Manuscripts and Murder (Madison Kramer Mystery #1)

By Kelly Hashway

Madison Kramer thought her past was behind her. With a new name and a career as a bestselling author, what could go wrong?

She never expected Trevor Lockhardt to walk into her book signing, offering his services as her publicist, or that she’d end up falling for him. But what she really didn’t expect was a stalker sending her messages, both written and in the form of dead bodies.

Madison can’t escape her parents’ murder any longer. But is it their killer coming to finish what he started fifteen years ago? Or is she wrapped up in yet another murder case?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kelly Hashway
• Release date: Mar 5, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463781159

Kelly Hashway

Kelly Hashway fully admits to being one of the most accident-prone people on the planet, but luckily she gets to write about female sleuths who are much more coordinated than she is. Maybe it was growing up watching Murder, She Wrote that instilled a love of mystery, but she spends her days writing cozy mysteries. Kelly’s also a sucker for first love, which is why she writes romance under the pen name Ashelyn Drake. When she’s not writing, Kelly works as an editor and also as Mom, which she believes is a job title that deserves to be capitalized.

Book preview

One

Madison! a young fan yells, bobbing up and down on her feet in what I can only assume is an attempt to get a better look at me.

Hang in there, Rachelle says, leaning toward me so no one overhears. Just keep a smile on your face and sign as quickly as you can.

Madison Kramer. Madison Kramer. Madison Kramer. I have to keep repeating the name over and over in my head. It’s not easy to remember you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. But if I really stop to think about it, I’m more Madison Kramer than Abby Miller. Abby died fifteen years ago when Rachelle took me in. Saved me from a life in the hands of the foster system. Rachelle was dad’s stepsister at one time. But after his mother remarried for the second time, Rachelle became the wacky aunt I heard from once a year on my birthday. That was before I witnessed Mom and Dad gunned down by a guy robbing a convenient store. I’ll never forget the feel of the man’s eyes on me as he raised the gun to end my life, too. I don’t know what stopped him from pulling the trigger. Only that he didn’t. And that cost him life in jail. I was an eyewitness, and I’d seen his face. It was a lot for a ten-year-old to handle.

Miss Kramer, I can’t tell you how much I loved your book, the girl in front of me squeals as I scribble my signature with the fat black Sharpie, drawing out the K for effect. I was terrified when I got to the end and the killer was revealed.

That’s the part that always terrifies me, too. Always brings back the memories.

Rachelle bumps my elbow with hers. Miss Kramer is so happy to hear you’re a fan. Be sure to check out the rest of the stops on her tour. She has a reading next month in New York City. Tell your friends.

Yes, it would be great to see a familiar face in the crowd, I say, smiling and playing the part. Would you like to take a picture? I offer, already knowing she’ll say yes.

She nods frantically and steps around the table to my side. I smile and hold one side of the book while the girl—Brenda, according to the name she had me sign the book to—holds the other. Thank you, Miss Kramer. Thank you! she says after Rachelle hands her cell phone back to her with our photo lit up on the display.

You’re welcome. I reach for the next book Rachelle slides in front of me. This time it’s a man who steps up to my table. Majority of my fan base is women ages eighteen to forty-five—according to Rachelle, who monitors every stat possible—so this is a surprise. He looks to be about thirty, tall, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes.

You’re drooling, Rachelle whispers through the fake smile she’s had plastered on her face for the past two hours.

I rub my lips together under the pretense of smoothing out my lipstick. What’s your name? I ask the man.

Trevor Lockhardt, but you can just sign the book to Trevor.

I had a friend named Trevor when I was in high school, I tell him. It’s the line I use every once in a while when I’m lost for how to interact with a fan. As long as the person has a common name, it’s an easy enough lie to pull off. And sometimes I really did know someone by that name, whether we were friends or not.

Was he a publicist as well?

Rachelle stiffens at my side. She’s my agent, not my publicist, but she’s been taking care of everything as far as my career is concerned. She groomed me for this business. Told me when I was fifteen that I’d be the next big thing in women’s fiction. So far she’s delivering on her promise.

You’re a publicist? I ask, my Sharpie poised in midair. Are you here for a book or to give me your card?

