Fiction by Anne R. Allen
“The Lila Segovia Smile” was the second-place winner in fiction in the 2024 Golden Quill Writing Contest.
Mary Ellen Duggan clutched her Christmas cookie tin and pulled her raggedy suitcase up the leaf-strewn path to Jen’s fancy new Portland townhouse. Before she knocked on the door, Mary Ellen pulled a compact from her bag, made sure the make-up still covered her bruises, and practiced her Lila Segovia smile.
She’d been working on that smile ever since she read Lou Bambino’s new thriller, Raven’s Eye. Lila was his best heroine yet. He wrote that “Lila’s come-hither smile radiated a self-confidence that came from exquisite bone structure, good hair, and a Beretta in her handbag.”
Mary Ellen was a dishwater blond with a flat Irish moon-face, and she didn’t own a handgun. But she had a great imagination. She could picture herself becoming somebody like Lila.
Her friend Jen was always reinventing herself —she did it every time she discarded a husband—so why couldn’t Mary Ellen do it too? She’d been playing around with a new name: Mariel. She’d started using it as a pen name for the murder mystery she was writing.
Mariel Delgado—a perfect name for her new badass self.
Somebody named Mariel Delgado would not let herself be defined by her luggage. She’d probably have some lethal weapon hidden inside that duct-taped outer pocket. Lila Segovia certainly would.
Mary Ellen couldn’t believe she was going to meet Lou Bambino himself—tomorrow! After his book signing at Wordsworth’s. He’d answered her email and said he wanted to talk to her. Over coffee. Just her.
Tomorrow was the day everything would change.
But today, she’d have to listen to Jen complain about the Drunken Santa Candy Cane Fudge Bars she’d brought. Jen would say October was too early for Christmas cookies. And she’d remember the recipe called for peppermint schnapps, not vodka and peppermint extract.
Jen had one of those perfect-recall memories. It was like a superpower with her.
Mary Ellen gave a couple of raps with the shiny brass door knocker. Nice place. Jen must have done pretty well in the divorce settlement from that trust-fund hippie.
The door only half-opened.
“Mary Ellen! You’re early! I only got off work a half hour ago.” Jen peered around the door, still toweling her hair. It was blond now—not a bad color on her.
“Sorry.” Mary Ellen tried not to let the chilly welcome discourage her. “I left Kennebec Falls early because I heard it might snow. But it didn’t. Clear skies all the way to Portland. It was a nice drive. I’d do it more often if Mike didn’t always say he’d miss me too much.”
She gave an apologetic smile. She knew Jen had never liked Mike, even back in high school, when he was the big football hero of Kennebec High.
“Where are my manners?” Jen opened the door wide and grabbed Mary Ellen’s suitcase.
She rolled it down the hall past a picture-perfect living room and doll-house kitchen—so different from the big, sloppy farmhouse she’d shared with Kipper Van Heusen.
“I put you in my office downstairs because you said you’d hurt your knee in that tumble last month. Are you okay down here? The sofa is a fold-out. It’s all made up.”
“That’s great. Thanks.” It was a no-frills room with computer stuff on the desk, but Jen had put a cozy-looking quilt on the fold-out. Mary Ellen had forgotten she’d emailed Jen about her knee.
But as always, Jen always remembered every little detail. That amazing memory.
Which was exactly why Mary Ellen was here.
The pain from the “tumble” still lingered, but the scab was mostly healed. While Jen went upstairs to finish dressing and do her hair, Mary Ellen reapplied the make-up she used to cover the purple marks Mike’s fists had left two nights ago. Plus the greenish ones from last week. She didn’t want to tell Jen the usual lies about tripping over shoes and walking into doors.
Jen could always see through her—and she didn’t understand that divorce was not an option. Mike had promised to arrange a “hunting accident” if Mary Ellen ever told a living soul.
So she kept wearing the make-up and telling lies about how she and Mike were still madly in love.
She changed from her jeans into her best black slacks and the beige silk blouse she’d picked up at the church rummage sale. It was kind of dated, but Mike didn’t like her spending money on dress-up clothes. He said it wasn’t like she had a real job. Since Sears closed down, she was just the bookkeeper at his garage, and every day was casual Friday.
Jen called from the kitchen with an offer of coffee.
Mary Ellen brought in the cookie tin and sat at the sleek little kitchen table.
Jen gave an eye roll at the elves and holly berries on the cookie tin. “You do know it’s not even Halloween yet, don’t you?”
