So, what happens when you get an expensive book and a bottle of water, and a reader (me) who is so in awe of the author of said expensive book?

A journalist, Howard Lachtman, (former mystery reviewer for the San Francisco Chronicle, had mentioned that he had an "Old copy" of one of Sue Grafton's first novels, A IS FOR ALIBI.

I, being in the know about such things, (sort of) asked if it was a first edition. He wasn't sure. I mentioned to him how I had sat in the bar at Left Coast Crime, chatting with a bunch of authors, one of which happened to be Sue Grafton. If only I'd known about the book at the time. (If only I'd known the author I was speaking to was Sue Grafton! Barbara Seranella later informed me after Ms. Grafton left.)

Okay, I live in a cave, but not for so long that I didn't know the potential worth of the book that Howard possessed. I told him that the next time I happened to see Sue Grafton (like I run into her all the time) I'd get the book signed for him. Lo and behold! SoCal MWA was holding a one day symposium, with Grafton as one of their key speakers. (One of many wonderful speakers, I might add.) I read the line up, figured that it was a not-to-be-missed workshop, and signed up to attend and learn from the pros. Made some quick arrangements, piled the kids in the car and drove off for southern California.

Now, mind you, I knew the book was worth something, so I dutifully picked it up from Howard's house, dropped it in a zip top plastic bag, and stuck it on the seat beside me. I had no idea if it was a first edition, but figured Howard would enjoy the signature anyway.

Howard said he wanted a book with history. It wasn't the value of the book, it didn't matter if it was a first edition or not, he was never going to sell it.

I passed this info onto Ms. Grafton as I handed her the book to be signed. I knew I was in trouble when she said something to the effect of, "Oh my God. Do you realize this is a first edition?"

Uh, yeah, I knew that. Not. She signed it, "Yours until Z is for Zero. Sue Grafton."

Way cool. Now I had an ice breaker. First edition! I pulled it out to show it off more than once. Everyone admired it. Everyone speculated on what it must be worth. I was starting to get nervous. This was nothing until I ran into another friend of mine, Robert Levinson author of THE JAMES DEAN AFFAIR. I showed him the book. He asked if I knew what it was worth. I guessed oh, a few hundred dollars, maybe a thousand. He kept pointing up. More and more. He named off a figure that was almost worth more than the car I had piled my kids into.

I was starting to grow a bit uncomfortable. What if I dropped it? What if I put my book bag down and lost track of it? What if...?

I was carrying too many books, all signed by the attending authors. I needed to empty my book bag out. I went to my car, put them in the back, and grabbed a copy of N IS FOR NOOSE, which I just happened to have recently finished, and thought, what the heck? I'll get her to sign that for me later. I stuck it next to the A IS FOR ALIBI, and headed back to the conference gripping the bag tight, not daring to let it out of my sight.

Did I mention my heavy water bottle? I'm always with one, never without. Second nature to have it. So I stuck it in my bag.

Got back to the conference, sat around chatting with several authors, when I noticed that the bottom of my book bag was wet. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Like something Stephanie Plum would do. I pulled out soaking wet conference papers, a sopping wet sponge edition of N IS FOR NOOSE, and the zip top bag, praying it was really zipped tight. It was covered with water. You could see the drops from both sides of the bag. Didn't know if they were on the inside. I wiped it off, careful to make sure the outside was dry before I checked the inside. I can now recommend the Ziploc brand, for anyone who is interested.

The rest of the stuff was soaked, however. We were all talking about how lucky I was when someone came up and asked if the chair next to mine was empty. Sue Grafton. I quickly brushed the water off from the stuff I had pulled out of my bag, and she took a seat. Being the brave woman I am, I confessed my sin of putting the water bottle in the bag. She laughed. We all laughed. I showed her my N IS FOR NOOSE, and told her I had intended to have her sign it, but what was the use, now? The top half was twice as thick as the bottom from the water it had soaked up. I dropped it back in the bag. A few minutes later, I pulled it out and gave it to her to sign. I told her that this book had a history, and I was going to keep it forever. Sort of like Howard's book.

We all laughed again, and she graciously signed my sopping book, "Robin, quit wetting on your books. Sue Grafton."

I swear this is a true story! I wouldn't lie about it. And if you don't believe me, just take another look at the photo. The evidence is there.