Both actually. I’m a big fan of your work.

I recap the Sharpie without signing the book and cock my head at him. This is my first book. I can’t imagine you’ve read anything else I’ve written. So, I think you mean you’re a fan of my book.

Rachelle smiles next to me, clearly thinking I’m going to put Old Trevor in his place for trying to steal her job right out from under her.

Really? Trevor reaches into the pocket of his black dress pants and pulls out a folded piece of computer paper. Then I guess you aren’t the same Madison Kramer who wrote this. He flattens the paper and lays it on the open book in front of me.

My eyes scan the text. It’s an article I wrote while I was in college. Rachelle had me submit it to a small online paper so I could start getting some publishing credits. She always wanted me to submit more stories, but I got caught up in writing Running From Murder. Rachelle continues to complain about how long it takes me to draft a book. I’ve been working on book two for the past two months, which is nothing compared to the years it took me to write the first book.

My God. I haven’t seen this in years.

"So it is you," Trevor says with a smile.

You got me.

Madison, your line is quite long. You need to speed this up, Rachelle says, no longer smiling or attempting to appear polite.

Right. Trevor takes the paper back, folding it and returning it to his pocket. I would be honored if you’d sign the book to me and if you’d allow me to buy you dinner after the signing. I’d like to talk to you about the services I could offer you in promoting your book.

Rachelle stands up and leans over the table toward Trevor. Miss Kramer is not in need of your services at this time, Mr. Lostart.

It’s Lockhardt, Trevor says, but I suspect you butchered my name on purpose. He winks at me, and I have to suppress a smile as I sign the book to him. I hold the cover so it’s blocking Rachelle’s view of what I’m writing and add, Dinner sounds lovely in small print at the bottom before shutting the book.

There you go, Mr. Lockhardt, I say, handing him the signed copy.

Please, call me Trevor. He smiles as he walks away, but he stops at the end of the row of shelves to read what I wrote. His smile widens, and his eyes rise to mine after he closes the book.

I don’t know where these people think they get off trying to sell you their services. Like you need them. Rachelle scoffs, and I can’t really disagree. Thanks to her, the hottest new Hollywood actress, Crystal Merryweather, endorsed my book very publicly on late night TV. Crystal is Rachelle’s niece, and she was one of my only friends growing up. She made sure people knew my name. Still, I can’t help stealing glances at Trevor throughout the rest of the signing, which goes on longer than the three hours I agreed to.

When I’m finished, I stand up and stretch while Rachelle talks to the store manager, most likely to set up another signing in the future. My eyes scan the remaining crowd. Most are in line paying for their books, but off to the side at the end of an aisle is Trevor. He smiles and beckons me over.

I glance at Rachelle, still deep in conversation with the general manager, before grabbing my purse and meeting Trevor. Walking past him, I duck into the next aisle and out of view.

Hiding from someone? Trevor asks.

Is it that obvious?

Agents, right? They mean well, but the second you start making them money, they push and push and push you to make more.

I lower my eyes and sigh. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for her, so I really have no right to complain.

She’s doing you a disservice, though.

I raise my gaze to meet his. My heart skips a beat, something it hasn’t done in a long time. I can’t deny the attraction between us, but it scares me at the same time. How so?

You need a publicist. Someone who will help you shape your image and reach more readers.

I expect him to pull out a business card, especially since he admitted that was his purpose for coming here tonight, but instead he offers me his arm.

Shall we?

I hesitate. Normally, I wouldn’t go on a date with a man I don’t know, but I can’t help being tempted by Trevor’s offer, and this is purely business, right? I should tell Rachelle I’m leaving, but texting her from the road seems so much easier. Throwing caution to the wind, I take Trevor’s arm and allow him to lead me out of the store. We step into the crisp fall air, and I breathe deeply. October has always been my favorite month of the year. The cool air seems to breathe new life into me.

You must be exhausted, Trevor says as he brings me to a black BMW parked in the front row of the lot.

I’m fine, I say. Nice car.

He opens the passenger door for me. Thanks. I had a good year.

So then, why are you trying to sign me? I can’t stop myself from asking.