“Ay-yup. But I had to bring my famous Drunken Santa Candy Cane Fudge Bars.” Mary Ellen opened the tin to show off her carefully arranged chocolate squares with the ground-up candy canes on top. “People always love them no matter the time of year. You were so nice to invite me to your book club dinner. I didn’t want to go empty-handed.”
Jen rolled her eyes and went to fuss with the coffee. She had one of those new coffee makers that make one slow cup at a time.
“The book club bash is a lot of fun, and you’re so booky. I’m happy you could finally come. You’ll like these ladies.” Jen put another cup into the coffee maker. “I’m taking chicken parmigiana from Lorenzo’s. We’ll pick it up on the way.” The coffee-maker gave a whoosh. “I don’t cook anymore unless I have to. I hate having a mess in my kitchen.”
Weird. Jen used to be a great cook. But that was with her first husband René. Now she was a bigwig at Coastal Maine Bank, so she could probably afford to buy restaurant food for twenty people, even without whatever she got from Kipper.
Still, Mary Ellen cringed at the expense.
Jen put two steaming cups of coffee on the table along with a pitcher of cream. She chose one of the fudge bars, bit into it, and made a face—the same face she used to make in fifth grade when she got a raisin cookie instead of chocolate chip.
“Oh. You didn’t use peppermint schnapps.” She put the rest of the fudge bar on her saucer. “Well, I’m supposed to be eating Paleo ….”
Time for Mary Ellen to deliver her explanation.
“Mike took the schnapps on his hunting trip. Along with the rest of the booze in the cupboard. Luckily, I know where he hides his spare pint of vodka in the garage, so I could make do with that and peppermint extract. But you know, I worry. The doctor says he should cut back. He has high triglycerides, which is dangerous for the heart. I don’t know what I’d do if he had a heart attack.”
“All the booze in the cupboard? How many guys are going?”
“Just him. His buddies won’t go to his hunting camp anymore. That old place is a wicked mess. I tried to clean it up last summer but only scratched the surface. I found junk his Pop left from when he had the snowmobile, and that had to be twenty years ago.”
They sat in awkward silence as Jen stirred cream into her coffee and Mary Ellen ate the biggest fudge bar, to show how yummy they were, even without the schnapps.
“I’m amazed you could come visit,” Jen said finally. “How many years have I been inviting you? Mike could finally spare you from the garage?”
“He always closes down at the beginning of bird season for his hunting trip, and I usually use that time to catch up on the accounts, but this year when you told me you were going to be talking about Raven’s Eye, and going to Lou Bambino’s book signing, I decided to take off too. Lou Bambino is my favorite author. And I think I told you I’ve been doing some writing myself. Not just the church newsletter. I’m working on a mystery. Mike doesn’t know.”
Jen looked skeptical.
“Mike doesn’t know you’re writing a novel?”
Mary Ellen shook her head. “He wouldn’t want me to get my hopes up. And I didn’t tell him about this weekend either, because he gets so jealous, and …” She lingered on the last word, savoring the dramatic pause. “I happen to have a date to talk to Mr. Bambino tomorrow after his signing.”
Jen snorted. “You. Have a date with Lou Bambino. How much vodka did you put in those things?”
“It’s not a date date. It’s a business meeting. Kind of. I wrote him an email. And he wrote back. He asked me to have coffee with him when he’s in Portland. He probably didn’t know I live three hours away, back in the boonies, but I wasn’t going to tell him.”
“Lou Bambino answers fan letters? I’ll tell the book club!” Jen took another little nibble of her fudge bar. Maybe she forgot she didn’t like it.
“What I wrote wasn’t exactly a fan letter.” Mary Ellen sipped coffee. “It was more like a not-a-fan letter. I hated the ending of Raven’s Eye. Didn’t you? Lila Segovia should not have ended up married. Not to Lazlo anyway. So I wrote Mr. Bambino a piece of my mind. You know how it says in the e-book that ‘Mr. Bambino loves to hear from his fans’ and there’s his email address right there? I was reading it on my phone, so I just hit the link to the address.”
“Lila ends up with Lazlo?” Jen put down her coffee cup. “No way! She totally should have hooked up with Jake Stryker.”
“You didn’t finish the book?” How could a person not finish a book that exciting?
Jen shrugged. “I never have time to finish the book club books these days, with all the work I have to bring home. But I know Lila should have ended up with Jake.”
Mary Ellen sighed.
“Nobody can end up with Jake, because he’s a loner and a drifter and has to be single for the next Jake Stryker novel. But I think Lila should go on to another adventure like Jake—be a vigilante like him and help other women. She was not made for a lifetime of sappy-ever-after.”
