by Winnie Reed
“That doesn’t sound like a question,” he observed with a wry grin. “Why?”
“Because it’s obviously what she’d say. She has no idea who he was, she never saw him or had any contact with him.”
“You don’t believe that?”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore. I really don’t. Somebody’s lying. Maybe more than one somebody.” I reached into my bag. “And here’s something else. This is what I was talking about in my last message before you got back to me.”
“Oh, no. Don’t tell me.” He eyed the paper as I unfolded it, then read it with a stony expression. It didn’t take long, being only four words and all, but it took him an awfully long time to react.
When he did, it was along the lines I expected. His brows lowered until I could barely see his eyes. “Where was this?” he asked in a deep, foreboding voice.
“In my room. Slid under the door. I found it when I got back to the room after going to the signing.”
“You didn’t see anybody?”
“Nope.”
“Does anyone but Georgia know which room you’re in?”
“Nobody besides you.”
“I’m starting to wish I’d never gotten myself into this.”
“Welcome to my world.” We exchanged a long, silent look before the curtain opened.
“Oh. Mr. Sullivan. You have a visitor.” Did the doctor sound disappointed? She was young, pretty. Probably noticed the lack of a ring on Joe’s hand and assumed he was available.
Well, he was. Of course. I had nothing to do with him.
Though it didn’t exactly make me grimace, the thought of her believing I was hot enough to attract somebody like Joe.
She cleared her throat, looking down at her report. “Your heart’s working just fine. We ran a few tests on your blood and everything seems perfectly normal.”
“That chest pain didn’t feel normal,” he grimaced, sitting up on the gurney.
“I understand. We routinely see patients who come in presenting symptoms similar to yours. Have you been under a great deal of stress lately?”
I could only roll my eyes behind Joe’s back.
“Yes, I’m a police detective. My work is inherently stressful,” he admitted.
“I can imagine it would be.” And if she’d stop making eyes at him, that would be just great. I was being overly protective. That was all.
“What can he do now?” I asked, breaking into her ogling.
She cleared her throat again. “Well, lessening stress would be a plus.” She ran through a list of things Joe could do: meditation, exercise—though “it looks like you already get plenty of that,” she chuckled as I rolled my eyes—spending time with loved ones unless they added to his stress, yoga, mindfulness, on and on.
“And if you can manage to take a little time away from work, that would be a bonus,” she concluded. “I know it isn’t always easy. If anyone gives you difficulty, they’re free to call me. I’d be happy to explain that it’s doctor’s orders.”
“Thanks,” he sighed. “I might have to take you up on that.”
“In the meantime, you’re free to go. You can have this copy of your report to review, and my contact information is on the last page in case you need anything.” Yes, I would just bet it was.
“I guess I’ll head back to the hotel now,” I murmured once we were alone again. There was an almost crushing awkwardness between us now. “It seems like everything’s okay here. I’m glad.”
“Hey.” He reached out, grabbing my purse by the strap before I could get away. “Don’t run away before I can thank you.”
I forced myself to face him. Why was I so skittish all of a sudden? It brought to mind the awkwardness after a first date when there hadn’t been any real sparks but it wasn’t a total dud. What happened next?
“I thought you’d be in a hurry to go after being here for so long,” I shrugged. “But you’re welcome. Any time, and I mean that. I do consider us friends.”
“You must, if you were willing to drive over here and sit with me. It means more than I can say, honestly. That’s not just lip service.”
I snorted. “You don’t have to tell me that. You’re not the type to say things because they’re expected. I’d better go now. God forbid Trixie call and find out I’m not in the hotel.” We were both laughing when I left, but I didn’t feel very positive.
I was confused, more like. Concerned. All mixed up.
It was almost a relief when my phone rang just as I was getting in the car. It wasn’t Trixie, like I’d predicted. That would’ve been too weird.
Though Nell was close enough, all things considered.
“Hi. I had to run out for a bit.” She hadn’t even asked, and I felt like I had to explain myself. Did they have me trained or what?
“I’ve been reading that book.” She was practically breathless, though I had the feeling it wasn’t because of how well the book was written.
“Yeah? Did you find something?”
“Did I?” she laughed. “Sure did. You won’t believe it, but I know exactly whose work this looks like.”
Chapter Twenty-One
“You’re kidding me.” I looked from Nell to Trixie. “Deidre Price? Who in their right mind would plagiarize one of the most popular writers in the world?”
“It isn’t that she flat-out lifted any passages,” Nell explained, holding out Georgia’s book. “I placed a paperclip beside each line or passage that reminded me of Deidre’s work. I only got ten chapters in.”
But there were at least that many clips already. Holy jeez.
“It’s Deidre’s newest book that her work reminds me the most of. Maybe because it’s the book I read most recently,” she allowed. “I paperclipped a few pages there, too, so you can see the similarities.”
“Where did you get paperclips?” I asked, looking around the room my aunties shared.
“I had them in my bag.” She shrugged at my raised brows. “I like to be prepared.”
