July 20, Saturday

"I'M SO glad you called," Wayne said with a broad smile.

We were seated at a table in B's Diner, the nicest eatery in Irving and by the size of the lunch crowd, popular with the locals.

"When my editor suggested I do some publicity while I finish writing my book, I remembered your offer to host a signing."

"I'd love to," Wayne gushed. "And maybe a little talk beforehand with a sneak preview of the new book?"

I bit into my turkey BLT. "Maybe," I said, nodding.

"You know," Wayne said through a mouthful of roast beef, "I'm a bit of a writer myself."

I stopped chewing. "Really?"

"Really," he said. "I'm writing a horror novel."

I resumed chewing. "I'm afraid I don't have any expertise in horror."

"Still, would you mind reading it? I'd love to get your feedback, just to see if you think it has potential."

Bruce's veiled warning replayed in my mind. I needed to ensure this was a good event. "Sure, no problem. Maybe you could give it to me at the signing?"

He reached into his messenger bag and withdrew a thick sheath of papers. "I have it right here." He blushed. "Just in case you agreed."

"Oh. Okay." I took the manuscript and glanced over the title page. " War of the Witches . Interesting title."

"Thank you. It's actually based on a true story. Well—as true as these things can be, if you believe in the supernatural."

"I don't," I said easily, "but I'll read it and let you know what I think."

"Great," he said, beaming. "And hey, if you want to pass your manuscript to me to get my feedback, you know, writer to writer, I'd be glad to help."

I swallowed a bite without chewing. "Thanks." I wasn't insulted… actually, I was envious.

Wayne Blakemore had a finished manuscript, and I didn't.