Hydraulic Level Five

by Sarah Latchaw

  “So, Kaye, had any trouble with the media this time around?” he asked.

  “Not so much. But I’ve stayed with Molly the past several days.” By now, I was an old pro at laying low following a Water Sirens book release. “My apartment phone’s probably ringing off the hook, and so are Mom’s and Dad’s. They aren’t too happy with Samuel right now.”

  “How’d they figure Neelie was based on you?” When the first book was released, Cassady was somewhere in northern California, working at a vineyard and boycotting razors.

  “After Water Siren’s success, one of the local reporters rooted into Samuel’s past and played a matching game with his real-life acquaintances and the book characters.” I explained how the reporter concluded that one Kaye Cabral, née Trilby, was the inspiration behind the author’s quirky heroine, “Neelie Nixie.” The news feature was picked up regionally, then nationally, making my life an insane obstacle course of the media. I’d gotten a new cell phone number and email address for friends and family only, had our receptionist screen all guests, and installed a peephole and deadbolt on my front door.

  Alonso told me Samuel was concerned about the press reaction to the reporter’s findings. I asked him to tell Samuel, “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think? Be glad I’m not suing for invasion of privacy.” Alonso, kind man that he was, insisted his son hadn’t meant to be malicious. In the following books, Neelie wasn’t as recognizable, but the damage had been done. It didn’t matter whether Neelie’s traits were mine or not; readers just assumed they were.

  “Five minutes, Kaye,” said Molly. “Better skip to the end.”

  Hazy-eyed, I saw that we were already in the outskirts of Boulder. Crap! I flipped to the last few pages, searching for Neelie’s name. I didn’t see it. I turned back a few more, but still no Neelie. Odd, wouldn’t his main character be in the last scene? There was Nora…Noel…ooh, Molly’s character was back from boarding school…but no Nicodemus. And no Neelie.

  “Molly, slow down—look out for that news van backing up,” Cassady said calmly.

  I glanced up and gasped, letting the book fall shut. We were smack dab in the middle of a three-ring circus—local media trucks, cameramen covered in plastic ponchos, cars fighting for parking spaces, honking horns, hundreds of fans with brightly-colored umbrellas standing in lines out the door, just to get their book signed. Nerves shot through my body and settled in my stomach. I had no idea the signing would be this big. When TrilbyJones planned similar events, we’d kept them low key per Caroline’s request.

  “Maybe I should just wait to see him at the rehearsal dinner.”

  “We’re here, we’re going in.” Molly hit the horn as a beat-up Festiva pulled out in front of her.

  “But Monday’s my name-change hearing. I don’t think I should be sick for it, and with the rain…”

  “Do you even need to be present for that?” Cassady pointed out.

  “Kaye! How is it possible that you can dive head-first into whitewater rapids and not bat an eye, but when it comes to having a friendly exchange with your ex-husband—who, may I remind you, was your best friend for years—your feet freeze?”

  I took a deep breath and repeated my mantra. Answers. Answers. Answers.

  “There’s no way you’ll find a parking spot anywhere near the bookstore,” Cassady said. “Why don’t you and Kaye go in, and I’ll find something down the street, eh?”

  Molly gazed passionately at Cassady, as if he’d just suggested they elope to Vegas. Opening their doors, they flipped up their hoods and dodged around the car, ignoring the honking drivers behind them. Molly swung my door open and pulled me into the rain.

  “Come on, Kaye, let’s make a run for it.”

  Tucking Samuel’s book under my raincoat, we dashed for the bookstore, hopping over puddles. I was glad beyond belief I’d talked Molly out of putting me in heels, though she had managed a more feminine pair of boots and a dress. We’d also taken care of my split ends, not that my hair stood any chance in this wet weather. Dragging me behind her, Molly tried to push her way through the bookstore door only to be rebuffed by a dozen women and one lonely man.

  “Line starts back there,” one of them said snippily, rivulets of rainwater streaming from her umbrella and bouncing off our hoods.

  Molly put her hands on her hips and glared. “Look, we’re not here for the nixies. There’s this fantastic cookbook, Heroin for Breakfast, I want to pick up. Heard of it?”

