How well do you really know ex-lovers, friends and acquaintances from years gone by?
What would you do if you came face to face with the person you thought had murdered the love of your life?
Melody Meeks is a struggling freelance writer at Zenith magazine when a chance encounter on Facebook brings her back in touch with her first love, the love she never really got over: Spencer Channing. But little does she know that a simple click of a computer mouse will catapult her from London, to Rome and Panama on an unexpected adventure - a hunt for the long lost treasure of the privateer Sir Henry Morgan - and most importantly of all, on a hunt for the truth.
How well do you really know ex-lovers, friends and acquaintances from years gone by?
What would you do if you came face to face with the person you thought had murdered the love of your life?
Melody Meeks is a struggling freelance writer at Zenith magazine when a chance encounter on Facebook brings her back in touch with her first love, the love she never really got over: Spencer Channing. But little does she know that a simple click of a computer mouse will catapult her from London, to Rome and Panama on an unexpected adventure - a hunt for the long lost treasure of the privateer Sir Henry Morgan - and most importantly of all, on a hunt for the truth.
Iād been a freelance writer at Zenith for three years and regularly came by the Zenith office for meetings. Back then Zenith was in its fourth year and still struggling. A monthly mix of in-depth features, history, culture, fashion, science. And then there was my Melody Talkinā page. It was supposed to be the light-hearted, cutting-edge, female, commentary piece. Supposed to be. In reality, it was a bit Bridget Jones without the originality, the wit, or the following.
Waving me into his office on the fifth floor, Jake told me itād been a crazy week. He certainly looked worn around the edges, even for him. His dark brown eyes were tired, his skin grey and sallow. Sitting behind a chaotic desk full of papers and layouts he leant back, sighed and glanced over the draft of the August edition of my page with a concentrated frown. While I waited, I listened to the noise drifting up from the street below through the open window behind his desk. The muffled sounds of Soho on a warm summerās day filtered through the noise of London traffic while I waited, studying his face trying to gauge a reaction. But I already knew. These days Jake only ever asked me to come into the office when he didnāt like a draft. I wouldnāt say I only ever saw him in person when there was a problem, but almost, to the point where these days my heart always sank when I saw his name blinking at me on my phone. You see, fact was Iād hit an inspiration dry patch these last few months and I was worried that this, the August edition, was missing the mark too. It lacked that certain spark. I knew it, and judging by the expression on Jakeās face, he knew it too.
āLook Mels...and thanks for coming in at short notice but I have to be honest, we could run it but... well, it does feel a bit...tired,ā he said, tossing my draft down on the desk, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
āSorry,ā he apologized between the yawns, āItās been a long week. I was here till gone midnight last night. Look, is there anything you can do to...I donāt know, spice it up a bit? Iām finding this topic a little bit...well, dry to be frank. Coffee?ā he asked getting up and going over to a Nespresso machine on the side, popping in a capsule and turning to me.
āNo thanks, Iām fine.ā I tried to smile back. āJust had one.ā
āI think youāve forgotten who your audience is.ā He continued with another frown as he watched the black, bitter smelling coffee drain into the small paper cup. āLook I know itās supposed to be a final draft but...do you think you could have a go at re-working it a bit? Itāll mean more work for you but...Iām thinking that maybe you could add in that story you told me about...you know, the one about the dinner party?ā
Jake was old school and still worked on hard copies and, to make matters worse, while he waited for his cup to fill, I sneaked a glance at the draft sitting on his desk. I could see in a flash it had scribbles all over it, in angry red ink. My heart sank some more.
āI guess I can put some more time into it. Adding the dinner party wonāt be too hard,ā I said, trying to sound nonchalant while my mind flashed back to the red pen, scribbled all over the draft. I was trying to keep my calm, but underneath I was annoyed. Iād already spent a lot of time on the piece, had another stack of small articles to finish for another client and āspicing it up,ā as he put it, wasnāt going to be so easy. Not only that, but given Jakeās reaction and all the red pen, it was clear that it wasnāt so much a re-working, more a complete re-write. Damn.
āWhen do you need the final version?ā I asked trying to keep calm, getting out my phone and flicking through to find my schedule for the following week.
āHow would next Tuesday be?ā he asked, taking a sip of coffee, going back to his desk and putting his feet up.
