offee service. Mikhail too made a donation. But when he turned around, Bird was nowhere in sight.
He headed for the door, but halted when Bill stepped in front of him and addressed him in what Mikhail guessed was supposed to be a confidential tone, but was loud enough for the entire room to hear. “If you ask me, Miss Lebowitz leaves a lot to be desired as a moderator. She should have introduced us properly, beginning with the pros, so you’d know who’s worth listening to.”
Mikhail tried to step past, but Bill moved to block his path as he went on, “Speaking man to man, the little ladies all like taking turns playing leader, so the professionals among us humor them. There are only two real pros.” Bill scowled at Godiva. “I’m sure Miss Hidalgo bragged to you about her sales and awards, but I bet she didn’t mention that I’m a screenwriter, lately turned to novels. Then there’s little Bird Worcester, who used to write kiddie books. That was years and years ago, but we still regard her as a courtesy pro.”
At that, Mikhail’s residual guilt for his gesture with the air fedora vanished. He restrained the urge to drop this windbag with an elbow to the solar plexus and a palm-heel to the chin as Bill finished, “The rest are wannabes. I didn’t catch your name?”
“Mick. High. ELL.” Godiva appeared at Mikhail’s shoulder. “Professor Mikhail Long. He introduced himself at the start, Bill.”
She was barely shoulder-height, and thin as a reed. Bill, who towered over her, glowered.
“Thank you for inviting me, Godiva,” said Mikhail. “Bill, you say you wrote screenplays. For which movies that I might have seen?”
“Well, none of them actually got made,” Bill said, scowling. “That’s Hollywood for you.”
“I see,” said Mikhail. “One might regard them as courtesy films.”
Bill flushed a dull red and stomped to the door. On his way out, Mikhail heard him giving one of the writers—a woman of about twenty-five—a patronizing compliment.
Godiva uttered an explosive snort that reminded Mikhail of his dragon. “Good one. Bill thinks he’s King of the Hill—about time someone other than me stood up to him. Well, good riddance.” She shot him a keen glance. “Did you notice the artwork in the bakery?”
“I caught a glance as I came in. Very fine watercolors.”
Godiva’s fierce gaze relaxed, her black eyes twinkling as Mikhail followed her into the bakery proper. Framed in pride of place by the front door was a tall watercolor of Jane Austen drinking tea as she looked down at a manuscript, one hand reaching for scones on a plate. He recognized those scones. Mikhail realized these were faithful reproductions of the scones that had been demolished during the readings.
He glanced at the glass case, and sure enough, a little label, written in fine copperplate, marked a now-empty tray: Jane Austen Scones. On the other side of the door, Sherlock Holmes sat with his magnifying glass and his pipe, reaching for a Baker Street Tartlet. Victor Hugo sat behind a plate of éclairs, and so on. Famous writers, artfully painted, paired with pastries.
Godiva lowered her voice. “Bird painted those for Linette when she bought the bakery. It was a dump back then, with crappy fifties décor and pastries that tasted like they’d been sitting around since then. Linette’s baking is great, but she was still struggling. Then she offered to let us meet here. Since we were meeting in a bakery and half the group was writing mysteries at the time, we called ourselves the Baker Street Writers. And that gave Linette the idea for her theme.”
“It’s quite clever.”
Godiva flashed a grin. “Bird offered to paint these and refused to take a dime. Linette’s business became a success, but Bird still won’t take her money. She’s like that. She lives in a dinky cottage, on social security, but she does art for anyone who wants it. The most she ever charges is five, ten bucks, and that’s from institutions like the city council. She’s got a heart as big as all nine planets.”
“That does not surprise me,” he said truthfully. He had seen that generosity in her eyes back on the beach—it was the first thing that bewitched him.
“Of course,” Godiva added trenchantly, “we take care of our own. Linette won’t take Bird’s money either. Bird can come in any time and if she wanted a Boston Cream cake, Linette would box it right up. You noticed everyone chipping in for the refreshments, but the first time Bird tried, Linette stuffed it right back down the front of her shirt.”
“Linette sounds like an excellent friend, as good as her baking. But there must be a reason you are telling me these things?”
Godiva eyed him. “I noticed you watching Bird. I liked seeing that—but I also saw her face when you two came back inside. You just showed up in town, and nobody knows jack diddly about you. The fact that you’ve got the good taste to notice Bird is a point in your favor, but if you’re thinking of a casual fling, she isn’t a casual fling sorta gal.”
This one is fierce as a fire dragon. His dragon’s hum resembled that of a contented beehive, times a thousand. Mikhail’s dragon added with approval, She is gallant.
That she is, but don’t distract me, Mikhail replied. This is difficult enough.
“I wish to assure you that my intentions are entirely honorable.” Mikhail had little expectation that his promise would mean much, here where no one knew him. And Godiva, being mortal, was not sensitive on the mythic plane or he’d sense her.
But whatever Godiva saw in his expression seemed to reassure her. She gave a snorting grunt of approval. “Just making sure. You could tell me that Bird’s a big girl, and her business is her business, but!” The word rang like a gunshot. “There are lot of us who would take it very badly if we saw her getting hurt again.”
“Again?” Mikhail said carefully.
“I hate gossips,” she said grimly. “But. Bird’s ex, a dickweasel from Planet Scumsucker, wasn’t satisfied just to dump her. He took everything away—her earnings from her books, which won all kinds of awards, her kids, and most of all, her self-respect, just because he could. So . . .”
At that moment Bird emerged from the restroom.
Mikhail bowed to Godiva. “Thank you for your entirely justified warning. It is a relief to see that she has loyal friends.”
Godiva’s smile hitched higher, then she walked away, muttering, “Then go get her.”