  “Ahhh…” The girl stared at pink-faced Molly in a new light, her umbrella drooping.

  “Come on, Molly. We need to hurry up and get that book before three.” I smiled at the umbrella girl. “My boyfriend’s getting paroled today. I’m so excited to see him again—it’s been years!”

  The girl nodded mutely, stepping aside to let us through the door.

  The inside of the bookstore was even more chaotic than outside. Hundreds of people swarmed through book aisles, chatted, compared costumes. I recognized quite a few of them. We could have had an impromptu high school reunion, with all the old classmates who drove over from Lyons to see Samuel Cabral again. My eyes searched the store for the front of the line, where he’d be. There was a massive display with panoramic mountains and The Last Other sweeping across the top in gothic font.

  I spotted Caroline talking with the bookstore owner, tall and regal in an obviously expensive, tailored suit. Her black silk hair was business-bobbed and swished whenever she shook her head. I’d met her briefly when she initially visited TrilbyJones and she’d been nice, but all work—just like now.

  I stood on tip-toes to peer above the sea of fans, then hopped onto a shelf ladder.

  There he was. Or rather, the top of his head. I could barely make out a muddy-haired man bent over a book, scrawling in the cover while he spoke with the young lady in front of him. The cuffs of his dress shirt were rolled, exposing tan, graceful wrists. I’d always loved the way his hands moved, whether they were playing a guitar, smoothing over my skin, or simply signing a book. The strong lines of his face were softened only by a slightly rounded nose, just like Alonso’s, and dense lashes that canopied his gaze. He looked up, returned the girl’s copy, and gave her that lovely, lazy smile of his. His eyes, blue as mountain lakes, cut across the crowded bookstore floor.

  My heart hammered hard. So hard, I was sure Molly could hear it next to me. She offered me an encouraging smile then tugged my hand.

  “Kaye, restroom. You have raccoon eyes from the rain.”

  I let her pull me through the crowds, between bookshelves and into the ladies’ room. A few people did double-takes as we passed, and I wasn’t sure if it was because they recognized me from town, or because I looked half-stoned. My hands trembled so badly, Molly had to fix my makeup for me.

  “Take off the raincoat. Now turn around.” She fluffed my hair, pulled stray strands off of my knit dress and gave me the green light to strut my stuff.

  “Okay, Molly. What’s the plan?” We edged along the side of the wall, skirting the book line.

  “First, calm down. Next, try to put yourself in his line of vision. When he sees you, he’ll wave you up to the front. After that it’s up to you, hon.”

  I twisted my fingers together. There was no way he’d see me through this crowd—the whole thing was ridiculous.

  Answers, Kaye. You came here to be friendly, butter him up.

  Molly nudged me again. But when I turned around to tell her to give me a minute, I saw it wasn’t Molly, but an old classmate of mine…what was his name? Alan something.

  “Kaye Trilby! Or Cabral. Or…Trilby.”

  Murphy, that was it. “Hey, Alan, good to see you.”

  “Good to see you too! So, you here to see Cabral? Heh, obviously. Who isn’t?”

  Embarrassment prickled my cheeks. “Yeah, something like that. Old friends, you know.” Molly had disappeared. I scanned the crowd for her frantically, only to see her make her way to the security guard near Samuel.

 
“Don’t I know it! There are people here I haven’t seen in years. Half the old baseball team…oh! I saw Jennifer Ballister on her way out, looking pretty pleased with herself.”

  I had to chuckle. That sounded like Jennifer.

  “Now that your boy is famous, everyone wants a piece of him, I guess.”

  “He’s not my—”

  “Speaking of which.” Alan flung an arm over my shoulder, hitting me with a waft of body odor. I shrank back. “Tell me what it’s like to be a famous character in a book series, and now a movie!”

  “Samuel didn’t intend for Neelie—”

  “Neelie’s a pretty hot ticket. All of my buddies are half-in-lust with her.”