“If she’s a fan of Price’s work, there’s a chance she lifted some of her stylistic choices without realizing she did.” Trixie leaned back in the desk chair, spreading her hands in something close to a shrug. “It happens all the time.”
I sat down with both books, almost hungry to find out everything there was to know. Was it true? Had Georgia copied Deidre? No wonder Lawrence was so determined to get the attention of both authors.
I read through the passages Nell had marked in Georgia’s book. I could remember all of them, having first read them just yesterday.
I went to Deidre’s latest book then and started going through each of the paperclipped bits. The more I read, the further my heart sank.
And the more sense everything made. It was like one puzzle piece after another falling into place all around me.
“You’re right,” I murmured, looking from one book to the other and back again. “It’s not word-for-word, but the style is the same. The voice is the same. A few of the words and phrases are the same, too, or similar.”
“The feeling is there.”
“Yes. Definitely.” I sighed, closing my eyes. “So, our dead guy was upset that Georgia’s work appeared to lift from Deidre. Was he a big fan? That’s what I don’t understand. Who made him the plagiarism police?”
They both shrugged. “But this is a lead, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s a lead, all right.” My head was spinning. This opened up so many more questions. “How come Brian didn’t notice this?”
“Brian?” Nell asked. “Another suspect?”
“Gosh, no. He’s their agent, both of them. An old friend of my editor. That’s sort of what led to our meeting in the first place. You’d think he would’ve spotted the similarities and maybe advised Georgia to change some things. Deidre’s been his client from the beginning, nobody would be more familiar with her work than him.”
“Maybe you could ask him? Since you two know each other?”
I shook my
head at Trixie’s question, remembering our meeting that morning. “He’s the one who told me about the plagiarism accusations. Why would he do that if he knew anything about this? You know?”
No, they didn’t. They wore almost identical expressions of confusion.
“He wouldn’t have admitted the plagiarism stuff so easily if it was the truth, unless he made a mistake,” I explained. “He might’ve said too much. He talks a lot.”
“I see.” Nell rubbed her temples. “This is giving me a headache.”
“Join the club,” I groaned. “My head’s been hurting since Thursday night. Ever since finding that body.”
“You should get some rest,” Nell implored.
“My brain can’t rest. I need to know what this is all about. If the work was plagiarized, that only makes Georgia look guiltier.”
“Are you sure this isn’t all about your pride?” Trixie asked. She sounded so smug.
“Excuse me? What does my pride have to do with anything?”
“You don’t want to find out you were duped, that you thought this girl was somebody she’s not.”
“Ouch.” I sat facing her, our knees almost touching. “No. That’s not it at all. I like her. I think she’s a nice person. If she didn’t do this, I want to make sure the police know she didn’t. That’s it.”
“You’re sure?”
“Trix, ease up on her.” Nell’s hand was firm on my shoulder. “Come on. We have that session coming up in fifteen minutes.”
I thought it would be best to hold my tongue as the two of them got their things together. I was in no mood to argue—and I might end up saying something I’d regret later.
My pride? Where did she get off? If my pride stung, it was thanks to what she’d said. She must’ve thought I was selfish enough to act that way. Even Mom wouldn’t have been so harsh.
Because she was used to Trixie saying all the harsh things for her, I realized.
I stood in front of the elevator with my aunties, but it felt more like standing at a fork in the road. There were two options for me to choose from.
The first involved following Trixie’s and Nell’s advice and minding my business. Resting. Doing what I could to salvage what was left of the conference, of which there wasn’t much left.
Or finding Georgia and asking one last time what the heck was up with her. Why her work was so similar to Deidre’s. Whether that was what Lawrence harassed her over.
It didn’t take long to make my decision. “I have to stop in my room,” I explained when I hit the button for my floor rather than going straight down to the lobby.
“Promise you’ll keep your nose out of trouble,” Trixie implored. Only the knowledge that she spoke out of love kept me from rolling my eyes and saying something snarky.
“I promise.” I sighed, giving her a quick hug to show there were no hard feelings. “You two enjoy your session.”
“Meet up later?” Nell asked as I stepped off the elevator. “Dinner?”
“Sure. I’ll try the buffet’s Asian section this time,” I said, giving them a wave while the doors slid closed.
The second they did, my phone was in my hand and I was calling Georgia. “Hey, sorry to bug you if you’re busy,” I blurted out as soon as she picked up.
“No problem. I just stopped back at my room to change my shoes. They weren’t kidding when they suggested bringing flats,” she joked. The happiness in her voice had the opposite of the effect it should’ve. Instead of being glad for her, I felt sick over what I was about to do.
“Can I swing by for a second?” I asked.
“Um, sure. I’m in 838.”
“Be there in a few.” I took the stairs with my heart in my throat. How would she react? Poor thing. She had no idea what I was about to do.
Or maybe she did. Maybe she had at least an inkling. She’d sounded a little hesitant, hadn’t she? Like she was wondering whether to let me come by.
That hesitation hadn’t dissolved by the time she opened the door for me. “What’s wrong?” she asked, stepping aside so I could come in.
