“Do you know of anyone who would want to see him hurt? I mean anyone he might have had an argument with?”
Marisol thought for a minute. “I don’t know of anyone who he had a problem with. I mean, he liked everybody.”
“I see,” Parminter said.
Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “But I do know of someone who had a problem with him. A big problem.” She sighed. “It has to do with a secret that Terry told me. It was something that he really didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Give me this person’s address,” Parminter said. He wasn’t going to be going home nearly as soon as he had thought.
* * * * *
The next day, after picking up some fresh clothes at the local department store, Parminter was on a flight to New York. He was going to meet the actual person behind Terry’s books. The ghost writer, a man named Thomas Klatch. He didn’t really have anything else pressing on his agenda so he thought why not? Besides, he hadn’t been to the Big Apple in a couple of years so this was as good an excuse as any to make a return trip.
When Marisol had told him about the ghost writer, the story had finally started coming together. Now, it made sense. Needless to say, he wasn’t surprised that Terry hadn’t even written the books. He should have seen it earlier, but he hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions before he knew more. Marisol had been reluctant to tell him this fact at first, but had decided that since he seemed to be the only one interested in finding out what had really happened, it might be pertinent for him to know. At least he now knew how Terry had been able to overcome his learning disability. Someone else had written the books. It was that simple. He was just the face of them, a handsome face to link to the image of the book. In a way, it was just another modeling job.
Parminter wasn’t really sure what to expect from the ghost writer, or even why he was making the trip to talk to him, but he thought he owed it to his old roommate to do this.
After his plane touched down, he took a cab to Brooklyn and soon found himself standing in front of a newly remodeled brownstone. Obviously paid for by the Nate Geralds royalties, Parminter figured.
Parminter had been warned by Marisol that, according to what Terry had told her, the ghost writer was not exactly a likable person. And he had some big issues with Terry and whole Nate Geralds situation. She didn’t know exactly what though. She just knew that he was, as she put it, “a real bastard.”
Parminter walked up the steps of the brownstone and rang the doorbell. No one came to the door. After about another couple of minutes, he rang it again. After a few more minutes, he finally heard someone shuffling around inside. Even though the door remained shut, Parminter could tell that he was being peered at though the security hole and was suddenly surprised then the door burst open.
“Who are you?” the person demanded as he opened the door. Taking in his longish, unkempt gray hair and general demeanor, Parminter knew from what Marisol had told him that he had to be talking to Klatch.
“My name is John Parminter. I’m a friend of Terry Dufresne.”
The ghost writer snarled and rolled his eyes. “And how is a friend of that fraud important to me?”
Parminter was taken aback by the utter nastiness of the man’s demeanor. Marisol had been correct in her description of him.
“It’s just that considering the circumstances surrounding Terry’s death, I felt that we should try to find out more. You know, about why would he do such a thing.” Parminter stopped and considered his words and suddenly realized the only way he was going to find out anything from Klatch was to provoke him into telling him. There was no way that he would ever speak to him in a normal fashion. He continued, “And considering that you two worked together you might have some insight we don’t.”
At this, Klatch seemed to erupt. “Work together? I work alone, do you understand me? That pretty boy didn’t know anything about writing or anything else for that matter.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I just thought...”
“You just thought, huh? Well, I’ll go ahead and tell you. Any success that fool got was because of me. Do you understand that? I wrote those books. Not him. He had nothing to do with them. He may have basked in the glory, but I did the work.”
“I know. He had the utmost respect for you.” Parminter lied. He had no idea of what Terry had thought of Klatch.
“Of course he did. It was because of me that he had anything!” Klatch thundered.
“But why are you so angry with him? It looks like you’re doing good, here. It seems like it was a pretty good partnership,” Parminter said.
Still standing in the doorway, Klatch settled down a little and took a breath. “I’m sorry if I seem a bit bristly, but how would like it if you had worked as a writer for years and suddenly you get this brilliant idea. You suddenly know that you have a bestseller. A big bestseller. One that will be huge.”
Parminter nodded. He had an idea where this was going.
Klatch continued, “You write the thing and take it to an agent and they love it. So do the publishers. They give you an advance, but suddenly they start getting cold feet about it. They stop returning your calls. Success is this close and you feel it start to slip away. You ask them what’s wrong and they tell you that while they love the book, they just don’t like you. They say you’re too old. You’re too ugly. You’re just not right for the image of the book.”
“But you were the one who wrote it, though.”
“Yes. That book is a hundred percent me and they told me I wasn’t right for it. But suddenly they have an idea. They have a pretty boy lined up and a storyline to go along with him.”
“So, they said you were good enough to write the books…”
“But I wasn’t good enough to take the credit for them. They made me skulk in the shadows while he took all the glory. I worked for years to get a bestseller and they wouldn’t even let me get the recognition when I got one.” He thought for a second. “I wrote some of the biggest selling books in the world and nobody even knows who I am,” he said bitterly.