I know a good thing when I see it. He smiles as I get in, and he’s still smiling when he walks around and takes his place in the driver’s seat. I’m very selective with who I sign, Madison. He pauses. Is it all right if I call you Madison?

Of course. I click my seat belt and pull out my cell. My text to Rachelle is short.

Maddie: Went for dinner.

She’s going to have a coronary, and since I don’t feel like dealing with it right now, I turn off my phone after hitting send.

Trevor pulls out of the parking spot and onto the road. I don’t even ask where we’re going, which according to my book is one of the biggest mistakes the main character can make. But for some reason, I’m drawn to Trevor. Maybe it’s his confidence or the warmth of his smile. Or maybe I’ve had enough of Rachelle and all her rules for me. I’m twenty-five for God’s sake, and she still treats me like the ten-year-old she adopted.

When I read your story from that online newspaper, I knew you had a way with words. So I wasn’t surprised when I saw your name on the best-seller list.

I laugh. Really? Because I was completely shocked. Even though Rachelle made sure Crystal was on board with promoting me and my book.

Don’t be so modest. You’re very talented. Look at the following you have already, and your book’s only been out for three months. He glances at me. Think of how successful you could be if you paired up with me. I’ll make you a household name by six months in.

Shouldn’t you be focused on the road? I say when he doesn’t turn away from me. Or we’ll both be dead six minutes into this conversation.

Sorry. He turns his attention back to the road. It’s just hard not to stare when a woman is as beautiful as you are.

This is another part in any book where the main character should run. I should demand he pull over, and then I should call Rachelle to come get me. Instead I say, That was such a line. I thought you were better than that, Trevor.

He nods. You’re right. I heard it the second the words left my mouth, but I swear I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

Do you try to flatter your way into all your clients’ hearts? Is that how you get them to sign with you?

My other clients are men, he says. And before you go jumping to conclusions, no. That’s not at all what I did with them.

So it’s just me? I ask, the skepticism clear in my voice. "I’m special?"

He pulls into Red Lobster and cuts the engine. Then he turns in his seat so he’s facing me. Look, I’m sorry I said that. If you want to know the truth, you intimidate me.

I’m sure he’s not easily intimidated. More than one woman was glancing in his direction at the signing. He has that quality about him that draws your attention, and not just because he’s good looking. He exudes personality. Rachelle is intimidating. I’m...me.

Before we get into a debate over why you’re amazing and you accuse me of feeding you more lines, why don’t we go inside and enjoy some seafood? He motions to the door.

How did you know I love seafood?

He shrugs. It was a test actually. I like to hold my client meetings here. Lobster is one of my favorite foods.

I nod. Mine too.

See, we’re meshing already. He gets out and walks over to my door, but I beat him to it, stepping out onto the pavement. Don’t worry, Madison. I’m not thinking this is a date or anything of the sort. I’m only trying to be a gentleman, he says as he opens the door to Red Lobster for me.

Good, because I don’t date people I work with. One of Rachelle’s rules, and one I’ve never really had a problem following.

Understood. He walks up to the hostess and asks for a booth in the back. She nods and tells us to follow her. Trevor taps on the glass of the lobster tank as we walk by it.

What was that about? I ask.

My way of saying sorry to whichever lobster is about to meet its fate on my dinner plate. I can never bring myself to pick out the one I want. It seems too cruel.

I nod, seeing his point and already deciding to order shrimp instead of lobster.

After the hostess seats us and hands us our menus, I study Trevor’s face, trying to make sense of the evening. Tell me more about your services. Do you work for a PR company or own your own?

He closes his menu, which he’d been perusing while I watched him. Okay, you want to get right down to business. I can respect that.

That’s why we’re here, right? I thought he’d want to get right into it in the hopes of adding me to his list of clients.

He sighs, but before he can launch into a pitch of any nature, the waitress comes by to take our drink order. We end up ordering our food too since we both know what we want, and I’m eager to get rid of the waitress and hear what Trevor has to say.

I own my own PR company. My clients hire me for a certain number of hours each week or month, depending on what they are comfortable with. I book appearances and even travel to events with them.

