The Book Club Murders - Private Eye Excerpt

In my new book, The Book Club Murders, the protagonist reads a hard-boiled detective novel, which causes her to dream she is the detective in the story. Here is the chapter recounting her first of several dreams. 

Jessica looked around the dingy office. Everything, the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, appeared dull and lacked color. The air was stuffy with a slight trace of mold and age. She sat behind an old wooden desk with a few drawers on both sides. On the desktop was a cheap desk set with a blotter, a letter opener, a double pen stand, a letter tray, and a business card holder. She looked at the writing on the card.

Harry Call

Private Investigations

 

    Also on the desk was a tarnished brass tray where a cigarette burned. Two wooden chairs on the opposite side of the desk sat on a threadbare carpet. Against one wall was a four-drawer vertical filing cabinet, and a calendar turned to June 1938 on the opposite wall. The calendar featured the Dionne quintuplets, dressed in matching outfits and lying side-by-side. The ceiling had two water stains, probably the source of the moldy odor. A dirty light fixture containing a few dead bugs hung from the middle of the ceiling. The single window in the office was opened, and street sounds drifted in; car horns honked, brakes squealed, and a traffic cop blew his whistle. Cooking smells from the diner on the corner drifted in the window and reached her nose, making her hungry and nauseous at the same time.

    Jessica saw that she was dressed in a dark blue pinstriped suit, a white shirt, and a dark tie. Behind the desk, a coat rack stood to one side holding a grey fedora with a dark band.

    The door opposite the desk had pebbled glass on the upper half. On the other side of the door was an outer office. Jessica heard muffled voices and saw movement through the pebbled glass. The door opened, and Jessica’s secretary entered and closed the door behind her. The secretary looked a lot like Brittany from the book club. She was dressed quite plainly in a tan dress that reached past her knees. The secretary displayed very little jewelry or makeup and wore horn-rimmed glasses, lending her a studious look.

    “What is it, Ruthie?” Jessica asked.

    “A client,” Ruthie said, trying not to smirk.

    “Let’s have her.”

    “How do you know it’s a woman, Harry?”

    “From that grin on your puss. Come on, let’s have her.”

    “Prepare yourself.” Ruthie turned, opened the door, and ushered in the woman. 

    The woman who entered the office was tall, sleek, and angular. Her appearance was a welcome contrast to the drab office. She wore a fitted burgundy pencil dress with peplum, and upon her head, she sported a matching velvet turban beret with a veil. Her pale skin was sharply contrasted by the red lipstick she wore. The woman smelled terrific, and her perfume fought against the room’s stale air. She had class, with enough money that it showed, but not so much that she cared about it. 

    “Mrs. Van Pelt,” Ruthie announced in her most professional tone.

    Mrs. Van Pelt closely resembled Emily Hudson, the librarian.

    Jessica stood from behind the desk, nodded, and motioned the woman to one of the chairs facing the desk. Mrs. Van Pelt sat, and Jessica wondered how the woman could sit in such a tight dress.

    “I’m Harry Call,” Jessica said. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Van Pelt?”

    Mrs. Van Pelt gave Jessica and the surroundings a cursory glance. She appeared unimpressed by both.

    “I would like to employ you, Mr. Call,” she said with a deep and sultry voice. 

    “Hire me to do what?”

    She donned a somewhat forlorn look, and her eyes moved slightly upward.

    “You must understand, Mr. Call, this is very difficult for me,” she said with a quiver in her throat. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. Now that I am here, and must relate my dilemma to another person… I… I don’t know…. It is all so upsetting.” She brought a lace handkerchief to her mouth and stifled a whimper.

    Jessica could see the woman was upset. “May I offer you something to steady your nerves? A drink, perhaps?” Jessica knew there was a bottle in the bottom desk drawer. She did not know how she knew. “Perhaps just a small one,” Jessica said.

    “I really shouldn’t, but…” Mrs. Van Pelt said. Then, she gave a brief nod and crossed her legs. She had nice legs.   

    Jessica opened the drawer and took out a bottle of Canadian Club and a glass. She checked to see if the glass was clean. It was, so she poured a small amount of liquor into it. Jessica rose from her chair and approached Mrs. Van Pelt. She handed the woman the glass, who took it. Mrs. Van Pelt did not sip the drink demurely but threw it back like a seasoned pro.  