“But what are you going to do now that Terry’s dead?”
At this Klatch’s demeanor changed completely. He suddenly became lighter and actually smiled. “Oh, now, that he’s out of the way, I can finally take the stage. People will know that I’m Nate Geralds, not him. They’ll see that I’m the writer. People will know me. I’ll be the one sitting at the best tables at restaurants. People will respect me.”
“So, I guess, in a way, you’re happy that’s he’s dead, then, right?”
Klatch shook his head. “I’m not a monster, Mr. Parminter. I’m a writer.”
Having previously been in this profession himself, Parminter knew all too well the subtext of what Klatch was saying. People who wrote books could really be miserable sons of a bitches. “But things are working out for you, right?”
“I feel badly for his family, don’t get me wrong. Even though he wasn’t very intelligent, he was a nice guy. He was just a pawn. He couldn’t help that they chose him.” He looked down at his shoes before looking back up at Parminter. “But there are such things as happy accidents, don’t you think?” His eyes suddenly twinkling.
Parminter had had enough. If he stayed any longer, he was going punch the guy. He said goodbye and Klatch shut the door. Parminter went down to the street and called a cab. He was so disgusted he didn’t know what to think. Dealing with some of the people he had known throughout his former career, he knew firsthand of writer’s jealousy, but had never known that it could be so ugly.
* * * * *
“Yes, I love you too,” Parminter told his youngest daughter Tallulah. He had already spoken to his other daughter, Margaret. “Could you put your mother on the phone.”
“Okay, Daddy,” Tallulah said.
Parminter waited for his ex-wife to get on the phone.
“What’s up, John?”
“Hi, Robin. Apparently something. I just don’t know what.”
“Wh
at do you mean?”
Oh, I just got back to Terry’s hometown from New York. I’m going to come home in a couple days after I clear a couple of things up.
“What things?”
“It’s just that the whole thing makes sense on the surface. I mean, Terry probably felt guilty from being sort of a fraud. But isn’t it a little extreme to kill yourself over it?”
Robin didn’t say anything for a minute.
“Robin? Are you there?”
“Yes, John. I was just thinking.”
He realized what she was doing. She was thinking about the situation as cop. “So, how would you approach this from a police perspective?”
“Well, it seems pretty open and shut. From the reports I read, he was found at the house by the groundskeeper.”
Parminter thought for a second. “So, should I talk to the groundskeeper, just to see what he says?”
“Yeah, probably. Just to satisfy yourself.”
“You’re right. I’m just doing this now for the family. I want them to find closure.”
“I’m sure that your curiosity is also playing a role, too. Right, John?”
Parminter smiled. She knew him like a book. “So, did you catch the name when you looked at the report?”
“No, I didn’t,” Robin said. “But I think there’s only the one guy who does that kind of work there. I’m sure he’s easy to find. I would just go over there and talk to him. He’s probably told this story a thousand times by now.”
* * * * *
Parminter went up to the estate early the next day. As Robin had predicted, he didn’t have any trouble at all locating the groundskeeper. The guy was mowing the grass next to the road leading up to the house. The security guard was nowhere to be seen. This was very fortunate, but Parminter realized that he needed to make this quick before he showed up to investigate.
The groundskeeper stopped his mower when Parminter stopped along side of him. Parminter identified himself as a friend of Terry’s.
“So, you were the one who found him?” Parminter asked the man. He looked to be in his early sixties and was highly weathered from constantly being in the sun. Parminter could also tell that he was sort of strange man. He acted like he was a little hyped up on something. Like he was trying to prove to the world that even though he was older, he still had lots of get-up and go.
“Yes,” the groundskeeper said, grinning. “I saw him. It was so sad. He was such a nice guy. You couldn’t help but like him.”
“Did you see anyone else here?”
“No. I already told the police that. It was just him. I saw him talking on the phone to somebody though.” The groundskeeper said as he almost bounced on the balls of his feet. It was like all parts of his body were moving at once. Yet, he seemed to be trying to project an effort of nonchalance while doing so. It was almost like he was trying to be both laid back and high energy all at the same time.
“Who could he have been talking to?”
“I’m not really sure,” the groundskeeper said as he took off his cap and scratched his head. “My cousin works at the police station though and he said that it was his agent.”
“His agent? Are you sure it wasn’t the ghost writer.”
“Ghost what?” The groundskeeper said and looked at Parminter as though he had just told him that it was raining strawberry soda. He then grinned again. “I don’t know nothin’ about no ghost whatever it is. They ain’t nothing crazy like that ever happened around here. I’m a Baptist. I don’t believe in that kind of stuff, by God.”
Parminter sighed. The groundskeeper was playing the part of the country smartass. He didn’t have the time or patience for this.
“So, it was the agent?”