“Sappy-ever-after?” Jen gave a big laugh. “That’s good. I have to remember that.”
“It’s what I wrote to Lou Bambino. I was so mad, I even used some nasty words. I have to hear them all the time in the garage, and they kind of slipped out.”
“Nasty? I don’t believe it. Not Mary Ellen Duggan. And speaking of nasty, do you really not have anything else to wear? Hello? The nineties called. They want their shoulder pads back.”
“Mike likes the way I look in this blouse.”
“Yeah, well Mike’s in the woods drinking peppermint schnapps with the ducks.” Jen stood and got her coat. “But we’ve got an hour, and there’s a great little boutique next to Lorenzo’s. It’s where I got this scarf. What do you say we stop there on the way to dinner? You need to have something nice to wear to meet Lou Bambino. My treat. I’m sure Mike doesn’t pay you what you’re worth.”
Actually, Mike didn’t pay anything, even though Mary Ellen ran the whole financial side of the business. She sighed and gave an embarrassed shrug.
“I guess I could use something with a little more color.”
“Color? You’ve been dressing like you want to fade into the woodwork ever since you married that guy. Remember what you used to wear in high school? Miley Cyrus, eat your heart out!”
“But Mike doesn’t like me to—”
“Forget Mike, okay?” Jen rolled her eyes, then held up her hands. “I know, I know. He’s the love of your life, yadda, yadda, but can you forget him just for this weekend?
The shop next to Lorenzo’s was full of flowy bohemian things and beaded jewelry. It smelled like incense and exotic perfume.
“This would look fabulous on you.” Jen picked out a brightly embroidered jacket that looked as if it came from someplace you couldn’t pronounce.
“Mike would have a fit.”
“You’re forgetting Mike this weekend, remember? Go try it on.” Jen put on her bossy-girl face.
“Try it with these.” She handed Mary Ellen some slinky palazzo pants and a low-cut blouse.
Wow. In the dressing room, Mary Ellen looked in the mirror and could hardly believe it was her own self looking back. But it was. Her high school self. All grown up.
Jen came into the dressing room with some chunky silver jewelry: big hoop earrings and a silver pendant shaped like a star. She put the necklace over Mary Ellen’s head and held one of the hoops up to her ear.
“You know who you look like now?” she said. “Lila Segovia.”
Mary Ellen giggled. “Oh, right. All I need is to dye my hair ‘as black as a raven’s eye’.”
Jen gave a sly smile. “I’ll see if my hairdresser can fit you in tomorrow.”
“No. I didn’t mean for real.”
“It will cover up some of that gray.” Jen smoothed Mary Ellen’s pale hair away from her ears and put on the silver earrings. “Now we’ve got a party to go to!”
The book club dinner went okay. Except a couple of the ladies turned up their noses when Mary Ellen said she and her husband ran a garage in Kennebec Falls.
But Jen jumped in and said not everybody was lucky enough to be so madly in love with their high school sweetheart they couldn’t stand to be away from each other more than a few nights a year.
And everybody loved the fudge bars.
Of course Jen pretended she was the one who had thought up all the stuff about “sappy-ever-after” and how Lila Segovia should have dumped Lazlo.
Mary Ellen ignored the snotty ladies and told the nice ones to call her by her new pen name. Jen said “Mariel Delgado” sounded like somebody’s maid, but Mary Ellen didn’t care. She had an email account under the name Mariel and that’s the name she’d used to write to Lou Bambino.
Now, thanks to Jen, she had the outfit to match.
While the women argued about the book’s ending, Mary Ellen turned on her phone and read Mr. Bambino’s email again.
“Hi Mariel — I couldn’t agree with you more. The ending of Raven’s Eye sucked. Would you believe I fought with my editor for nearly a month over it?
“In my original ending Lila died in an accident with the motorboat after she poisoned her husband. Jake almost died too, trying to save her in the frigid lake.
“But my editor nixed the death scene. He said the order came down from on high. They wouldn’t let me drown Lila because they were in talks about a film … with Jennifer Lopez attached.
“But J-Lo evaporated, the option got dropped, and we had to do something with Lila, so she got stuck with Lazlo. I was hoping for echoes of Casablanca. You know, when Ingrid Bergman ends up with Victor Lazlo? But Lila did not deserve a sappy ending. You’re damn right.
“Can we talk about it over coffee? I’m doing a signing at Wordsworth’s Bookstore in Portland on October 4th. Want to stop by around 5:00? I should be finishing up around then. I’ll be the big Italian guy hiding behind the stack of books — Lou.”