    “Thank you, Mr. Call,” she said. “Would you happen to have a cigarette?”

    Jessica reached into her pocket and took out a soft pack of Camels. She offered Mrs. Van Pelt a cigarette. Holding it between the two fingers of her gloved hand, she waited for a light. Jessica took out her Ronson lighter, flicked it, and lit the cigarette. 

    Mrs. Van Pelt drew almost sensually on the cigarette and released smoke into the air through pursed lips. Jessica pushed the ashtray across the desk.

    “Now, Mrs. Van Pelt, tell me what I can do for you.” 

    “I came to you, Mr. Call, because I do not know what else to do,” she said, with desperation in her voice. “I did not know who to turn to. It is all so upsetting, and I must admit, somewhat embarrassing.”

    “It may be easier, Mrs. Van Pelt, if you start with something less embarrassing. Tell me about yourself. What’s your background?”

    The woman saw the practicality in this and began her narrative. 

    “My late husband, Rufus Van Pelt, died two years ago and left me fairly well-off, plus a lovely manor upstate. I soon found that after my husband passed away, my life grew quite lonely. I discovered that many of the friends I thought I had were, in fact, friends of my late husband. Once he was gone, they all but abandoned me. Just recently, a new man came into my life—Walter Henderson. He was new to the area, but I found him quite handsome and charming. I confess I was lonely and moved too quickly. Walter nearly swept me off my feet. I began inviting him to the manor house on weekends. Everything was kept above board, let me assure you.”

    She wanted the detective to know that she had not allowed herself to be compromised in any way. For some reason, she must have believed it was important, as if she were preserving her integrity as a woman. Mrs. Van Pelt looked away, took a deep breath, and continued.  

    “Little by little, Walter grew more familiar with the house, my car, and the servants. I, rather foolishly, allowed this. I convinced myself we were in love, and I was blind to wherever Walter was concerned. Sometimes, his behavior caused me much distress, but unfortunately, there was no one in whom I could confide. I have no brothers or sisters, and I lost my parents when the SS Morro sank in 1934 on its journey from Havana to New York. When they died, my inheritance was considerable.

    “I believed Walter loved me, and we often spoke of marriage. Two days ago, Walter left my house rather abruptly without saying anything to me. I soon learned the reason for his hasty departure. Missing from my jewel case was a diamond necklace my husband had given me several years ago. The necklace is worth over ten thousand dollars. 

    Jessica pursed her lips and blew a silent whistle. 

    “I was able to follow Walter’s trail here,” Mrs. Van Pelt continued. “I believe he plans on selling my necklace for cash.”

    “And you do not want to involve the police,” Jessica said. 

    “No, I do not. Walter may be a thief, but I do not wish to see him end up in jail. Despite everything he has done, I am afraid I still have feelings for him.”

    “So, you want me to find him and return the necklace to you.”

    “Precisely so, Mr. Call.”        

    “What if Henderson has already hocked… I mean, sold the necklace?”

    “Oh, dear,” she said, bringing two fingers against her cheek. “Well, I suppose if you could recover the money, I might be able to buy back the necklace. It is quite precious to me.”

    “Do you happen to have a photograph of Walter Henderson?”

   She reached into her small handbag, removed a photograph, and handed it to Jessica. The photograph showed Mrs. Van Pelt and Henderson posing for a picture at what appeared to be a nightclub. She had an enigmatic smile while he looked a little worse for drink. They posed close together, practically cheek to cheek. Henderson had dark features with a pencil-thin mustache. 

    “It might take some effort getting the necklace away from him. Is Henderson prone to violence?”

    Mrs. Van Pelt thought about this. “I never considered him dangerous, though I more than once saw him carrying a handgun. I asked him about it, and he said he carried it for protection. I am not so naive, Mr. Call, to believe Walter is completely upstanding, especially considering that he stole my necklace. I can only caution you that if you encounter him, be extremely careful. I would not like to see you hurt on my account.”

    Jessica considered this. “And you are certain Walter Henderson is in the city.”

    “They told me at the train station that he bought a ticket, and this was his destination.”

