by Cynthia Kuhn
Adding insult to injury, as the saying goes. First, they steal my topic; now, they’re going to steal my editor too? I raised my hand to object.
“We’ll catch up later,” Meredith assured Selene, then tilted her head. “How do you all know each other?”
“We’re colleagues,” I said. “Well, Simone and I are.”
Simone threw her arm over my shoulder and smiled broadly. “Oh, we’re more than that, Lila, aren’t we?” She directed the next part to Meredith. “We started on the same day at Stonedale University—four years ago—and we’ve become very good friends.”
We had?
Only if by “very good friends” she meant that I do the work and she takes all the credit. Or that I dive into a project and she sabotages me. Like now, though it was sad to admit that it wasn’t the first time she’d stolen an idea from me.
Meredith nodded thoughtfully. “And now you know Selene.”
“We’ve just met,” I said. Selene curved her lips up.
Simone put a hand on Meredith’s arm. “We have our business meeting too, remember, Merrie.” Then she shot a triumphant glance my way.
Message received. I knew she was completely aware of what she’d done. I also knew without a doubt that this was payback for Selene not having the job I currently occupied at Stonedale. But regardless of their motive, was there anything I could do about it? That was the question.
After they made arrangements, Meredith fixed her eyes on mine. “My boss has just arrived and he needs my assistance. I hate to ask, but could we speak before the panel tomorrow instead?”
We agreed to meet for breakfast on Friday morning, and I typed the time and place into my phone.
The three of them walked off together and I sank back down onto the bench.
I was in trouble. The kind of trouble that races toward you in the dark with unmistakable power.
Like a monster intent on your destruction.
Or a colleague with an agenda.
Chapter 2
At least I had somewhere to pace. I’d been gifted a bright, spacious hotel room for serving as a member of the conference site committee. All the hours of scouting locations and negotiating rates had been worth it. The cost of a single night at the Tattered Star Ranch would have cleaned out my bank account otherwise. I brought my suitcase up from the car and unpacked quickly. It was your typical bland hotel palette—taupe as far as the eye could see—though the wallpaper with a pattern of almost imperceptible stars added a touch of whimsy.
As I walked back and forth, carving tracks into the plush carpet, I went over the encounter with Simone and Selene in my head. There may have been some muttering involved. While I didn’t reach any conclusions, the movement helped me burn off enough adrenaline to return my focus to the conference itself.
Hoping to chart a course through the weekend’s activities, I settled down with the thick program and a yellow highlighter. My own paper was scheduled for tomorrow morning, so I marked that first. The sheer number of other options was overwhelming, and choosing panels wisely was key. Usually I felt obligated to go to anything that was even tangentially related to my areas of specialization—gothic and mystery—and ended up exhausted by the end of the weekend. And this time, given the conference focus, it seemed like everything was relevant.
Plus, in addition to panels, there were many other temptations. Did I want to go to The History of Literary Monstrosity Lecture? The Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sirens and Harpies Roundtable? The Obscure Weaponry Master Class? The Voices From The Grave Trivia Challenge? The Uncanny Costume Contest? The Build A Snare Workshop? The Final Girl Open Mic? The Make Your Own Cthulhu Mask Craft Bar?
Giving up for now, I dropped the highlighter, leaned back against the stack of pillows, and glanced at the clock. There was an hour until the welcome banquet started—plenty of time to make a call—and I needed to sort through what had just happened.
My cousin Calista, who was already a tenured member of my own department, answered breathlessly on the first ring. “I’ve been thinking about you! How is the conference going? Can’t wait to get out there. Just need to finish up this work first. Writer on a deadline—well, you know how it is. How’s the hotel?”
“The hotel is lovely, and the conference is only getting started, but you’re not going to believe—”
“Hold on.” I heard the sounds of paper rustling and a soft meow. “Just had to move Cady.” Calista was putting together a new book of poems, and her beloved cat companion had a habit of settling down on the manuscript pages, which Calista tended to spread out on her dining room table. “Okay, I’m back, and I’m intrigued. What’s going on?”
I filled her in on the conversation with the Raleighs.
She gasped. “You’re kidding. That’s...that’s shocking.”
The knot in my chest seemed to ease a little at her reaction.
“I mean, I knew she was working on a book on Brontë, but she never mentioned that Isabella Dare was part of it. That takes some nerve!” She launched into a tirade.
Her vehemence made me feel even more justified in my own response. I picked up the complimentary—they’re complimentary, right?—pen on the nightstand and began to doodle on a blank page in the program.
Eventually, Calista coasted to a stop. “What happens next?”
“I don’t know. I mean, the publisher didn’t say outright that it was an issue, both of us having written on the same author, but I just have a bad feeling about it. I’m also wondering if I should even mention it? I mean, surely they already know. Maybe it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal given that Simone absolutely, without question, is one hundred percent aware that Isabella Dare is your author.”