Mary Ellen took another sip of wine and clicked off her phone. She considered telling everybody that she was going to have coffee with Lou Bambino tomorrow after the book signing—they were all planning to go—but she realized she didn’t need to.
There would be plenty of time for surprises tomorrow.
Jen’s hairdresser had an opening at three. She was expensive, but Jen said it would be worth it. And it was. When Mary Ellen walked into Wordsworth’s at 4:45, her hair was raven’s-eye black, cut in a fierce Louise Brooks bob that made her eyes seem bigger and her chin more determined. She couldn’t wait to show Jen.
But Jen wasn’t at the bookstore. Some of the book club women were still there, standing in line waiting for their autographs. They told her Jen had called and said she had to take care of some emergency at home, and she’d be by later.
They all said they loved Mary Ellen’s hair.
Mr. Bambino was indeed a big Italian guy. Tall with a big belly. He looked older and more tired than he did in his photographs, and his smile seemed kind of pasted on.
Mary Ellen got nervous as she waited. She wondered if he’d even remember their “date.” He’d sent that email more than a month ago.
One of the ladies introduced Mary Ellen to him, using the name. “Mariel Delgado” sounded so cool when somebody said it out loud.
“Mariel?” Mr. Bambino’s eyes widened as he looked up. His smile went from fake to real. “Mariel Delgado, herself?” He took a copy of Raven’s Eye from the stack and wrote something in it. “Tell the people at the front desk it’s paid for. I’m almost done here.” He looked at his watch. “They tell me there’s a great little Salvadoran place a couple of blocks from here. Do you have time for an early dinner instead of coffee? I love pupusas!”
Mary Ellen had no idea what pupusas were, and she wasn’t sure what Salvadoran meant, but she had no doubt Lila Segovia would love it all.
“I think I can fit dinner into my schedule.” She took her phone out of her purse and pretended to check her calendar. She had a bunch of texts from Jen, but they could wait.
She told the few book club people who were still there about the dinner plans. The look of envy in their eyes was priceless.
She found a comfy chair in the back and opened the crisp new copy of Raven’s Eye. No matter how cool e-books were, and how much safer they were to read when Mike was around criticizing everything, there was nothing like the feel of a real, hard-cover book. She opened it and smelled its fresh, inky scent.
On the flyleaf it said:
“For Mariel … or should I say Lila Segovia? Lou Bambino.”
Mary Ellen’s heart gave a zing.
The restaurant wasn’t much to look at. A step up from a diner with no tablecloths or pictures on the wall like Lorenzo’s. At least there was no TV blaring sports, so it was better than anyplace Mike would take her. And the smells were spicy and mouthwatering.
Mr. Bambino said he was going to have a drink called horchata, so Mary Ellen said she’d have one too, even though she had no idea what it was.
Then she realized it would be a bad idea to drink anything alcoholic tonight.
“Does it have alcohol? I’d better not ….”
“No. It’s a kind of spiced plant milk. It’s got seeds and nuts and all kinds of good stuff.”
Pupusas turned out to be kind of like a grilled cheese sandwich if you made it with corn bread and put hot sauce and shredded veggies on top. Amazingly good.
So was the horchata—sweet and delicious.
Mary Ellen made sure to call him “Mr. Bambino” so the waitress wouldn’t get the wrong idea and think they were on a date. She tried to keep her face businesslike.
But that was hard when he started talking. She thought he was going to make more excuses for that lame ending. But he wasn’t mad at all.
In fact, he said he loved her ideas for a Lila spin-off.
Like, really loved them.
“You’re not even mad at me for what I said about the antifreeze? I should not have said your research was sloppy. That was uncalled for.”
Mr. Bambino winced and looked sad.
“Nah. I deserved it. Is that really true? All antifreeze has a bittering agent, so the husband would have known he was drinking poison?”
Mary Ellen nodded. “Ay-yup. Since 2012. It’s right there in Wikipedia.”
Oh, no. She shouldn’t have said “ay-yup.” She sounded like a hick.
But he just grinned. “That’s a shame for crime writers. Antifreeze is the perfect murder weapon. Tastes like a sweet drink, and it mimics a heart attack. So no autopsy. Plus the killer can be far away, establishing a perfect alibi.”
Mary Ellen nodded.
“Yes, but pets like the sweet taste too, and that’s the problem. Maine’s had the law about adding a bad taste since 2005 and the national law got passed in 2012. So when Lila fed her husband the antifreeze, it should have been some old stuff that had been lying around that mountain cabin. At least since 2012. Not from a bottle she bought new like she did in your book.”