    “It might be difficult to find him in a city this size.”

    She gave a brief start as if now only remembering something. Reaching back into her handbag, she extracted a small piece of paper. She handed it to Jessica, saying, “I found this in Walter’s room.”

    It was a page torn from a small notebook. The writing on the paper was in block letters. It simply read: HELEN S DELECOURT STREET HOTEL.

    “I was going to go there myself,” she said. “Then I reconsidered and decided to hire you. I hope I did the right thing, Mr. Call.”

    “I am sure you did. Now, Mrs. Van Pelt, the only other thing we have to discuss is my fee.” Harry Call gave his client one last assessment. “My services go for twenty dollars a day plus expenses.” It was his ‘rich client rate’.

    Mrs. Van Pelt stared across the desk for several seconds. She reached into her handbag again and this time took out some money. She placed it on the desk.

    “Here is one hundred dollars. I trust that is sufficient for the time being.”

    Jessica stood, picked up the money, and pocketed it. 

    “And where can I contact you, Mrs. Van Pelt?”

    “I am staying at the Bentley. Room 101.”

    “All right, Mrs. Van Pelt. You will be hearing from me in a day or two,” Jessica said, standing.

    Mrs. Van Pelt rose as well and extended her hand. “Thank you, Mr. Call. I feel already that some of this weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I will be anxious to hear from you.”

    Jessica shook her hand affirmingly. She opened the office door and showed Mrs. Van Pelt out. The woman passed by closely. Her perfume was intoxicating.

    After Mrs. Van Pelt had left, Jessica turned to Ruthie and asked, “Well, what do you think of her?”

    Ruthie raised her eyebrows and appeared wide-eyed. “She’s a piece of work and no mistake. You better watch your step around her, Harry.”

    Jessica grinned, entered her office, and grabbed her hat. She told Ruthie that she would be going out and that Ruthie was to hold down the fort.

    “I will, Harry. You be careful.”

    Harry Call pointed at his secretary with the gunman’s salute and made a clicking sound between clenched teeth.

    The private detective walked down the three flights instead of taking the elevator. Harry Call passed through the small atrium where a compass design decorated the floor and ceiling. He passed through the door and out onto the pavement. It was mid-afternoon and sunny, though the tall buildings were beginning to shade the west side of the street.

    Instead of hailing a cab, Harry walked the four blocks to Bleeker and Porter, hoping to find Shakes, one of Harry’s more reliable snitches. Shakes was standing outside a bar on Bleeker Street, smoking a cigarette. Shakes looked a lot like Taylor Pinsky. He was short and quick in his ways, like a ferret, and dressed in a tweed jacket with a matching cap. Harry approached Shakes, who looked up and down the street to see if anyone was watching. The small man raised his cigarette to his mouth with fingers that trembled. Without a word of greeting, Shakes went into the bar. Harry waited a half a moment and followed. They sat in a booth at the back where they could talk privately. They sat in silence until the bartender came to their table.

    “Two whiskey sours,” Harry said.

    Wordlessly, the bartender left but soon returned and placed their drinks on the table. Behind the bar, he stood polishing glasses.

    Harry and Shakes raised their drinks.

    “Health,” said Harry.

    “L’chaim!” Shakes said. 

    They drank. Shakes’s hand trembled so much that he almost spilled his drink. While they spoke, they kept their voices low. Shakes rarely made eye contact with Harry as his gaze bounced around the room. He was anxious about being overheard or even seen talking to Harry.

    Harry leaned across the table and said, “I need you to find out if anyone is trying to unload a diamond necklace. Check only the best fences, no small time. Also, find out anything you can on Walter Henderson. And one last thing, I need the background on Mrs. Rufus Van Pelt from somewhere Upstate.”

    Shakes nodded. “A sawbuck.”

    “Ten? Don’t you know we’re in a depression? A fin,” Harry countered.

    Shakes shook his head. “Ten bucks.”

    “I’ll give you a fin now and another five when you give me all the information.”

    Shakes nodded, and Harry handed over a five-dollar bill.”

    Shakes snatched up the money and put it in his breast pocket. He downed his drink and left. 

    There was a payphone on the wall in the bar. The telephone started to ring. Harry looked at the phone and then at the bartender standing behind the bar, polishing a glass. The two men looked at one another. The telephone continued to ring.