  Ew. Now I was really uncomfortable. I glanced over at Molly again and saw that the security guard was currently standing next to Samuel, waiting to speak to him. Molly gave me a thumbs up. Crap crap crap.

  “Reading The Last Other must have been especially weird for you,” Alan prattled on in my bad ear, and I realized I’d missed a good chunk of what he’d said.

  Wait. “Why would reading the book be especially weird for me?”

  “Ah…I don’t know, I just think it would be strange to read about Neelie dying. I mean, it was pretty sad. I was even choked up.”

  Everything else faded away as I absorbed what Murphy had just told me. Neelie died?

  Samuel killed off Neelie?

  My hands trembled, but this time it wasn’t from nerves. It was fury. He killed off Neelie! My Neelie! Oh man, I was going to be sick.

  The security guard made his way over. I stared past him, seeing Samuel. His eyes were on mine…questioning, intense as ever.

  He killed off Neelie.

  “Ma’am, if you’ll follow me. Mr. Cabral would like to speak to you.”

  I nodded, sliding from Alan’s arm. He gave me a good-natured pat on the shoulder.

  “It was nice to see you again, Kaye. Say hi to Cabral for me.”

  “Yeah, you too.” I kept my eyes fixed on Samuel, vaguely catching curious chatter from the book line about my free pass to the front. Molly sidled up next to me, bouncing with excitement. And then I stood in front of him, arms clutching his book.

  He smiled tightly. “Hello, Kaye.”

  My voice failed as his pale eyes swept over me, taking in my dress, my hair, my face. He killed Neelie.

  “Was that Alan Murphy with you?” When I didn’t answer him, he grew concerned and waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my shock.

  I dropped my book on the table and glared at him expectantly.

  “Nice to see you again, too,” he said, chuckling.

  “How could you do it, Samuel?”

  The smile fell from his face. “Do what?”

  “You know.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  I leaned in, my voice not one ounce sultry. “You killed off Neelie.”

  He looked baffled.

  I thought my hiss was too low for anyone else to hear. I thought I’d been discreet. But a stunned silence hung around the table for several uneasy seconds. And then behind me, a desperate “No!” followed by grumblings rapidly intensifying to a dull fury.

  “You…you bitch!” one woman screeched.

  “Are you insane? You just gave away the ending!” cried another.

  Oh holy hell.

  My traitorous weak stomach did a floor routine. Ever so slowly, I looked over my shoulder and found a dozen fuming young ladies, no more than twenty in age, clutching multiple copies of the entire Water Sirens series. In addition to black nail polish, fishnets, and boots that could do serious damage, each sported a “Deep in the Heart of Nixie” T-shirt and murderous eyes. Word spread down the line. I knew I was about to be taken out swiftly and viciously, as only a group of rabid readers with pointy books can take out a fink.

  I looked to Samuel in sheer panic. He stared back, stunned. Not the “stunned” I’d been going for. He blinked once, twice, then sprang into action and grabbed our elbows, steering Molly and me into a room behind the massive Water Sirens display before we were pummeled by hundreds of hardback novels.

  Caroline followed. He muttered something to her about damage control. She told him, “ten minutes,” and slipped out of the room.

  “What was that asinine stunt, Kaye?” He rounded on me, his face severe in its irritation. “Did you even read the book?”

  “Not…closely. I h-haven’t finished.”

  “Of all things, I can’t believe you’d do something like that!”

  Wait, did he believe I did that on purpose? Only a garbled word or two left my mouth. Thankfully, Molly pinch-hit. “Now hold on a second, Sam. That was an accident.”

  But Samuel ignored her, his ice eyes boring into mine. “Do you seriously still have it in for me?”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Danita told me.”

  Danita! A double agent! I flopped down in a chair next to a small table. Of course she’d spill to her brother—blood before best friend. Well, she could find someone else to complain to about Angel’s lack of interest in wedding planning.

  “It was a mistake, Samuel, I swear. You think I want to get my tail kicked by your groupies?”

  Samuel turned away, exasperated, pushing hands through his executive hair. “You are entirely too rash, Aspen Kaye. Always have been and probably always will be.”

