Chapter 133

“A writer who can’t produce work or make sales—are they still a writer?”

Mindy was upset. “I have lots of ideas, but—”

Edith interrupted. “Your ideas aren’t special or interesting. Writing them would just waste time and wouldn’t make any sales! Do you still think you’re the ‘Queen of Suspense’? Honestly, you’re past your prime! Mindy, you need to face the facts!”

Miranda, unable to bear it any longer, stepped out from behind the shelf.

Mindy quickly wiped her tears and forced a smile. “Did you get the baking powder?”

Miranda held up the packet. “Here it is. It’s getting late, and Dad might be home from school soon. Let’s hurry and check out.”

“Okay.”

“Well, Mrs. Jiver, we should get going,” Miranda said to Edith, speaking for her mother. She could tell Mindy was really upset and didn’t want to deal with Edith anymore.

Edith smiled politely. “Okay, I’ll keep looking around. And Mindy, please think about what I said. We’ve been working together for a long time.”

Mindy kept her eyes down and said nothing.

Miranda took the shopping cart and led her mother out.

“Mom, did you sign a ten-year contract with Mrs. Jiver?”

“Yes.”

“If I remember correctly, this should be the last year, right?”

Mindy did the math and nodded. “Yes, it is.”

“What do you think of her?” Miranda asked.

Mindy thought for a moment and said, “She’s still very professional.”

Miranda smiled. “Can you find the contract tonight and show it to me?”

“Sure. But why?”

“I’m just curious. Is it okay if I look at it?”

“Of course! You can see anything of mine.”

“Hehe… Mom, you’re the best. And can you send me copies of the novels you’ve written over the years?”

Mindy was surprised. “Those are just practice drafts. Why do you want to read them?”

“Well, having a writer mom is pretty cool. I want to read your work so I can talk about it if anyone asks. I don’t want them to think I’m lying!”

As a child, Miranda had really wanted to read her mom’s famous books, “Murder Weapon” and “The Deserted School.” But her mom always said they were “too violent,” “not for kids,” and “better to read after you’re 18.” By the time Miranda turned 18, she wasn’t interested anymore and never read them. It wasn’t until after college, while waiting for Hansel to come home, that she finally read those books.

She had to admit that her mother was amazing at writing suspense. The way the stories were put together, with all the twists and turns, was perfect. No wonder those books were still bestsellers.

But in the last ten years, her mother hadn’t published any new suspense novels. Miranda found this odd but hadn’t asked why.

Now, seeing her mother’s editor dressed in fancy clothes and carrying an expensive handbag, Miranda began to understand. How could a publishing editor afford such luxury? What kind of publishing house would make that much money? Why didn’t she know about this before?

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