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person being assigned to a seasoned author. The author really
did
have a better feel for her series and characters than someone who’d only been given the assignment to shepherd a book to publication. After all, there were many, many series that Tricia had read where it was apparent that the author had lost interest in her characters long before the publisher was willing to let it go. And EM’s most recent editor was far younger than herself. Had EM been insulted to be assigned such a greenhorn? Tricia would have felt that way, and was glad she was able to just read and enjoy the books in her favorite genre and not have to actually write them.
    Cathy sipped her diet cola.
    Angelica and Tricia sipped their martinis.
    Time seemed to pass achingly slowly.
    â€œSo, why are you ladies on this little junket?” Cathy finally asked.
    â€œWe’re booksellers,” Tricia answered. “My sister”—she nodded toward Angelica—“owns a cookbook store. I own a mystery bookstore.”
    â€œOh?” Cathy asked, sounding halfway interested.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, EM Barstow once came to sign at my store.”
    â€œWas she terribly rude to you and your staff?” Cathy asked, her eyebrows narrowing.
    â€œJust a tad,” Tricia lied.
    â€œEM leads a very complicated life. She doesn’t let the world in general know about her difficulties, but she has no problem taking them out on others, either.”
    â€œOh?” Angelica asked.
    â€œIt’s not my place to speak about it.”
    â€œOf course not,” Angelica said, obviously disappointed.
    Cathy practically gulped the last of her drink and set the glass on the cocktail table before them. “Thank you, ladies. It was very nice talking with you.”
    â€œWe’re glad you could join us,” Angelica said, smiling.
    â€œYes. I hope we’ll have another chance to speak before the end of our voyage,” Tricia said with false sincerity.
    â€œI’m sure we will.” Cathy stood. “Until then, have a nice evening.”
    â€œYou, too,” the sisters chorused, and watched the editor leave the bar, her gait a bit wobbly. Had she had a drink before she’d joined them?
    It was Tricia who turned to her sister and spoke first. “Well, that was certainly interesting.”
    â€œYes. Wasn’t it?” Angelica agreed. She removed the frill pick from her drink, snagged the first of two queen olives, chewed, and swallowed. “You know, I have the world’s best editor. He has cut me an enormous amount of slack—especially this past year when I’ve had so much on my plate. I don’t think I’d like to be one of Cathy Copper’s authors.”
    â€œNo, and I can see why. Maybe
she’s
the reason EM is so grumpy.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Angelica agreed, and took another sip of her drink. “She didn’t seem all that grateful to her employer for sending her on this wonderful cruise. Inside cabin? Okay, not optimal. But having to sit on
one
panel as a consequence? That woman doesn’t know a good thing when it’s handed to her.”
    â€œMaybe
we’re
just jaded,” Tricia suggested.
    â€œNigela Ricita manages more than thirty employees, and I can’t think of one of them who isn’t respectful and grateful to be employed.”
    â€œMaybe that’s because they know what is expected of them and are paid enough that they’re happy to fulfill their obligations. I don’t think editors make all that much money.”
    â€œMaybe. Perhaps it’s best that I write nonfiction. I don’t think I’d care to have someone trying to direct my narrative.”
    â€œAnd I hear the battles with copy editors can be very frustrating,” Tricia said.
    â€œDon’t get me started on that topic,” Angelica said with just a touch of menace.
    Tricia managed a wan smile. “But you have to agree—mystery or