“I don’t want to hold you up. Something came to my attention earlier, and I wanted to ask you about it face-to-face. Just know that nothing you say will go any further than this room. I swear. I’ve only ever wanted to help you. Okay?”
“I feel like I should sit down,” she whispered, shaky, as she sank to the bed.
“I’m sorry. I am. But…” I perched on the edge of the desk, facing her. “There’s a strong similarity between the voice you use in your book and the voice Deidre Price writes in. Very strong. Once I started going through her latest book, it jumped out at me.” No use bringing Nell or Trixie into this. I’d told her it wouldn’t go any further than us, and I meant it.
But mentioning somebody else’s name would make her doubt me, naturally.
Her eyes darkened, hardened. “Are you serious? Why are you doing this to me?”
“I’m not trying to do anything but be a friend. You’ve gotta believe me. I don’t want you to be arrested for what somebody else did, but things look worse all the time. If Lawrence stalked you and thought he could get you into trouble, if he was threatening you…”
“I didn’t kill him. I didn’t!”
“I know you didn’t.” I didn’t know any such thing, but I still wanted to believe. “The police are gonna ask you the same questions I am once they piece things together. You can tell me. It won’t go any further than the two of us, I swear.”
“Can’t you just let it go?”
“Georgia, I want to help you. Don’t you see? The police aren’t going to let this go. They won’t let the conference end without an arrest—otherwise, we’re all going to leave, and they might never catch the killer. It ends tomorrow morning. If the real killer is going to be found, it has to be now. If you didn’t do it, you have nothing to hide.”
“But I do! Why can’t you get it through your head? I can’t talk about it!”
“The NDA.”
“Yes! The NDA. I could be in big trouble if I don’t stick to it.”
“Bigger trouble than being arrested for murder? Do you wanna go to jail? To prison, maybe? Why won’t you let me help you? I’m sure that whoever you have the NDA with would understand.”
“No, they wouldn’t.”
“So, I don’t have to tell anybody I know. Maybe we can find another way to clear you. But we can’t clear you if all the facts aren’t laid bare.”
She stood and turned away, arms wrapped around herself. I had to get through to her somehow. The seconds were ticking. Why didn’t she understand?
“Was Lawrence blackmailing you over your copying Deidre Price’s work?”
She gasped, whirling around so fast her skirt flared out. “What?” she spat.
I barely recognized this version of her. She was frantic, fierce, furious. This was a person capable of murder, even if it was an accident.
I swallowed over the lump in my throat, wishing the tension in my chest would ease so I could take a decent breath. “There’s… a lot of similarity, like I said. No flat-out plagiarism, like Brian mentioned—”
“Brian!” She covered her mouth with her hands. “He told you?”
“Um, yeah. He told me today why Lawrence was on your back. He accused you of stealing work from somebody else. I didn’t know until I started reading Deidre’s latest, after reading yours, that it was her work you were…”
“Stealing? You honestly think I stole?” She burst out laughing, even throwing her head back. It seemed a little dramatic, a little out of place for the situation.
Was she that unbalanced? And here I was, alone with her. I should never have trusted her. Just because a person seemed sweet and innocent didn’t mean anything. She could easily have pushed Lawrence, caught him off-guard before he could help himself.
Maybe he’d underestimated her, too.
I had to calm her down. I had to get her to trust me again, even as my heart raced and my throat tightene
d and I wished I’d learned to follow advice and mind my own business.
“No. I don’t think you stole, Georgia. Really. But if you’ve read all of her work and are familiar with it, it must’ve been easy to unconsciously use her style and voice in your work. That’s all. Even when going from a contemporary story to a historical romance. I can totally see how that would happen.”
“Familiar with it.” She’d stopped laughing, at least. That was helpful. She sounded more like herself—or, rather, who I thought she was. “Yeah. I’m familiar with it. I know it very well.”
She surprised me again by sitting on the bed with a sigh. Her shoulders slumped. Her head hung low. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out by now, honestly. But you’re not familiar with book publishing, so I guess it makes sense. If you wrote books instead of articles and blogs and stuff, you would’ve gotten it right away.”
I gulped. Did I even want to ask? Heck, at this point I needed to. If she was going to attack me, I wanted to know all there was.
“Gotten what right away?” I asked, then held my breath and waited for the answer.
“I might as well tell you. It might get out before long, anyway, thanks to that idiot and his big mouth.” She looked at me. “I didn’t plagiarize Deidre. I didn’t even lift her style or voice. Because her style and voice are mine. At least, they have been for about five years now.”
It was like a kick in the stomach, knocking all the breath out of me. “What?” I croaked.
“For the last five years, I’ve been Deidre Price’s ghostwriter. Her work was written by me.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Another, please.” I held up a finger, then pointed to the empty glass in front of me.
The bartender nodded.
“Me, too. Please.” Georgia then drained her wine and slid the glass away from herself.
At a time like this, a girl just wanted a drink. Hence my suggesting we go down to the bar.
It was still early in the evening, so there weren’t nearly as many people filling the bar as there would be in just a few hours. It wasn’t exactly the best place for a private conversation, but we managed to be discreet.
