question is,
who would want to scare the bejesus out of a sweet
little ol ’ granny lady like me? I don’t even know
anybody around here well enough to have gotten on their bad side.”
I couldn’t help smiling at her
self-portrait. “I really can’t imagine anyone taking you for a little old
grandmother type, sweet or not, but this does have the earmarks of a prank.” I
thought for a minute. “You don’t think one of your workmen did it, do you?”
May grimaced. “See, that’s the
trouble with this sort of thing. Without any idea in the world about who might
have it in for you, you have no choice but to suspect everyone. In answer to
your question, no, I don’t really think one of those nice young men did it. In
fact, when Tommy and the others showed up this mornin ’,
they all put on a darned good show of being outraged on my behalf. I thought
poor Tommy was going to cry, he felt so bad about leaving that window open. I
told them all I actually have a soft spot for bats, and if any of them had a
spare hour or two one of these days, I would surely love to have them build me
a couple of bat houses and nail ‘ em up for me.”
“Which not only made Tommy feel
better but let them all know that if one of them was responsible for this
little caper, it didn’t succeed in frightening you, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, “just in
case. That’s what I mean. Now suspicion is my constant companion.” She sighed
and dropped back into her chair, replacing her computer glasses on her nose.
She tapped a few keys idly, scanning the material on the screen. “If I was
still in Atlanta, I’d have some thoughts about suspects. As Margo has probably
told you, I’m not one to sit quietly by if something is happening in the
community that I don’t agree with. I have a big mouth, and I’m not afraid to
use it, as my Douglas used to say. I’ve ruffled more than a few feathers in my
time south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but up here? I can just about find my way to the
supermarket, let alone know anything about local politics.”
Watching her at her computer, I
had a thought. “Wait a second, try this one on. Didn’t you tell me you’re in
the middle of an open submissions period for Romantic Nights, where anybody can
send in a romance manuscript to be considered for publication?”
She nodded, clearly perplexed.
“Yes, and it’s been a doozy , too. Wanna -be
authors are comin ’ out of the woodwork. I get tired
just thinking about the number of submissions I still have to screen. Why?”
“Well, you obviously don’t plan on
publishing all of them, so that means you have to reject some, doesn’t it?”
“Some!” She emitted the famous
Farnsworth snort of amusement. “Let’s see, I’ve gotten more than a hundred
submissions so far with another week to go, and I have four open slots on this
year’s production schedule. So yes, I’m rejectin ’
some. Your point?” She peered at me over the top of
her specs.
I considered the wisdom of what I
was about to say but decided to say it anyway. “You’ve told us quite a lot
about writers’ sensitive egos and general touchiness. Is it possible that one
of the ones you’ve rejected is vindictive enough to want to get even in some
way?”
May’s jaw dropped. “You have got
to be kidding me. For one thing, that’s just insane. For another, this is a
virtual business. I operated it in Atlanta, and it’s still registered in
Georgia, but now I’m runnin ’ it here in Yankee
territory. I do almost everything on line and via email, so about ninety-eight
percent of these submissions are coming from people who have no idea in the
world where my office is, let alone where I live. Thank God,” she added almost
to herself. “Anyway, the idea of one of them creeping around my neighborhood in
the dark, stuffin ’ bats through my window, is just
too …” and here she burst out laughing.
I joined in. “Anyway, you’d have
to have some kind of bad luck as a
who would want to scare the bejesus out of a sweet
little ol ’ granny lady like me? I don’t even know
anybody around here well enough to have gotten on their bad side.”
I couldn’t help smiling at her
self-portrait. “I really can’t imagine anyone taking you for a little old
grandmother type, sweet or not, but this does have the earmarks of a prank.” I
thought for a minute. “You don’t think one of your workmen did it, do you?”
May grimaced. “See, that’s the
trouble with this sort of thing. Without any idea in the world about who might
have it in for you, you have no choice but to suspect everyone. In answer to
your question, no, I don’t really think one of those nice young men did it. In
fact, when Tommy and the others showed up this mornin ’,
they all put on a darned good show of being outraged on my behalf. I thought
poor Tommy was going to cry, he felt so bad about leaving that window open. I
told them all I actually have a soft spot for bats, and if any of them had a
spare hour or two one of these days, I would surely love to have them build me
a couple of bat houses and nail ‘ em up for me.”
“Which not only made Tommy feel
better but let them all know that if one of them was responsible for this
little caper, it didn’t succeed in frightening you, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, “just in
case. That’s what I mean. Now suspicion is my constant companion.” She sighed
and dropped back into her chair, replacing her computer glasses on her nose.
She tapped a few keys idly, scanning the material on the screen. “If I was
still in Atlanta, I’d have some thoughts about suspects. As Margo has probably
told you, I’m not one to sit quietly by if something is happening in the
community that I don’t agree with. I have a big mouth, and I’m not afraid to
use it, as my Douglas used to say. I’ve ruffled more than a few feathers in my
time south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but up here? I can just about find my way to the
supermarket, let alone know anything about local politics.”
Watching her at her computer, I
had a thought. “Wait a second, try this one on. Didn’t you tell me you’re in
the middle of an open submissions period for Romantic Nights, where anybody can
send in a romance manuscript to be considered for publication?”
She nodded, clearly perplexed.
“Yes, and it’s been a doozy , too. Wanna -be
authors are comin ’ out of the woodwork. I get tired
just thinking about the number of submissions I still have to screen. Why?”
“Well, you obviously don’t plan on
publishing all of them, so that means you have to reject some, doesn’t it?”
“Some!” She emitted the famous
Farnsworth snort of amusement. “Let’s see, I’ve gotten more than a hundred
submissions so far with another week to go, and I have four open slots on this
year’s production schedule. So yes, I’m rejectin ’
some. Your point?” She peered at me over the top of
her specs.
I considered the wisdom of what I
was about to say but decided to say it anyway. “You’ve told us quite a lot
about writers’ sensitive egos and general touchiness. Is it possible that one
of the ones you’ve rejected is vindictive enough to want to get even in some
way?”
May’s jaw dropped. “You have got
to be kidding me. For one thing, that’s just insane. For another, this is a
virtual business. I operated it in Atlanta, and it’s still registered in
Georgia, but now I’m runnin ’ it here in Yankee
territory. I do almost everything on line and via email, so about ninety-eight
percent of these submissions are coming from people who have no idea in the
world where my office is, let alone where I live. Thank God,” she added almost
to herself. “Anyway, the idea of one of them creeping around my neighborhood in
the dark, stuffin ’ bats through my window, is just
too …” and here she burst out laughing.
I joined in. “Anyway, you’d have
to have some kind of bad luck as a
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