     Harry addressed the bartender, “Aren’t you going to answer that?”

 

All of Stephen Gaspar's books can be found on Amazon!

The Book Club Murders - Excerpt

 My latest book is a cozy murder mystery with a hardboiled detective story woven throughout. 

Here is the opening chapter of the story.

1.

 It was one of those light autumnal rains that fell to remind us that challenging times descended on our heads now and then. Not only was rain necessary for growth, but the wet and dismal days helped inspire an appreciation for the sunny days. The season was one of change, and as Robert Burns once wrote, change is nature’s mighty law. One cannot stop change nor always see it coming. Things were about to change drastically for the  members of the Lincoln Street Book Club.

 

    Jessica Connors climbed the wet steps to the library. She was careful not to misstep or slip. It was almost 7:00 pm. The library closed at 6:00 on Mondays, but the book club was allowed to use the facilities after hours. The book club met in the meeting room on the library’s main floor, adjacent to the main entrance. No club members were to wander about the library while they met there. They were limited to the meeting room and the washroom on the main floor.

    Emily Hudson, the librarian, was waiting by the door. Emily looked like a librarian; tall and slim, her hair cropped short, and she wore glasses on a chain. She opened the door for Jessica, whose hands were occupied. Jessica was carrying a box of cookies and a bag containing juice and drinking cups. Over her shoulder was her big purse, and in it was the most important item—her book.

    This evening would be the first night the group discussed their latest book, The Solicitor’s Daughter by Evelyn Lucas. The Lincoln Street Book Club had been meeting for five and a half years. Jessica Connors and Emily Hudson were its founding members, and over the years membership, rules, and locations had changed some since its organization. It was a good group of women, and it would not be too surprising if the club met for years to come.

    “Good evening, Jessica,” Emily said, holding the door open. “Do you need a hand?”

    “No, thanks, Emily, I got it,” said the other. 

    “Good night for an umbrella.”

    “I forgot to bring one. I hope the rain stops by 8:30.”

    “It’s difficult to say, according to tonight’s forecast,” Emily said. “If you need an umbrella going home, I can lend you one from the lost and found box.”

    “Thanks.”

    The two women went to the meeting room close to the main entrance. While Jessica set up the refreshments for their break, Emily stood by the meeting room door and kept an eye on the door at the main entrance. That was to be the door book club members were to use.

    “Sarah and Brittany are here,” Emily called over her shoulder to Jessica. Sarah and Brittany were close friends, both in their mid-twenties, were the youngest of the group, and both had been members of the book club for a year. They were pleasant young women, and Emily secretly referred to them as the Bobbsey Twins. They always came together, dressed similarly, and each carried an identical travel mug of coffee. They reminded Emily of two inseparable friends who had taken the same courses in high school so they would be in the same classes all day. They continued the practice in college. They would most likely get married the same year and have their first child around the same time. They were determined to do everything together.

    “Good. You can always count on those two to be on time.” Jessica said. 

    Emily waved them over and greeted Sarah and Brittany. Emily motioned them to the meeting room.

    “Jessica is setting up inside,” Emily informed them.

    The two young women had stopped to fill their mugs at the coffee shop on the corner. They smiled at Emily and went into the meeting room.

     “Here comes Amy,” Emily said, waving to Amy, who, at sixty, was the oldest group member. Amy stepped in the door and shook out her umbrella, leaving it by the door to dry.      

    “Good evening, Amy,” Emily said. “Go right in.”

    “Good evening, dear. I’m not late, am I?” Amy said. Her manner and face displayed worry. “I don’t like to be late.”

    “No, not at all, dear, not at all,” Emily said. Poor Amy, Emily thought to herself. She always appears so nervous, almost frightful. Why doesn’t Amy try to enhance her looks? She looks so frowzy. Emily believed a new hairdo and stylish clothes would benefit Amy immensely. Sixty is not that old, not anymore. Amy was never married and still lived with her aged mother, who was terminal with cancer. Emily, who was almost fifty, shuddered to think of ending up like Amy. No. That would never happen.  

