by L. L. Muir
A GOOD DAY FOR CRAZY
By L.L. Muir
KINDLE EDITION
PUBLISHED BY
Lesli Muir Lytle
www.llmuir.weebly.com
A Good Day for Crazy © 2017 L.Lytle
All rights reserved
Amazon KDP Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. The ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For all the romantics
trying to step
onto the page.
You know who you are.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
EPILOGUE
CURRENT BOOKS by L.L. Muir
Note from the author…
About the Author
A GOOD DAY FOR CRAZY
CHAPTER ONE
Ashlynn dragged herself out of her white Jeep and ground her teeth as she pushed the door shut. She hated this. Really hated this. But she’d promised.
There was only one other car in the parking lot that led to Hemmingway’s memorial. A black Honda with rental plates.
At least the woman is on time.
Ash trudged along the path to Trail Creek like she was just out for a walk. No one would know she was kicking and screaming inside. Just a normal, average human, engaged in a normal, average activity.
Only she could see the parade of vaguely outlined characters that followed her wherever she went—ghosts of possibilities for current and future novels. Though, now that she’d finished up her latest thriller series, their number was much smaller than usual. It wouldn’t last long, of course. As soon as she started another series, they’d multiply like rabbits.
The fall humidity tried to sneak in next to her skin, like a cold mouse looking for a warm home before winter hit. She pulled her army jacket tighter. The chill would only be worse next to the water, but at least it was a safe place to meet. Nowhere close to home.
With leaves of yellow, orange and green, the tree line opened up at the top of large stone steps that created an arched bench in the earth. The path led down to the right, but she paused to sum up the enemy seated before her.
A skinny chick in a white parka and black leggings stared across the neatly contained creek at the memorial. On the far side of the gurgling water, a large plaque was topped with a pillar upon which sat Hemmingway’s head. Just his head. It was a metal sculpture turning green in spots, and, strangely enough, looked off to the north instead of greeting its pilgrims head on.
The chick’s legs were crossed at the knee. The top one swung up and down. Obviously, she was freezing. And when Ashlynn noticed the black photographer’s camera, she wanted to let her go on freezing. They’d agreed. No pictures!
When Ash took a step back, the woman turned at the sound of gravel grinding beneath her boot and jumped to her feet.
“Hello, Ms. Woods. I recognize you from your cover flap.”
Doubtful. Ash had very little in common with the dolled up and coiffed picture she allowed her readers to see. And A. L. Woods was only her pen name. This chick didn’t know anything, and it was going to stay that way.
Instead of replying, Ash kept her hands in her pockets and glanced pointedly at the camera. The girl followed her gaze. “Oh! No. I promised I wouldn’t take your picture. I’ve just been shooting the scenery, that’s all.” She bobbed her eyebrows suggestively. “But if you change your mind, I’m prepared.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
The girl nodded and scrambled to pack the camera into its case. Her fashionable makeup and twenty-something looks made Ash feel old, even though they could only be a decade apart. But the girl’s nervousness helped set her at ease. No need for both of them to be anxious.
She almost felt sorry for her.
When her agent had called and asked for the favor, claiming a journalist was begging for an interview—which would go nicely with the launch of her latest release—Ash hadn’t known what to expect. She couldn’t remember the name of the magazine, but it was clear to her, at least, that an interview with Ashlynn Garrity wasn’t going to do anything for the girl’s career.
“Thanks for meeting with me.”
Candice. On the phone, she’d said her name was Candice.
“No problem.” Ashlynn made her way down the path and shook hands with the girl in front of the glorified bench. “Like I said on the phone, I’m a pretty private person. I doubt I’ll have anything exciting to say.”
Candice nodded, then started a small recorder she held casually in one hand. “Your agent said you had trouble with a stalker before. So I completely understand.” She waived the recorder. “This is just for me, so I don’t have to use up your time scrawling out notes.”
Yeah. Pretty girl. No doubt she understood stalkers perfectly.
They sat down and Ash pretended to get comfortable on the cold stone. She pushed the small talk aside so they could get down to business, claiming she didn’t have much time. The interview turned out to be the same standard series of questions. How did she come to write fantasy novels?
She’d grown up reading them. It was a natural choice.
What did the initials A and L stand for?
Next question.
So, what should Candice call her?
Al.
How has her landing on the best-seller lists changed her life?
Nothing much has changed. Only now, she didn’t have to make a careful list before she went to the grocery store.
