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agent.”
    “Never heard of him.”
    “Yeah, well, call me back about the
interview.”
     
     
    He poured another half cup of Rattlesnake
Blend and the phone rang.
    It was Liz. “Tony, Shari LaPointe got fired
last night from WBAC, and no one knows anything about the
interview.”
    “Fired?”
    “Yeah, isn’t that nice? And you won’t
believe what for.”
    “I don’t want to know.”
    “Good. Anyway, they offered to re-book you
next week. What do you think?”
    “Tell them to forget it. I’m too busy with
this Hidden West project.”
    “How’s it coming?”
    “Slow. By the end of summer I’ll be
ready to write Standoff at Rifle
Ridge. Listen, I’ve been thinking about...”
    “That reminds me, Brock said he needs
a story synopsis and some cover ideas for Standoff.”
    “Tell him I’ll have no idea what’s going to
be in that book until late September.”
    “I’ll tell him you’re working on it.”
    “Liz, I’m not working on it yet, but I’ll
meet the deadlines. Don’t I always?”
    “In your fashion. Look, if you can jot down
a paragraph on a couple possible scenes, it will keep them happy a
while.”
    “Have a grubby Houston riding a Tobiano
horse pointing a ’73 Winchester carbine at some unseen enemy.”
    “What kind of horse?”
    “A paint. You know, basically white with
dark patches.”
    “We’ve already done that one, so send me a
little something when you get a chance. Meanwhile, if an agent
shows, remember the publishing house and I both need to be brought
in on the deal.”
    “Right.”
    “One other thing. They finally got a
photographer hired for Fox Island. Fax me a possible photo shoot.
I’ll line it up.”
    “I’ll tell Price. She handles that.”
    “Have a good week. Boy, I envy you two.
Famous writers spending every summer at some different remote
exotic resort, while I slave away in the hot, humid city. Bye.”
    A sea gull swooped over the patio and
deposited unusable parts of its breakfast in the middle of the
redwood table. “Lord, there are lots of ways you can keep me
humble. That’s not one of my more favorite ones.” Tony gathered the
phone and computer, scooted into the house, and headed straight for
the shower.
     
     
    The Yacht Club benefit consisted
mainly of Tacoma and Seattle socialites who owned a cabin or boat
slip on Fox Island. The buffet style luncheon featured piles of
smoked clams and baked oysters, shrimp jambalaya and hot crab dip,
open-faced sandwiches and tiny, slimy hors
d’oeuvres. Seaweed pudding filled long wooden bowls
and double chocolate mousse was shaped like sail boats.
    Tony finished his sixth “Oh, I’ve never met
an author before” conversation when Price tugged at his elbow.
“Excuse me, Mr. Shadowbrook.” She tilted her head and batted her
blue eyes. “But you remind me so much of ... my father.”
    “Come on, you. We’re going for a walk.”
    “What? And leave all your adoring fans?”
    “There aren’t three people here who’ve ever
read one of my books, and that includes you and me.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “To look at the boats.”
    A slight breeze pushed fluffy white clouds
out Hale Passage toward the Narrows. The air reeked of fish and
salt and clean sweat. Sipping from plastic glasses of lemonade,
they wandered along the rough wooden docks and boat slips.
    “Tell me what Josh said,” Tony quizzed.
    “It happened in the stunt where Josh chases
Paul to the top of the barn and they end up with the somersault
into the wagon.”
    “Yeah?”
    “There was a scrap two-by-four tossed on the
gigantic air mattress, and Josh caught the board when he
landed.”
    “But he’s not going to take some time
off?”
    “No, he insists he’s fine. He’ll wear
leather cuffs and that will cover the brace.”
    “I don’t suppose his mother could talk him
out of it?”
    “Not a chance. He did mention there’s a new
girl in the act. She has an awesome smile.”
    “Oh, joy, another sweet young thing who’s
going