    Emily looked at her watch—6:55. She went to the door at the main entrance and looked out. The weather reduced traffic considerably. She looked at her watch again. It was like this every time. Always a few stragglers. Maybe the others were not coming. She looked out. The rain continued to fall, and Emily kept an eye out for latecomers. She looked at her watch again. She would give them a few more minutes, and after that, she would lock the door. Wait, here comes Laura. Oops, she almost tripped on the steps. Emily held the door open for her.

    “Good evening, Laura. How is the family?”

    “Hello, Emily. Oh, you know, one catastrophe after the other. I was barely able to make it out of the house on time. Thanks for asking. Where should I leave my umbrella?”

    Emily motioned to the side where Amy had left hers to dry. Laura set down her umbrella.  

    “Go right in,” Emily said.   

    “Am I the last one?”

    “Heavens, no. Still two to go.”

    Laura was about thirty-five, married with three children. She made it a point to tell anyone who would listen how busy her life was because her family could not seem to get along without her. It sounded as if she was forever having to do things for others and not taking care of herself. More than once, Laura was heard saying she would most likely go mad if she didn’t have the book club as an excuse to get out of the house and away from them now and then. 

    Emily sometimes suspected Laura was close to that precipice. 

    Laura went to the meeting room, and Emily turned her eyes back on the street. She looked at her watch—two more minutes. I’ll give them two more minutes, then I’m locking this door. She waited for three, then locked the door. It was agreed that it was unsafe to leave the door unlocked. Emily shrugged and went into the meeting room.

    Everyone hung up their coats. Some were sitting or standing, and all appeared happy to be out of the rain and were engaged in conversation. 

    “I guess we can get started,” Emily said. 

    Everyone got out their book and took their seats around the table. Only some people used hard-copy books. Sarah, Brittany, and Emily usually had books downloaded onto their phones. Jessica had a Kindle reader but often preferred a paperback.  

    “I hope everyone has had a good two weeks—” Jessica began but was interrupted by a loud knocking.”

    “Never fails,” Emily said, and with a sigh, she stood up and went to see who was at the door. Hannah. Emily unlocked the door, and Hannah shuffled inside, whispering her apology as if she were late for church. 

    Hannah was Emily’s age and was coping with the empty nest syndrome. Her children had left home, and her husband no longer regarded Hannah as he once had. Emily could see the situation made Hannah somewhat bitter, but like all the women in the group, she added a certain dynamic to the book club, especially during discussions.

    Emily looked out into the night. She locked the door again and went back into the meeting room. Hannah followed her in mouthing the word sorry to everyone and took her seat.

    “Well, it appears we’re only missing Taylor, but I think we can get started,” Jessica began again. “Tonight is our first night to discuss The Solicitor’s Daughter by Evelyn Lucas. Later, we will be choosing our pick for next month, so I hope everyone has a suggestion. Now—”

    Another knock. 

    “That will be Taylor,” Emily said. She stood and left the room.

    From the sound of the knock, Emily knew Taylor was at the side entrance. Emily had to turn on some lights leading to the side entrance. She could see Taylor standing outside with her hood turned up over her head against the rain and an impatient look on her pouting face. Taylor was dressed in a black hoody and dark pants. Even the bag she carried was black. Taylor was short and slight but had a tough edginess to her. Her skin was pale and looked even paler thanks to the dark eyeshadow and lipstick. Her hair was black, but not naturally so. Emily let her in but said nothing. Taylor trudged past her to the meeting room without a word of greeting or thanks, and Emily followed. 

    Emily stood with arms folded while Taylor took her seat. 

    “Well, let’s start,” Taylor said, petulantly.

    “Before we do,” said Emily with controlled impatience, “I would like to remind everyone that we are to use only the main entrance, coming and going. I also would urge everyone to be here by 7:00 sharp.”

    “I don’t understand why you just can’t keep the doors unlocked,” Taylor said with a hint of defiance.

    “It is a safety issue,” Emily said. “The library allows us to use the facilities after hours but with the stipulation that all the doors remain locked. Taylor, I have asked you not to use the side entrance, and I have asked more than once.”

    “That’s the way I come here. Why should I walk all the way around?”

    “Why don’t we just start the meeting a bit later?” Sarah said.

    “Yeah, maybe 7:05,” Brittany said.

