors deserved nothing less.

To counter my dwindling intern prospects, I texted Rachel with instructions on how the young woman from the pub could submit her resume.

I was editing a police procedural manuscript when the resume arrived. There wasn’t much to it. The candidate was a high school graduate named Calypso Bosley who professed a love for classic literature. She said she’d recently moved to town. The best way to reach her was via e-mail or her cell number.

The resume seemed a little odd, but it was error-free. That was a start. If she really did love classic literature, I’d be able to call her out on it in a manner of minutes. I sent Calypso a text that I could meet her Friday afternoon.

As afternoon turned to evening, I grew more antsy. Despite immersing myself in work, then taking Ursi for a walk, I couldn’t get Porter off my mind. When night had fallen, I gave in to my fixation and decided to pay Porter another visit.

To be accurate, I wasn’t interested in talking to the man again. I was interested in checking out his greenhouse and shed. Porter struck me as the kind of person who loved his flowers with such a passion that he wouldn’t destroy them. Even if he used some of them to commit a murder, he’d find a way to preserve them.

Hopefully, that meant there were clues to be found.

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