Finlay Donovan Is Killing It(Finlay Donovan #1)(50)

A commotion rose from the kennels. I cracked open the door and peered out. A few yards away, Vero was distracting two volunteers in shelter uniforms. Her eyebrows rose, her expression urgent as I slipped out of the lounge.

“Mrs. Hall? Mrs. Hall?” A voice called over the barking dogs. “Theresa!” Louder this time. I turned. Aaron was rushing down the aisle toward me, looking flustered, and I realized with a start he was talking to me. “You haven’t by any chance seen a set of keys, have you? I must have dropped them in all the commotion.”

I shook my head, my hands reaching instinctively to a phantom itch in my hair. I never should have written Theresa’s name and address on that form. The police had already been here, I reassured myself. They’d already searched Patricia’s locker and questioned everyone. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d made a terrible mistake coming here. “Sorry, I haven’t found any keys.”

My skin prickled with regret as an orange tabby darted between us, and Aaron took off after it.





CHAPTER 23





I shot bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and blinking, roused from sleep by a sudden loud buzz. This was it. They were coming to arrest me. I started, clutching my blankets to my chest as my cell phone vibrated across the nightstand. Sylvia’s number glowed in the dark. I fell back against my pillow, waiting for my heart to slow. Not the police. Just my agent.

I reached blindly for my phone and checked the time, unsure if it was quarter to six in the morning or at night. I’d stayed awake for most of the last three nights, working through the list of Harris’s victims, determined to figure out who’d killed him, and I’d still only managed to narrow the list from seventeen possible suspects to nine. Exhausted and no closer to solving the crime, I’d quit and fallen into bed an hour before dawn.

“Hello?” I grumbled into the phone.

“I hope you sound tired because you’ve been writing all day.” Night then. I rubbed my eyes. “Are you sitting down?”

“Not exactly.”

“I read your manuscript.” I threw an arm over my face and braced for the worst. “I sent it to your editor last night. She’s prepared to make you an offer.”

I sat up slowly, my mind groping for a scrap of sense. “An offer? But I’m already under contract for the book.”

“Not anymore.”

I clapped a hand over my eyes. This was worse than I’d thought. The offer was probably a re-payment plan. Not only had I lost my contract, but I’d have to return the advance. And Sylvia’s commission. And then she would probably drop me as a client. I didn’t even want to think about what Steven would say when he found out. “Sylvia, I’m sorry. Isn’t there anything we can—”

“I told her I was buying you out of your contract.”

I shook my head, certain I’d misheard. “You did what?”

“I told her I knew this book was going to be a huge breakout hit, and they weren’t paying you enough for it. I told her I would personally pay back your advance, and I wanted your rights back.”

I flipped on the lamp in case I was still sleeping. My watering eyes narrowed against the light. “What did she say?”

“She read your draft. And she agrees with me. She thinks you’re on to something big with this one.”

“She does?”

“It’s a fabulous setup—the timid wife hiring someone to kill her horrible husband, the plucky heroine and the hot young lawyer … They have great chemistry on the page, by the way. I mean, it’s sizzling, Finn. Your best work yet. I’m dying to see who the killer is.”

A dark chuckle slipped past my lips. “Me, too.”

“Your editor’s offering a preempt if you promise not to take it anywhere else. She’ll increase your offer to two books, raise your advance, and give you an extension to finish the draft.”

“Raise my advance? To how much?”

“Seventy-five thousand per book.” I’m pretty sure my jaw was somewhere in my lap. My editor was going to pay me one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. For the story of Harris Mickler’s murder. In which I’d described every detail of the crime. Which was currently under investigation, and which I was secretly a party to. “Finn? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” I croaked. “Can I have a few days to think about it?”

“Believe me, Finn.” Sylvia’s voice was honeyed butter. “I know exactly how you feel. The same thought crossed my mind.”

I choked back a slightly hysterical laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

“I get it. I do. And you’re right. The pitch is strong enough that we could probably buy out the contract, take the manuscript to a few other big-name editors, and maybe it would go to auction. But this is a bird in the hand, Finlay. And with your crappy sales record, we probably shouldn’t get too cocky. I say we take the money and give them what they want.”

“I don’t know, Syl—”

“Excellent, I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

“It’s not that simple! I can’t just—” Through the phone, I heard the swooshing sound of her computer sending an email. A moment later, a notification beeped on my phone.