  “Hey!” I finally stepped up to the plate. “First, don’t call me Aspen. Second, what I did was an accident. You, however, very deliberately killed Neelie. It was premeditated.”

  “For the last time, she’s fictional. Besides, I thought you hated Neelie. You can’t have it both ways.”

  Ugh, he caught me there. “That’s true, but she’s still me. And the media thinks she’s me. Can you imagine the heyday they’ll have with this? The kind of questions I’ll get? ‘So, care to comment on why your ex-husband wants you—’”

  “I’ve made public statements in the past about how there is no relation between you and Neelie, I’ve evolved her character, and I’ve even personally requested they leave you alone.” His voice could have frozen fire. “All I can say is, just read the damned book.”

  “Kaye,” Molly warned. I fought to rein myself in.

  “Look. I may be rash, but at least I don’t angst over every little thing. When we were children, I’d stand at the gas station register for a full fifteen minutes waiting for you to pick out a candy bar.”

  Samuel shifted his feet and I could tell I’d gotten to him. “Your point is?”

  “That you wouldn’t have killed Neelie without thoroughly thinking it over. And that, my friend, is what upsets me.” I met his blue eyes, so much colder than I recalled. Up close he looked worn—bags under his eyes, thinner since I’d seen him last. I felt a tug in my chest and some of my resentment dissolved.

  “I don’t have time for this,” he said and sighed, collapsing into a chair. And here comes avoidance. “Both of you might have to stay in here, lay low until the crowds thin. Can I have someone get you drinks from the coffee shop? Latte? Iced chai?” He looked pointedly at me.

  Another tug. It was difficult to fume at someone who remembered your favorite beverage. I started to refuse, but earned a jab from Molly’s elbow. I’d almost forgotten she was there, a wide-eyed spectator to our volley. “Sounds great, Samuel. Thanks!” she replied too brightly.

  He nodded, but made no move to leave his chair. A gauche silence settled into the room, finally becoming too much. I cleared my throat.

  “Your readers are very…devoted.”

  “Publicity events have only been this crazy for the past couple of years, since people started paying more attention to what I did than what I wrote. But I have a dedicated fan base, yes.” His celebrity status still made him self-conscious. Neither one of us liked to draw attention to ourselves. “I’m surprised to see you here,” he continued. “Usually when I’m back in the area, Molly’s the one bustling around this sort of event.” He
nodded to my friend.

  Molly and I looked at each other. He didn’t even know TrilbyJones had been ditched. “Don’t they loop you in on the business side of things?” she frowned.

  Samuel shook his head. “With the last book, the movie script, and that commission for a play, I don’t have time to mess with the little details.”

  Little details. Ouch. “You—or rather, your publicist—didn’t use TrilbyJones this time around.”

  “Oh.” He had the decency to look apologetic. “I’m sorry about that. I can talk to Caroline, I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Caroline’s agency is actually teaming with a Hollywood publicist, coordinating efforts for the movie. It might have been their call.”

  Play it cool. “Samuel, I said it’s okay. TrilbyJones focuses more on regional accounts, anyway.”

  “So we were an exception?”

  “We don’t turn down clients just because they have to fly in to meet us,” I said a little too primly. Molly quietly snickered and the corners of Samuel’s mouth quirked.

  “Well, I don’t think losing our business will hurt TrilbyJones. Besides, I’ve been told you have a hefty savings account, just in case.”

  Oh, we were not going down the alimony war path. I opened my mouth to say as much, but was interrupted when Caroline returned.

  “Hello again.” Her posh hips swayed in a way I could never hope to emulate, and I saw Samuel noticed it, too. She leaned down next to his ear and whispered. He murmured something back. A single, manicured finger slowly, deliberated traced down his arm in a manner too intimate for friendship. My heart twisted painfully as I watched this sleek-coated Afghan hound mark her territory.

  Samuel stood up. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, jamming his hands into his pockets and making for the door.

  “Wait!” I cried. Gah! Where did that come from? Samuel turned around, his eyebrows raised. Think fast, Kaye. “Can you sign my book, please?”