“Isabella doesn’t belong to—”
“You know what I mean, Lila. Simone knows that you have been working on this topic for years. And in that way, she is not showing you any professional courtesy at all by sneaking off to write on it too. It’s shady.”
“It definitely feels shady.”
“That’s because everyone in the department knows what everyone else is working on. Spencer has been terrific about circulating kudos in public.”
“He really has—I thought about that too.”
“My point is that what she’s doing is outrageous. And I’m so sorry.”
I let out a slow breath. “Can’t even tell you how much I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Over the line, I could practically hear Calista gathering steam. My cousin was fierce when she set her sights on a target. “Let’s make a plan. We have to do something about this.”
“What can we do? Simone and Selene have a contract with the publisher.”
“Well, that may be the case, but I think that you should tell Spencer immediately. Send him an email.”
“I don’t know. Isn’t it going to sound awful, me complaining that a colleague has a book coming out? I mean, in all honesty, I’m happy for them in general—it’s just the subject of their contribution that’s got me riled up.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I see what you mean. It might look like you’re whining or something. Don’t do it if you don’t feel comfortable.”
The doodle had taken on the shape of bookshelf with a pair of eyes peeking out from the shadows. Which might seem therapy-worthy on the surface, but I wasn’t worried because pretty much the only things I’d learned to draw well in undergrad art class were eyes. We sketched them daily. My professor was obsessed with them. She always said that if we got the windows to the soul right, the rest would come eventually.
I was also good at drawing umbrellas for some reason. Not sure what that meant.
Calista said one more thing before disconnecting: “Rest assured, Lila, news about the Raleighs is going to get around, if you catch my drift.”
After indulging in a bit
more metaphorical gnashing of teeth, I went down to the Red Barn Event Hall—which had been relabeled “The Great Cavern” for the conference, according to my program—for the welcome dinner. Off to the left of the resort’s town square, the newly constructed building was on the site of a barn that had burned down during one unlucky movie shoot at the ranch. It was twice the size of its predecessor and had the flexibility to be both banquet room and ballroom; the hotel manager had told me during our negotiations that it was already booked up for weddings three years out. We’d been able to snag it only because someone had just cancelled their nuptials ten minutes before I called about reservations.
A brief walk on a winding stone path led to the hall, which was set up with circular tables covered in white cloths for the hundreds of attendees. Mason jars with twinkling lights stretched across the room, hung in swaying lines below the huge wrought-iron chandeliers. At the far end was a wooden stage with hay bales stacked neatly in front of curtained wings. Servers were depositing salads onto the table, attendees were selecting their places, and the low buzz of conversation filled the space.
I was scanning the tables, looking for an open chair, when someone touched my arm lightly. A wave of powdery perfume hit me simultaneously, and I turned to find Meredith smiling at me, her hair shining under the lights.
“I’m so sorry I had to reschedule our meeting. You’ll see why in a bit. I’m wondering, would you like to sit at the press table? We’ve saved you a spot.” She gestured front and center.
I thanked her for the invitation and allowed myself to be towed along.
The other members of the table included Simone and Selene, who offered matching Cheshire Cat grins; a thin young man with spiky black hair and a gold nose ring; and a gentleman who very much resembled Alfred Hitchcock.
Meredith pointed to some open chairs. “Take your pick.”
I slid into the seat next to Alfred Hitchcock and said hello. He gave me a nod but seemed otherwise indifferent to my presence.
As soon as Meredith had settled herself, she leaned forward and addressed him. “Richie, this is Dr. Lila Maclean. She’s doing the Isabella Dare book for us. Lila, this is our managing editor, Richmond Haskin.”
I caught my breath. Richmond was beyond famous. I knew that he ran the university press, but I didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to meet him in person.
He clapped me on the back. “Good to meet you, Professor.”
His hearty welcome was such a surprise in contrast to his initial demeanor that it took me a moment to respond. By then, he’d already gone on. “Glad you’re with us. Glad to have you in the family. Glad to have you aboard. Just, you know, glad, glad, glad.”
“Thank you very much,” I said, smiling. “It’s a pleasure.”
“Oh, the pleasure is mine. All mine, I can assure you.”
He picked up his fork and began to eat his salad, motioning with his other hand that we should do the same.
After a bite, he put down his fork and patted the thin man next to him on the back. “This is Hanover Jones.”
He gave a wave of greeting with his fork and I did the same.
“Hanover,” Richmond boomed, “is a bona fide genius.”
The younger man humbly shook his head.
“He has taken our dusty little office out into the world on social media. Into the big wide world. The Instagram account is a work of art, I tell you!”
Hanover murmured a thank you and regarded Richmond fondly.
“You’re going to be doing some great things for Lila here, aren’t you, Han? Great things.”
The social media genius nodded emphatically. “I’ve got everything planned. I’d love to go over the strategy with you later, if you have time, Lila.”
I nodded enthusiastically. It was a good sign that they were talking about promoting the book. Maybe it wasn’t dead after all.
Or maybe they were just pretending that it was going to be published until Meredith had the chance to deliver the news, so that it wasn’t uncomfortable.