“Yes, that’s what he said. It was one of them New York numbers and it was traced back to the agent. There were a bunch of calls from the agent on there that day. He wrote all them damned books so they just figured that’s what writers do. They talk to their agent.” He put his hands on his hips and leaned towards Parminter. “I don’t know anything about any of that. I just work here. I used to work for the county and got this job a few years ago. It’s a good job, too. Gets you outside. Lets you do hard work.” Then he looked at Parminter slyly and smirked. “I bet you don’t even know what that is, do you?”
Parminter shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t have a clue.”
The groundskeeper beamed in triumph. “I didn’t figure you did. This is a good job. You get lots of exercise. If you do hard work you don’t have to do all that damned jogging, by God.”
“You’re right about that,” Parminter answered for lack of any other response.
The man nodded.
“Do you know who the agent is?” Parminter asked.
The man shook his head. “No. I don’t really know anything about any of that shit. I just mow the grass.”
They chatted a little more and Parminter thanked the man and then left the property.
So, the last person Terry had spoken to before he killed himself was the agent, Parminter thought. There was nothing weird about that on the surface, though. He would speak to them and find it out. If he could find out who the agent was, then he could find out what exactly they had talked about before he killed himself. Maybe there was some sort of financial difficulty? Maybe Terry was heavily in debt? He was sure that the agent probably was his friend and most likely had insight that could help the family find closure.
He looked at his watch. He was supposed to meet Marisol at a restaurant in a couple of hours then leave for home. He turned onto the highway that went towards Terry’s parents’ house. He would stop there first and tell them what he had found out.
* * * * *
Parminter walked up to Terry’s parents’ house and knocked on the door. He just had this one last thing to do, to ask them about the agent, before he went home. They were a little surprised to see him.
“I’m sorry to just come here like this, but I have some new information that might explain things a bit more,” he said.
They looked at him uneasily.
“I know that your private detective told me to leave it alone, but I just heard something that might be relevant to this. I’m going to leave as soon as I find out this one thing.”
Both the mother and the father perked up. “Really? Is there something new?”
Parminter could tell that they so desperately wanted him to tell them that their son hadn’t killed himself. He had been the bearer of bad news before and had never relished the position. As macabre as it sounded, he knew that they desperately wanted to hear what most people would have thought of as horrible news. Like most family members of suicide victims, they wanted for him to tell them that their son had been murdered or that he had died in a freak accident. Anything other than what had actually happened. He couldn’t tell them that though. However, if things worked out, he might be able to tell them why.
“I’m on my way to meet Marisol in a few minutes to tell her what I found out. If you want, you can come with me.”
“Marisol?” the mother asked.
Parminter was confused. Maybe they hadn’t heard him.
“Marisol. Your daughter. You adopted her from Mexico. She’s been helping me.
The mother and father looked at each other.
“We don’t have a daughter,” the father said as he stood across from Parminter.
* * * * *
Of course! How could he have not seen it! He kicked himself as he drove over to meet Marisol at the restaurant. He just hadn’t asked the right questions. He had been too closed off with his information. Too cautious. If he had just confided in the right person, what was obvious to everyone else would have been made obvious to him as well.
But this was only natural. So much of what shapes a person’s life can be attributed to a piece of information that was misunderstood or a question that wasn’t asked. Just like when a kid gets the wrong idea when he sees something on TV or overhears his parents say something he
doesn’t understand because he is too young and inexperienced to know the context.
But Parminter was neither of these. Young or inexperienced. This was why his pride was stinging.
* * * * *
Marisol sat across from Parminter and smiled. “Yes, it’s true. It’s terrible but the fact of the matter is that I didn’t really do anything. Not really. I didn’t even mean for him to do it. He just did. I mean, I might have been able to stop him, but I frankly was just sick of hearing it. He was really pissing me off.”
“But you tore down Terry’s self-esteem so much that he killed himself. You made him feel like a fraud and that he didn’t actually deserve anything he had.”
“Well, Nate was sort of a fraud, don’t you agree?” Marisol corrected him.
Parminter couldn’t argue with that. After he had spoken to the parents, he had figured out that it had been Marisol who Terry had spoken to on the phone before he had killed himself. She was his agent. She was also the one who had pushed him over the edge. She hadn’t been that surprised when he told her that he had figured her out.
“But you knew why he did it all along.”
“Well, you’ve got me there, John.”
“But why? I mean, you could’ve just stayed out of it. You didn’t even have to involve yourself.”
“Look, I never planned any of this. I was just at the cemetery that day to look at the grave, to make sure that no one had done nothing stupid like putting his author name on the tombstone when I saw you there. When you introduced yourself, I remembered Terry talking about you. I just thought I would have a little fun with you. You know, go undercover to find out what the family was saying. Find out what they knew.
“You wanted to find out if they would try to get the estate.”
She smiled and wrinkled her nose. “Well, that might have been on my mind, too. You can’t be too sure about things like that.” She paused. “I also figured that it would be fun for you to fuck with Klatch. I hate that guy.”
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