Mr. Bambino looked into Mary Ellen’s face like he was trying to see some deep secret in there. “Mariel, you’re amazing. You’ve got a fine imagination, and you’re a great researcher too.” He stabbed an escaping pickled carrot.
Mary Ellen didn’t know if he was sad or what.
“Don’t feel bad. I loved your book. Lila is my hero. I loved the way she got her husband to take the poisoned peach brandy on his fishing trip even though he didn’t care for sweet drinks.”
She gave Mr. Bambino a reassuring smile.
“You know, how she kept telling him not to take the brandy because she needed it for a recipe? She knew that would make him take it. That’s how guys like that are.”
Mr. Bambino took a card out of his wallet and put it on the table next to her plate.
“Contact Anita Snyder at the Snyder Literary Agency. She’ll want to see sample chapters.”
“Sample chapters?” Mary Ellen had trouble swallowing. This was really happening. Just like she’d imagined it. “You want me to send your agent some chapters of my mystery novel?”
“You have a novel? No. Nothing you’ve already written.”
Her heart deflated.
“I want you to write a new one. I’ll give you an outline based on the ideas in your email. We’ll be co-authors. James Patterson has dozens of co-authors. It’s the new thing.”
“You’re a much better writer than James Patterson.” Mary Ellen had never liked super-violent mysteries.
Mr. Bambino let out a big laugh and patted her hand.
“We’re going to get along great, Mariel. I couldn’t agree more. But Patterson is a genius at marketing. He’s built himself an empire by co-authoring with a bunch of unknown writers. His name on the cover sells the book, and he can come out with four books a month that way. The new writers can establish a name for themselves.”
Mary Ellen slowly realized what was happening.
“You don’t want me to finish my book?”
“No. I want you to start the Lila novel right now. I’ll email you the outline. Anita may even represent your other book if the Lila series does well. She’s been hammering me about finding co-authors for at least a year. But I couldn’t think of a way it could work. Then I got your gutsy email—like hearing from Lila herself. Boom! Everything fell into place.”
“You and I are going to write novels together … about Lila?”
“If you want to.”
Mary Ellen’s phone chirped. Damn. She’d forgotten to turn it off. Jen must have gotten tired of texting.
“Sorry. I should take this. My friend Jen. She’s my ride. She’s been texting me all afternoon.”
“I can give you a ride,” Mr. Bambino said. “If there’s a problem ….”
Mary Ellen clicked on her phone.
“Why don’t you read your damned texts?” Jen’s voice sounded all sobby, like she’d been crying. “Where are you?”
“I’m having dinner with Mr. Bambino. What’s so important?”
“The Kennebec Falls police were here. It’s Mike.” Jen took a ragged breath. “He’s had a heart attack. Some hunters found him in that shack of his. He’d drunk a whole bottle of that stupid peppermint schnapps and ….” Jen blew her nose. “It looks as if he’s been dead since early last night. All that time we were shopping and sipping chardonnay at the book club dinner, Mike was ….” She let out a deep sigh. “The police wanted to know where you were all that time, so I told them, chapter and verse ….”
Mary Ellen was sure Jen had described every minute of her alibi. Jen had one of those memories.
Mary Ellen took another sip of her horchata and smiled at Mr. Bambino. He was talking to the waiter, but he kept looking at her, like she was somebody special.
Jen was really turning on the waterworks.
“Oh, Mary Ellen, I feel so guilty.” Jen blew her nose. “I’m the one who told you to forget about Mike this weekend, and now I feel so awful. They want you to go back tomorrow to identify the body. I’ll drive you to Kennebec Falls. You shouldn’t have to do it alone. This is going to be such a tough time for you.”
“It sounds as if you’ve been drinking, Jen. Are you all right?”
“Oh my God. You’re in shock, Mary Ellen. You’re not hearing me. Your husband is dead. He had a heart attack. You said he had high triglycerides ….”
“Mr. Bambino says he’ll drive me back to your condo. We can talk then.”
Mary Ellen clicked off her phone and gave a silent prayer of thanks to her late father-in-law for that ancient antifreeze she’d found at the hunting camp.
She drained the last of her horchata. It was good to know Mr. Bambino liked sweet drinks. She was going to remember that. Even if she didn’t have a memory as good as Jen’s.
Mary Ellen stood and gave Mr. Bambino her Lila Segovia smile.
Anne R. Allen has been a member of Nightwriters for 28 years. She’s an award-winning blogger and the author of 15 books, including the bestselling Camilla Randall Mysteries. Her blogging guide, The Author Blog: Easy Blogging for Busy Authors, was named one of the “Best Blogging Books of All Time” by Book Authority.