I heard a cough from across the table, which, although it was tiny, screamed Look At Me Now. “Your Twitter account is also beautiful,” Selene declared loudly. “It’s the first thing I check every day. All of those quotes and images are an inspiration to those of us out in the field writing our little books.”
“Me too.” Simone’s volume matched that of her sister. “Every day.”
“And we can’t wait to hear about what you’re doing for our book.” Selene smiled brightly.
The Raleighs weren’t used to being out of the limelight.
And almost impossible to tell apart. Even though I’d worked with Simone for years, I wouldn’t have been able to identify her for certain without her conference badge.
“We’re excited about both of your books, of course,” Richmond said. “We are looking at a banner year. A banner year, I say.”
The sisters settled back into their chairs smugly.
This was going to be a long night.
Chapter 3
Two other people joined us, and the table exploded with introductions. Both were professors presenting at the conference: Ellis Gardner, a round, white-bearded man air who sported a dark suit and tie with mustard stain, and Candace Slaten, a slender blonde woman in a teal suit, who had multiple strands of gemstones looped around her neck. She smiled at me warmly. He was more interested in the tablecloth.
“We were just celebrating the press team, all of whom you already know,” Richmond said to the newcomers. They nodded as he continued. “And finally, there’s our Meredith, who edits like a dream. We’d be lost without her.”
“Thank you, Richie,” she said quietly.
Richmond returned to his salad.
I took a sip of the white wine that had just been placed in front of me by the server. “So is it just the three of you in the office?”
Meredith shook her head. “We have additional staff in acquisitions and editing, production and design, marketing and distribution—”
“We may be small, but we cover the bases, I assure you,” said Richmond. “All the necessary bases.”
“—plus several student interns who help out tremendously.” Meredith said. “Bless them.”
“And there’s Dan,” Hanover reminded her.
“Of course! Our office manager slash finance director slash superhero,” Meredith said. “We would be lost without him.”
“Here’s to Dan.” Richmond raised his wine glass. “And to everyone else at this table.”
We all toasted. I already felt much better about working with this group.
If my book was still happening, that is.
It’s true what they say about academia—it’s publish or perish—so a lot was riding on this. And while I didn’t own the topic, of course, I had been the only one working on Isabella Dare’s novels for years. I’d done the research, so I knew there was nothing out there. No books, no articles, and no conference papers other than mine. I’d long dreamed of introducing her around. Not to mention that if the world found Isabella as important as I did, that was the kind of thing that could make a scholar’s career.
Plus, I knew darn well that Selene Raleigh had not been working on Dare until recently; I’d heard that when she’d interviewed at Stonedale, she had been all about John Donne, mostly, and Robert Frost, barely. A member of the hiring committee had confided privately that she thought Selene had merely shoved the latter writer into the mix in order to appear qualified to teach American literature even though she didn’t seem fully committed to the subject.
And Simone had outright mocked my topic in front of our colleagues the first time she’d asked me about my dissertation.
Something didn’t add up.
Unless you factored in the part about Selene wanting the job that I’d gotten.
Then it made perfect se
nse.
They were out for revenge, pure and simple.
I took another sip of wine while the servers removed our salads and replaced them with a plate of butternut squash ravioli and grilled vegetables.
My thoughts tumbled forward. Ultimately, there was plenty of room for everyone to write on Isabella Dare. The most important thing was that we put the spotlight on her so that could happen. In fact, it wasn’t that I didn’t want anyone else to write about her—quite the opposite. I hoped that someday there was a veritable industry of scholars churning out articles and books on her work. It was that Simone and Selene were pretending they didn’t even know about the work I’d done.
After they’d mocked me for doing it.
I sighed. Even if I wasn’t happy with the intentional dovetailing onto my topic that I was sure had taken place, or the shady reason for it, their book would help support Isabella’s importance.
And my book was scheduled to come out first, so at least there was that.
Turning my attention back to the discussion, I heard Selene say, “...and that’s why we think our book should come out as soon as possible—say, September—instead of next February.”
The silverware cut into my skin, as my hands curled into fists. Richmond, to my horror, was nodding. “Would it be too late to revamp the media schedule, Hanover?”
I willed him to say yes. He looked up at the ceiling and squinted. “I could probably make it happen,” he said.
“Of course you could,” Richmond said. “You’re a genius.”
Hanover smiled.
“But that would be a complete rush. We haven’t even seen the finished—” Meredith interjected.
“Then it’s settled,” Richmond crowed, beaming at the twins. “Great, great, great.”
I found myself standing without any recollection of having pushed my chair back. Eyes around the table looked surprised—except Simone’s and Selene’s. They were amused.
“Excuse me,” I managed. “Be right back.”
I made my way through rows of tables, stopping near the side wall to catch my breath. A server making his way to the kitchen in back paused to inquire if I needed help. I shook my head and thanked him. After giving me a concerned look, he hoisted the tray back onto his shoulder and went through the double doors.