    To Jessica, it appeared as if the three youngest were ganging up on Emily, so she decided to step in.

    “If we started at 7:05, I could guarantee some would be coming in after 7:05. We would like to start at seven sharp, and that way we can be out by 8:30. If everyone could get here at 6:55, there wouldn’t be a problem.”

    “Brittany and I always come early,” Sarah announced with pride.

    “Yes, and that is appreciated,” Jessica said.

    “I was here before seven o’clock,” Amy said, timidly.

    “So was I,” Laura announced. “And I’ve got kids at home.”

    “Yes, you were,” Emily said.

    “I will be on time from now on,” Hannah said. “I don’t have an excuse for being late. I’ll be on time.”

    I know we will all do our best to get here on time,” Jessica said. Emily cleared her throat. “And only use the door at the main entrance.”

    Jessica looked over the faces around the room, and everyone appeared to agree—everyone but Taylor, who looked as if her rights were being infringed upon.

    Taylor saw that everyone was looking at her accusatorily. Taylor rolled her eyes. “Fine! I’ll be on time!”

    One thing the Lincoln Street Book Club did differently than most book clubs was that their meetings were bi-monthly instead of once a month. That way, they could meet and talk about the first half of the book while it was still fresh in their memory and, two weeks later, meet and discuss the second half of the book they were reading.

    “So, I trust everyone has read up to or about page 213. Does anyone have an observation or comment they would like to share with the group?”

    “Yeah,” said Taylor. “Why are we reading this stupid book?”

    “This was the book we all agreed upon, Taylor,” Emily said.

    “I didn’t agree with it.”

    “We may not have had a one hundred percent consensus,” Jessica added, “but the majority agreed.”

    “You were the only one who didn’t,” Emily told Taylor.

    “Well, I think it’s stupid,” Taylor said.

    “Okay, let’s start with that,” Jessica said with a positive tone. “Why is it stupid? We’re halfway through it. What don’t you like about the book so far?”

    “Everything.”

    “Taylor, can you be more specific?” Jessica said patiently.

    Taylor said, “The main character, Elizabeth, just sits around wondering if she can love the man her father has chosen for her to marry, and then she falls for this other guy who comes to see her father seeking advice. And all the time she’s dreaming about becoming a lawyer or solicitor or whatever they call them in old England. Nothing much seems to happen.”

    Emily thought she might clear up a point. “In England, a solicitor is a type of lawyer trained to prepare cases and give advice on legal subjects. They may represent people in lower courts. A barrister works in a higher-level court. I believe they have the same system in Australia.”

    Jessica nodded her head and addressed the group. “Thank you, Emily. Does anyone else here agree with Taylor or have another opinion?”

    “I like the love interest in the book,” Sarah said. “It is quite compelling in an old-world romantic sort of way.”

    Taylor moaned and said, “Oh, god.”

    “You don’t know who Elizabeth will end up with,” Brittany said, ignoring Taylor.

    “I find Elizabeth’s struggle as a woman very thought-provoking,” Laura said. “Women had so few choices in those days, and it shows us how far we’ve come.”

    “I like the mystery aspect of the story,” Amy said.

    “Mystery?” Emily questioned.

    “Everybody has a history,” Amy said. “It’s obvious Elizabeth’s father has a secret, as does Dudley, the man her father has chosen for her. Even Mr. Blackstone is not telling the whole truth. Eventually, Elizabeth will discover these men’s secrets. I hope when she does, it’s not too late.”

    “I think I know who Elizabeth is going to end up with,” Laura said with a grin.

    “That’s only because you turned to the end to find out,” Taylor said, snarkily.

    “I did not.” Laura came back just as snarky.

    “All right, ladies,” Jessica said, judiciously. “Let’s not do this again.”

    Laura often predicted the end of a book with incredible accuracy. Jessica and others suspected Laura would sometimes read ahead. It was one of the pitfalls of meeting bi-monthly. Members were encouraged not to read too far ahead, but if they did, they were asked not to discuss anything they read past the halfway point.

    Despite Taylor’s negative attitude toward the book, Jessica and Emily kept the group moving, and everyone offered their opinions and insights into the story. It was a lively sharing, and even Taylor ended up with something positive and meaningful to say. 