Married? Kids? Did she like to travel?
Yes. And two. She liked to keep her private life private.
Did she get any inspiration from Hemmingway, living in Ketchum?
“I need you to leave that question out,” she said. “I don’t need anyone knowing where I live.”
“Oh, right! Got it. No Ketchum.”
She didn’t bother pointing out that Hemmingway had
lived there less than a year, so it was more her Ketchum than his…
The queries that followed were incredibly specific and all about the close of the series. Candice had either read the books, or had a real fan write the questions for her. When pressed, the girl admitted it was her brother who was the fan.
“Well, tell him I appreciate him.”
Candice grinned. “He’ll be thrilled.” She glanced at her camera, but said nothing when her attention returned.
Ash could feel her resolve slipping. “How old is he?”
“Uh, twenty.”
She wanted so badly to do something nice for a girl who was obviously wasting her time, but even a selfie would leave her feeling exposed and even more paranoid than she already was.
The girl took a deep breath. “He’ll kill me if I don’t at least ask for a selfie, to prove I actually met you. I can even promise to delete it, after I show it to him.”
Ash stood and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t. It’s bad enough that you found out what state I live in, you know?” She would have asked if it was Angela who had provided that information, but Angela knew better. She just hoped that, when Clint LaMont got out of prison, he didn’t hook up with a journalist.
Candice grimaced. “I understand. Like I said, he would have killed me if I hadn’t at least asked.”
~ ~ ~
Just having a camera so close had Ash suffering a new wave of paranoia, and she had to get out of there. Candice offered to send her a copy of the article if Ash would give her an email address, but that just made more alarms go off in her head, so she declined.
“I’ll find it online, I’m sure. But I have to get going.”
Candice thanked her once more and stayed where she was as Ash made her way back to her Jeep. There was a blue pickup parked at the north end of the parking lot, but no one was in it. Since a paved trail ran along the road all the way to the golf course, there were plenty of other reasons to park there, and not just to pay homage to Hemmingway.
Though Ash didn’t pay them any attention, she felt the ghosts of future characters piling into the Jeep with her. Those who couldn’t find room would be waiting for her at home. As usual.
She did glance in the rearview, just to see if any of them were brave enough to show themselves, but no one stared back at her. In the distance, however, she thought she saw the flash of a reflection between branches—back where that girl was still hanging out, with her camera, even though she was freezing.
Ash squinted but saw nothing moving in the general vicinity of Hemmingway’s head. Was it strange that Candice hadn’t walked back to the parking lot with her? Maybe not. If she was a journalist, she might still want to linger near the monument. She might not have had much time for homages before Ash had arrived on the scene.
None of which mattered.
It was none of her business what the girl did or didn’t do. If she’d taken a picture of Ash walking away, she hoped she had a nice high-quality picture of her butt. She doubted any editor would allow that to be printed along with an article about some small time, reclusive author.
Who cared?
Well, no one, except for a certain stalker. But he still had another three years to serve after breaking his parole.
Didn’t he?
Ash pulled out of the parking lot and turned north out of habit. If she was being watched, she certainly wouldn’t lead someone back to her house. Just before the curve, she checked the mirror. Candice’s car was still parked, but the blue truck was now on the road behind her.
And she was headed into the Sawtooth National Forrest!
Real smart, Ashlynn. Real smart.
CHAPTER TWO
The first call she made was to the Blaine County Sheriff, Lance King—a great guy she’d dated after high school, then let him slip through her fingers in favor of college.
“Hey, Lance?”
“Hey, Ashlynn.”
“I’ll just come right out and ask. Can you find out if Cliff LaMont is still at the Point of the Mountain?” It was what they called the prison in Utah.
“No, honey. They have to notify us before they let him out, and I’ve heard nothing. But I’ll check. Something wrong?”
“Nah. I’m just skittish. Did an interview with some chick named Candice. My agent set it up, but that doesn’t mean much. I’m just being silly, but still… If I don’t call you back by tonight, will you take your boys over to feed Wolfgang?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m headed out of town, past Hemmy’s head. Just taking a long drive.”
“Uh, huh.” He didn’t sound terribly relieved, even though she’d cried wolf a dozen times or more. “Tell me your route.”
“It’s nothing—”
“Tell me your route, Ashlynn.”
She sighed. “Stanley, Challis, Arco, then home. Okay?”
