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Puget Sound's Literacy Project."

"Wow," she said. "I didn't know all this was going on."

"Yeah," I agreed briskly. "Me either. Draw it, type it, cut and paste, whatever. Just do it. I need it in twenty minutes. And it needs to look good. "

She blinked and then immediately set to work. While she did, I made phone calls. Print ads were a no-go, but almost everyone had a website. I called the big papers and the small artsy ones. I also called the local writers' groups and convinced them to e-mail their members. Finally, I called radio stations. They were less willing to do anything on short notice, but they were my best bet at immediate advertising. I could have the DJs mention us without a formal commercial. That took a bit of finagling, but we had an account with most of them already that guaranteed payment, and the charitable angle was hard to resist. Okay, I was hard to resist. Even over the phone, I could hear myself wooing and persuading with an unholy skill. Maria stopped working at one point to stare at me with an almost hypnotized look. Shaking her head, she returned to her poster.

Andy popped in with the annotated roster. We hadn't roped in quite as many as I would have liked, but we'd definitely increased our numbers. And most of the current staff was staying.

Maria finished her poster just then, and it did look good. I drove to the print shop that usually handled our business and turned the poster over to them.

"No," the manager told me flatly, making my manic flurry of activity come to a screeching halt. "I can't do all that in under an hour. Three hours maybe. "

"Hour and a half?" I cajoled. "It's for charity. An emergency situation just came up."

She frowned. "An emergency literacy situation?"

"Literacy is always an emergency. Do you know how many children in the Puget Sound area struggle with reading due to lack of resources and education?"

Fortunately, being in the book business, I knew all the grim stats. By the time I was done with her, that battle-axe was nearly in tears. She'd do my order, she promised, and she'd do it in my original hour.

While those were being printed, I traveled over to Foster's Books. Locally owned, that store wasn't as big as Emerald City, but it had the same sort of reputation as a local landmark. Technically, we were rivals.

Garrett Foster, the owner, looked up when I entered. "Looking for a job?"

"I've got one for you," I told him sweetly, leaning on his counter. "I need you to get in touch with Abel Warshawski for me."

Abel Warshawski was a reclusive local author who wrote wildly popular books about the Pacific Northwest. He and Garrett were longtime friends, so Abel only did appearances at Foster's.

Garrett arched a grizzled eyebrow. "Abel only comes here. You know that. "

"I do. Which is why I didn't ask for his number."

I laid into Garrett then about how half of Emerald City's staff were in dire health. I talked about charity and literacy statistics. I pointed out that we weren't technically rivals anyway, since he was in Capitol Hill and I was in Queen Anne. Besides, the book industry was like a family. We all had the same goals.

"My God, woman," he murmured when I finished. I didn't think I'd taken a breath during my entire spiel. "Are you sure you don't want a new job?"

"I just want Abel for the night."

He bit his lip. "Think we could get Mortensen over here for a signing some time?"

"Hmm." I considered this. Bartering was in my blood. "That depends. You guys close a few hours earlier than us, right? Think we could get a few of you to help us out tonight? Paid, of course."

"You've got some balls," he muttered. He stared at me, still thinking, but I knew I had him. He couldn't resist. "Okay, but only if we get Mortensen during a hot time - around his next release."

"Done." I didn't like sharing Seth, but lots of big authors made multiple Seattle appearances when a new book came out. I hoped Seth didn't mind being whored out. Oh, well. That was for later.

Before I left, I bought all of Foster's American Mystery and Womanspeak magazines. He hesitated a moment as he rang them up. "Hey..." He looked me over. "I don't suppose you read that story Mortensen wrote..."

"Well," I said with a breezy smile, no longer caring about my