Jake was OK. There had even been times in the beginning when Iād thought he was good looking. With a mop of messy hair, a scrawny frame and just enough stubble to light a match he had that grungy, trendy, Brit-pop thing going on. Weād done a fair bit of flirting in the first few months too. The office gossips had been all over that. Thereād been a couple of jokes about us down āThe Goose & Stumpā pub for a leaving do just last week. People can get lippy after a few beers and without any food to soak them up. Jake had shrugged it off, even found it funny, but I was livid. The last thing I wanted was people thinking Iād bagged a freelance contract because we were an item, but I knew they did. Worse even, that they thought it was thanks to my mum. Sheād been working at The Times in the early eighties with Jakeās dad. Theyād hardly been in touch since but when Iād come out of the post grad on Journalism, sheād given him a call. I donāt know how far strings had been pulled, but a few weeks later Iād had an interview and got a contract at Zenith. Iād tried to put it to the back of my mind ever since. Iād never asked mum about it, but Iād always wondered if the office gossips knew. Then one afternoon I'd heard a couple of assistants from the design studio chatting outside the disabled toilet on the second floor. The general gist had been: āWas Melody getting her contract renewed next year? Of course, sheās shagging the bossā¦and her mum had shagged his dad too.āā
Ā āOK, no problem. Tuesday it is.ā I said making a note in my calendar and trying to sound positive. I needed inspiration, that was for sure, but from where was I going to get it? My energy levels for my Melody Talkinā page were at an all-time low, my boredom at an all-time high. The reality of my āgoing nowhere fastā career in journalism suddenly came into sharp focus and I felt weary. Putting down my phone, it mustāve shown.
āLook Mels, sorry to be a bit, you know, down on this draft,ā Jake said draining his coffee and flippantly indicating at the semi-butchered draft on his desk ābut you know weāve got problems with circulation. Iām under a lot of pressure to get it up and now Macās breathing down my neck too. Numbers from last month werenāt great either, and to be frank, I need to find a way to boost sales. Iām working on some big-name celeb interviews for the start of next year with Kate but if that doesnāt work, we may have to go for a complete re-launch.ā He paused. āLook, and as I mentioned on the phone, thatās the other thing I wanted to chat to you about today. I know itās early to talk about next yearās contracts and well, I want to give you the work, but...ā he continued with a frown ā... Macās going to be looking for something a bit more current, a bit more edgy for next year, especially with the new focus on digital sales. I hope you donāt think Iām passing my stress to you, but thereās only so much I can do. And, look, nobodyās safe around here right now. Weāre all under scrutiny, even me. You know, with Mac sinking a lot of his own money into Zenith, heās all over itā¦if any contracts get the chop, it'll be the freelance ones first. You know how these things go and...ā
Ā āDonāt worry Jake, I get it.ā I smiled weakly, trying to keep a mounting sense of panic under control. This was bad news for me. I needed my Zenith contract and Jake was giving me a heads-up, a warning, loud and clear. I had to raise my game. This wasnāt just a blow for my current contract, but for my entire future at Zenith, and my career too. Fact was Iād had my sights on more than my Melody Talkinā page, and Iād been planning to broach it with Jake next week. A while back heād told me that Sam the current feature writer was leaving at the end of the year and since hearing the news my heart was set on getting the contract. It was the type of journalism Iād wanted to get into for years, more serious investigative stuff, and now it was up for grabs. Not only this but the thought of a proper contract, not a shitty freelancer deal, was too good to be true. But the writing was on the wall. To stand any chance Iād have to do better. Jake leaned over the desk and looked at me earnestly.
āCan I be frank, Mels? Word in the office is that that youāre keen on getting Samās contract when it comes up next year. Is that true?ā
āWhat?! Who did you hear that from?ā I exclaimed, blushing and wondering if Jake could read minds.
āWell, people talk.ā He said shuffling a bunch of papers on his desk and looking up again. āLook, in the end, who I heard it from doesnāt matter. Is it true? Iād like you to be candid with me, Mels. I canāt help out if I donāt know what you want. And you know that thereās going to be a lot of competition for that contract. Jennifer, for one.ā
Jennifer was another freelance writer. She was good, too.
āHaving said that, fact is, as much as Iād like, I canāt promise anything,ā he continued. āItās not going to be my decision. You know how Mac is with these things and, well, now weāre under pressure to get circulation up, heās going to be worse than before. I canāt take a shit right now without his permission.ā
Mac. He was the new chair of the board and a complete control freak. Heād only been around six months and was meddling in everything, according to Jake. Word was he wanted a big shake up at Zenith. Iād only met Mac a couple of times and we hadnāt really hit it off. It was clear he had his sights on cutting my Melody Talkinā page and there was only so long Jake could hold him off with my contract coming to an end at the end of the year. All things considered, especially with Mac throwing his weight around, things were not looking good. Still, Jake had raised the issue, so I seized the moment and pressed on.