“Fine. You stick to that route. You got gas?”
She checked. “Almost full.”
“You gotta gun?”
“You know I don’t.” They’d argued about it dozens of times. It just wasn’t going to happen. She’d touched a gun once, but never again…
“Trouble even looks at you, you hit redial, do you hear? Leave the line open. Lay on your horn—”
“Be on the offensive, I know. That’s why I called you.” She smiled in spite of the situation, relieved that there was someone out there who cared if she fell off the face of the earth. Too bad he was married. “Thanks, Lance.”
The blue truck followed her for over an hour, the distance between them varying depending on the steepness of the grade, but he was always there. Broad shoulders filled up his half of the truck’s cab. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention to her, but that might have been an act.
When he turned west at Stanley, however, she was so relieved, she teared up.
To the collection of shadows crammed into the Jeep with her, she was tempted to point out that they’d been no comfort whatsoever. But to speak to them might invite a conversation she wasn’t ready to have—a demand to start a book she wasn’t ready to start.
She wondered for the fourteen thousandth time whether or not other writers were haunted like she was, but she wasn’t about to ask any. Some questions give more information than they get.
The blue truck never popped up again. Neither did the little black car she had assumed belonged to the girl. And by the time she reached Challis, she was tempted to just turn around and head back, but since she had already committed to the route, she spent the rest of the day following the rectangular path that took her home again.
After she was safely inside her house, she called off the dog-feeders, apologized to Lance for making him worry, and chalked up the whole thing to an over-active imagination that was—as a matter of fact—the reason she could afford groceries and the gas to take her characters-in-waiting on unplanned daytrips around two counties.
~ ~ ~
Two days later
On auto-pilot, Ashlynn pulled past the gas pumps and came to a stop in front of Maverik, the convenience store. She jumped out of her Jeep and headed inside, pushing her sunglasses tight against her face in spite of the waning light of the October sunset.
It was the weekend, which meant Ketchum and Sun Valley would be swarming with tourists and weekenders, none of whom she cared to make eye contact with.
For the moment, the line was short in front of the fountain drink station, so she swooped in, pulled her usual three cups off the stack, then waited to get at the nugget ice dispenser.
Honestly, the routine was so routine, she could sleep right through it. But sleep would come soon. Very soon.
She always bought one of Jenny’s fresh cinnamon rolls for two reasons. First, the 70-year-old always beamed whenever someone gave in to temptation and snatched one of the little clear boxes off the counter. And secondly, she never charged her for the ice or the cups, so buying something kept Ashlynn from looking like the town freeloader.
&n
bsp; Jenny gave her a wink, even though she couldn’t see her eyes. “Sack today?”
Ash wanted a sack every day, but she wouldn’t deprive the woman of a little conversation, so she lifted her glasses and shoved them up into her hair. “Sure.”
The three massive cups of ice went into the bag, then the roll. “See you tomorrow, young lady.”
“See you tomorrow.” Ashlynn swung the sack off the counter and accidentally whacked a man with it. It sounded like a bag of shattered glass. “Sorry,” she said, then reached for the sunglasses in her hair.
He bobbed his head into her line of sight, trying to make that dreaded eye contact, but she dropped her glasses onto her nose and pretended she didn’t notice as she plowed past him, her cup-filled bag a convenient barrier swinging between them until she was through the automatic doors.
“Wait! You’re her—”
Her heart jumped up into her throat, but she didn’t turn back.
“Just one minute, sir! You have to pay for those!” Jenny’s voice cut through the chill in the evening air and Ash relaxed. It wasn’t the first time the older woman had acted as her defensive line. Sadly, it probably wouldn’t be the last.
Though she kept her pace steady, her extra-long steps ate up the distance to her car, and in one smooth move, she was inside, pulling the door shut and turning over the engine. She’d already reversed and started forward when the guy came running out, waving his arm to get her attention. But instead of slamming on her brakes, she hit the gas and veered sharply around him.
I hope he pees his pants.
When she was safely away, she tried to picture him in her mind. From the little she could remember, he’d been obnoxiously handsome in a Brad-Pitt-I-know-I’m-irresistible kind of way, but she’d only had a glimpse. Dark hair, light eyes maybe. Maybe not. Had she studied him for a minute, she might have used him as an expendable in the book she was supposed to be writing, but it was more important that she’d gotten away. Tourists weren’t for her, and conversations with readers made her feel like a fraud.
