Signature Editions

This literary whodunit pulls us into the world of American expatriate novelist Richard DeMille as he attempts to break the hold of his longtime friend and publisher Damien Carlyle. Now teaching at a quiet Nova Scotia university in addition to writing, DeMille goes to Toronto to settle old scores with his publisher. When Carlyle mocks his concerns, DeMille decides to buy a gun and end the relationship, once and for all. But when he arrives at Carlyle's office, the publisher is already lying dead on the floor. Then the real mystery begins.

And then, before him, sporting goods. A glass case and a wall rack. He wanted to sound like an old pro at these things. A sportsman. What was the right turn of phrase to avoid sounding like a hardened criminal or an idiot? 'Which one do you think would be good for shooting a publisher?' What the hell did he know about guns? There was something from "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber," wasn't there? What was the name of the gun there? "Excuse me, young man. I was looking for a...a Mauser."

Damn. Wrong one. The clerk looked like it was a bad joke. "I'm afraid we don't carry that sort of gun. Not much call for it around here."

Bloody right. Hemingway had them shooting lion and water buffalo. This was, after all, Toronto, not Nairobi. He felt frazzled. "Something in a Winchester, perhaps?"

The clerk shrugged his shoulders, pointed at the rack. "What you see is what we got."

Careless verb usage. DeMille studied the rack and then the case. God, he had it all wrong. Nothing but rifles. Rifles were too big, too obvious. How could he go in to polish off the details of a book contract with his publisher while sporting a rifle with an infrared scope? Not right at all. "You don't have anything smaller?"

"We have these pellet rifles here. They operate on CO2 cartridges."

"That's not it either. Well, thank you for your time."

"I hope you find what you're looking for." The young man was sincere. People were always nice at Canadian Tire. A would-be murderer comes in off the street looking for artillery and they're terribly apologetic about not being able to satisfy. Polite people, Canadians, even in Toronto.