    After about forty-five minutes, the group took a break to have a snack and a drink, which Jessica always provided. Some went to the washroom. Laura was on her phone checking in with her kids to make sure they did not burn down the house. Sarah and Brittany were on their phones to see what they had missed on social media in the last hour. Taylor was also on her phone, standing outside the meeting room while checking in with someone.

    When the meeting resumed, they talked some more about the book. Most of the women had underlined a favorite passage from the book, and they shared it with the group and said why they liked it. There was also a point in the discussion that allowed anyone to ask questions about the book they did not understand. They discussed the setting, the writer’s style and pacing, the plot, the characters, the themes, and the impact. Did the story affect you? And how?

    As the members shared their thoughts on these questions, the women grew to know one another more and more. A bond developed among them, like any group of people who go through some experience together.

    With about fifteen minutes left, Jessica suggested they discuss their selection for October.

    “Does anyone have a suggestion?” she asked, looking around the room.

    “Since we’ll finish the book at Halloween, how about a horror story?” Taylor said. There were some sounds and comments, both positive and negative.

    “You know,” said Taylor, in her usually impertinent manner, “no one in this group has ever once taken a suggestion of mine. That’s pretty mean.”

    “No one said we’re not going to consider your suggestion,” Jessica said.

    “I’ll bet,” Taylor said. “I heard Amy and Hannah. They’re against it.”

    “We can speak our mind if we wish to,” said Hannah. 

    “I don’t want any Stephen King,” said Amy.

    “And no Anne Rice,” said Laura.

    “I can’t believe this!” Taylor said, frustrated. “I’ve never seen so many closed minds! I don’t even know why I continue to come here.”

    “Neither do I,” Laura said, under her breath.

    It seemed this meeting might end in one when most of the group left with bad feelings. Jessica wanted to head this off and turned to Emily for help.

    “I might have a solution,” Emily said, picking up on Jessica’s distress signal. “One of the purposes of the book club since its conception was to read books about women, written by women.”

    “Anne Rice is a woman… was a woman,” Taylor said.

    “But not the only woman to write horror,” said Jessica. “There was Mary Shelley.”

    “Charlotte Riddell,” Emily added.

    “Marjorie Bowen.”

    “Shirley Jackson.”

    “Are any of those women still alive?” Taylor asked, as if a dead writer wasn’t worth noticing.

    “They’re as alive as Anne Rice,” Emily said.

    “I think I’ve got just the Halloween book for us,” Jessica said. “It has something for everyone.” They all looked at Jessica expectantly.

    “What is it?” Laura asked.

    “Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier!” Jessica announced.

    “Daphne!” exclaimed Taylor. “Didn’t she work with Scooby-Doo?”

    “Du Maurier wrote stories that possessed a certain gothic mood,” said Emily, and turning to Taylor, she said, “You would appreciate that.”

    Almost everyone laughed. Even Taylor smiled at this.

    “I read Rebecca years ago,” said Amy. “But I’ll be happy to read it again.” 

    “Okay, so is it agreed?” Jessica posed. “We’ll be reading Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier for October.” She looked around the group for any objections. There was not one. 

    Emily was on her phone, checking out the library's catalog. “The library has two copies, and I just reserved them both. Does anyone want a library copy?”

    Amy and Taylor put up a hand. 

   “All right, as for new copies, I can get three for $8.99 each. That includes the discount. Is everyone good with that?”

    Everyone nodded.

    “I am asking everyone to bring a few extra dollars so Jessica can recoup some money for the refreshments she supplies every meeting. It is a very thoughtful gesture, and she should not have to bear all the expense.” 

    “Great!” Jessica said, standing. “That was a good meeting, and I look forward to seeing everyone again in two weeks when we’ll finish with The Solicitor’s Daughter, and we’ll get our copies of Rebecca. Goodnight, everyone.”

    Jessica and Emily remained behind. Jessica cleaned up a few cups left on the table and tossed a half-eaten cookie in the plastic container and the nearly empty juice bottle. The rain had stopped, and the two women exited the library together after Emily locked up and set the alarm.

    “Well, I think that went fairly well,” Jessica said.

    They bid each other goodnight and went to their cars.