How does that work when you have multiple clients? I ask.

The waitress returns with our drinks, and I immediately take a sip of my margarita. The sour taste and the sea salt from the glass hit my tongue at the same time, and I moan. I needed that after hours of signing books. I look up to see Trevor smiling. Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.

No. It’s okay. He reaches across the table and pauses before taking my hand. May I?

Um, may you what exactly? I cock my head at him, not sure what he’s trying to do.

Your hand is cramped, right? He gestures to it. I can tell by the way you’re holding it, and by the way you are avoiding the use of it. You’re a righty, but you’re holding your glass with your left hand.

I do a lot of things lefty. I can even brush my teeth and use scissors with my left hand. Mostly because Rachelle told me forcing myself to use my nondominant hand would tap into the opposite side of my brain and spark creativity.

Trevor takes my right hand in his, and I’m about to protest, but his thumbs massage my palm in the most heavenly way imaginable. Better, right? he asks.

How did you know? Do you massage your other clients’ hands? It’s almost difficult to talk with how incredible the massage feels.

Not quite. Someone showed me this trick a long time ago. His thumbs continue to work their magic, and before I know it, my eyes close. You put your hands through a lot as a writer. You have to pamper them sometimes.

Your food, miss.

My eyes open wide at the sound of the waitress’s voice. Oh. I pull my hand from Trevor’s so she can put the plate in front of me. Thank you.

After the waitress gives Trevor his lobster she asks, Is there anything else I can get for you both?

No, thank you. We’re doing just fine. Trevor’s eyes lock on mine, and I can’t imagine he looks at his clients the way he’s looking at me right now.

The waitress walks away and Trevor reaches for my hand again, but this time I grab my fork instead. Everything smells great, I say, breaking eye contact.

His face falls. You meant what you said before, didn’t you?

About what? I feign innocence.

You don’t get involved with people you work with.

Oh God. He’s really doing this. He’s skipping the business part of the dinner and going straight to hitting on me. I’m an idiot for coming here with him. I should have asked for a card and called his office Monday morning.

No. I mean, yes. I don’t date people I work with.

He leans forward, this time taking my left hand in his. Okay, then. Madison Kramer, I’m sorry to say this, but I’m afraid I can’t be your publicist.

Two

I sit there for exactly thirty seconds, debating my next move. On one hand, Trevor is a gorgeous, ambitious man with his own successful business. Any woman would be elated to date him. But on the other, I don’t know him from Adam. Who asks someone they just met that evening to go to dinner on the same night? It’s way too fast.

Would you excuse me for a moment? I grab my purse and head toward the bathrooms, glancing back to make sure Trevor isn’t following me. Our waitress is at another table near the ladies room, and I walk over to her.

Hi. I’m from the booth in the back.

She nods. Did you need something? I was about to check on your table.

No. I actually have to leave, and I wanted to pay my half of the bill. I dig through my purse for my wallet and take out a twenty. Here. I hand her the bill and walk out of the restaurant. Shoving my wallet back inside my purse, I locate my cell phone. Rachelle is going to kill me for pulling a stunt like this, so I know better than to call her. Instead, I dial Megan.

Hey. You’re back from the signing already? With that line, I thought you’d be there all night. Megan was one of the first in line.

Listen, I sort of blew off Rachelle and went to dinner with this guy—

You picked up a guy at a book signing? Really? What is he, a librarian?

I walk around the parking lot to the back of the restaurant so Trevor won’t see me if he goes to his car. No. He’s a publicist. It was supposed to be a business dinner, but things got a little... I’m not sure what.

Kinky? Are you at his place?

No! I practically yell into the phone.

What? It was a legitimate question. Sheesh, Maddie.

I’m at Red Lobster on Fifth. Can you come get me? I rub my arm, trying to warm up in the cool night air. I’ll have to come back tomorrow for my jacket, which is still in the booth with Trevor.

Do you have a doggy bag for me? I could go for some lobster. I hear keys jingle, so I know she’s already on her way.

No. I walked out right after our food arrived.

Madison?

I whirl around at the sound of Trevor’s voice.

Is that him? Megan asks.

Yes. See you in a few. I