āLook, Melody Talkinā is great. It was a fantastic start for a young writer but, you know, Iāve been doing it for almost three years now and well, weāve talked about this before....I...ā
āā¦want to get into more serious, investigative stuff?ā he finished for me with a smile.
āSee, you know me so well,ā I admitted with a shrug. āIām still just looking for that break,ā I continued. āand when I heard Sam might be leaving, I was hoping the feature contract could be mine...ā
āOK Mels. Itās good to know youāre still looking to make that move.ā Jake cut in, leaning forward in his chair and looking mildly uncomfortable for the first time. āI can understand, really. But, look, we can be straight with each other, right?ā
I nodded.
āWell I do have the sense that youāve been, well, letās say...struggling a bit recently. Your page is ... āsameyā these days. Are you finding things hard right now? Writerās block? You know you can be honest with me...ā
Jake was right. It wasnāt just the August edition either. I had to admit it. These last couple of months Iād lost my va-va-voom. I was lacking inspiration, lacking ideas and lackluster. Iād felt it myself and now Jake had noticed too.
āYouāre right. Iāve been finding it a bit hard of late,ā I admitted, thinking on my feet. āBut I probably just need a holiday or something. A break, a weekend away, whatever...and then Iām sure Iāll get my mojo back and look, donāt worry. You can count on me. Iāll tighten up this monthās page, make it more upbeat.ā Taking Jakeās glance at the clock on the wall as sign that the meeting was over, I got up and started shoving my things back into my bag to leave.
āCool!ā he said smiling, jumping up and stretching. For a moment he looked more relaxed.
āI know you can turn it around Mels. And then, once youāve got your Melody Talkinā page back on track, letās see about that feature contract. OK?ā Stopping to pause, he looked thoughtful then went on.
āListen, why donāt we try something. Iām meeting with Mac next week and if you could already have a list of potential feature ideas to show him, well that might be a good start. I know Mac and first youāve gotta win him over on your ideas and way of thinking. And if you can show him that you can deliver on those, heās going to be easier to convince later. Then, if he likes them, I may ask you to write something up to show him what you can do. I mean, he only knows you for Melody Talkinā. If you can show him what else youāre capable of, that might be a good start. How does that sound?ā
āOK!ā I grinned back. Suddenly I felt flushed with hope. It was a slim hope, but better than nothing.
āI wonāt let you down Jake. Iāll get the Melody Talkinā page and the list of ideas to you by early next week.ā
āGreat.ā He grinned, scratching his head. āAnd thatās a great idea, I mean, the holiday,ā he said jumping up to walk me to the door. āYou havenāt been anywhere in a while, no? Why not take a couple of weeks, even a month? I donāt care where you are if I get the features we agreed on time. Take yourself off, have some fun and, after all, youāre lucky. I mean, you can work from anywhere, right? Wasnāt that one of the things you said appealed to you about being a freelancer in the first place?ā
We follow Melody, a tomboyish down to earth character trying to save her journalism career by travelling to Rome and reconnecting with an old university flame, which she found online on Facebook. Things do not go as planned and Melody soon finds herself chasing after the truth.
I found Melody to be a very relatable and refreshing character and every single person's motive made sense in the book - villains and heroes alike (I usually downrate books if the character's motive doesn't make sense to me at all).
The writing was very atmospheric without being longwinded and the food and drink descriptions made me want to make myself a Mojito while reading. I was under the impression that all locations, sights and historical information were well researched. Those travel descriptions certainly gave me itchy feet, especially Panama!
The pirate POV flashbacks from the 1600s at the beginning, middle and end gave it that little extra that I like in books and together with the legend made for a compelling foundation. The side characters in the story were believable and Marco was charming.
The author found the perfect balance between moving the plot forward, keeping the reader engaged throughout and guessing until the very end, which is super important for this particular genre.
I'm hoping that the author will write more Melody Meeks Mysteries. I would pick up further volumes for sure.
I would recommend this book to anybody who likes mysteries in general with less gore and violence and more chasing and guessing. Also readers like me, who don't usually go for this genre are going to get their enjoyment out of this book, due to the atmosphere, romance and travel locations.
Thank you team Reedsy for a free review copy in exchange for an honest review.