by Kait Nolan
“I asked her not to read it. Not because of the sex—although that’s its own level of embarrassment—but because I don’t want her to read the gory details of what we went through. I don’t want to upset her. It killed her that no one protected us from what happened—not just the brutality of the medical stuff, but the swarms of reporters, the trial. That no one could really do anything to ease it for us. If we hadn’t had each other, I’m not sure either of us would’ve come out of the experience whole.”
Judd shoved his plate away and hauled her into his lap, nuzzling her hair. “I’m not sure I ever really felt whole until you forced me to push past my fear.”
Her arms twined around him. “Are you going to quote Jerry Maguire now?”
Judd could hear the smile in her voice. Because they both needed to lighten the mood, he schooled his face into serious lines and pulled back to look at her. “You complete me.”
Autumn snorted a laugh and framed his face in her hands, giving him a smacking kiss. “I love you so much.” The humor on her face bled to something else. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to say that to you.”
“Probably as good as it feels to hear it.” He took her mouth, sinking into the kiss degree by slow degree, shedding the stress of the day, as he’d been wanting to do for hours. No matter what else was going on in his world, with this woman in his arms, he was home. “I love you. And whatever the fallout is from this, we’ll deal with it like we’ve dealt with everything else for the past twenty-five years. Together.”
Chapter 15
After Autumn’s encounter with the senior book club, going to work felt like walking the line, waiting for execution. With an almost suffocating dread, she waited. When would her two lives collide again and what would be the damage?
It took two days.
“Can I have your autograph?”
The question was so benign, Autumn thought she’d misheard. “Sorry?”
Liza Keaney blushed and looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “Your autograph. I heard that you were Rumor Fairchild and, well, I just love your books! I’ve never gotten to talk to a real author before.”
A real author. At what point do you earn that title? Autumn wondered. She didn’t feel like a real author. She felt like she was back in high school and someone had stolen her clothes and shoved her naked into the gym in the middle of a pep rally with the entire school. Exposed, with nowhere to hide.
“Um.” What was the right answer here? “I suppose so. Did you have something in particular you wanted me to sign?”
“Oh, well, I guess you can’t just sign my Kindle.” Liza laughed. “Anything will do.”
As Autumn hunted behind the circulation desk for something she could autograph, Liza continued to chatter.
“I blew through the first one in a night. Stayed up until four in the morning on a work night. I was a complete zombie at work, but oh my God, it was so worth it. I grabbed the second one at lunch and secreted myself away behind my office door to read it. I was so mad at Cooper for being such a butt and leaving. And then Fletcher came and he was so sweet and concerned, and Darcy totally deserves that. But he’s really not right for her. It has to be Cooper in the end, right? When do we get Book three?”
Nothing about her love life, no parallels drawn between her and Judd and the characters in her books. And suddenly Autumn remembered that Liza hadn’t been here back in high school during the trial. She’d married Robert Keaney and moved to Wishful sometime after college. So maybe she didn’t know.
Something loosened in Autumn’s chest. If she could get over the awkwardness, maybe she could talk about the books as…books. That might actually be sort of fun.
“I don’t have a release date yet. Since my laptop died in the fire, I’ve had to start over. But I’m making progress every day.” She wasn’t thinking about the fact that someone else had copied files from her laptop. She’d moved all her accounts and changed passwords wherever she could. There was nothing left to be done there.
Liza pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Oh good Lord, that’s so insensitive of me. I’m so sorry.”
Finally just snagging a piece of paper from the printer, Autumn smiled. “It’s fine. This version is better anyway.”
Liza leaned on the counter. “So any hints about which way it’s going?”
“It’s a secret. But I will say a Team Cooper t-shirt might not be amiss.”
“I knew it! He has to redeem himself.”
Autumn scrawled, For Liza, Shhh! Rumor Fairchild. She added a winkie face for good measure and handed it over.
Liza read it over and grinned. “This is just awesome.”
“And listen, Liza, if you could keep this under your hat, I’d appreciate it. The whole me being…you know. I’m trying to keep a low profile.”
Liza pressed her lips together and mimed a key turning in a lock. “You can count on me.”
Over the course of the morning, at least half a dozen patrons approached her. None of them were so brash as the Casserole Patrol asking directly about her love life. Most seemed content to talk about the actual story and everyone wanted to know when the next book was coming. For all that having people know about her author identity made Autumn nervous, their enthusiasm was gratifying. It fueled her own excitement for this current book.
“Soooo, having your whole secret identity come out hasn’t been all bad,” Livia said.
“As you were not the one being interrogated about the particulars of your love life, you know not what you speak of.”
“Who did that?”
Autumn recounted her experience with the senior book club. Livia’s mouth fell open. “Holy crap. I knew they were nosy, but that’s a whole new level of special.”
“I’m pretty sure the whole thing violated some article of the Geneva Convention.”
“Autumn, can I see you in my office, please?” Mitzi Farnham looked expectantly over her bi-focals.
Called into the boss’s office. Nothing good can come of this. Stomach twisting into knots, Autumn pasted on a confident smile for the library director. “Of course, Mitzi.”
Miming wide eyes at Livia, who widened hers back and shrugged, Autumn followed the older woman, noting that her tight, iron gray curls didn’t even vibrate as they went up the stairs. Mitzi shut the door behind them, and the sound of the latch struck Autumn with the finality of a cage door closing.
Don’t make assumptions. Just breathe.
“I’ll get straight to the point. News has reached me of your…extra-curricular employment.”
Autumn relaxed a fraction. This was about smoothing ruffled feathers and assuring her boss that this in no way affected Autumn’s ability to do her job. “I apologize for that. I never intended for my pen name to be known. If it’s caused you any awkward questions from patrons, I apologize, but I’m sure everything will die down pretty quickly.” I hope.
“I’m not so sure it will.”
“It’s just gossip. Pretty soon, someone will do something else scandalous, and it’ll be old news.”
“Autumn, this library is a venerable institution of Wishful. Its employees are expected to comport themselves with a certain level of dignity, class, and morality.”
Her gut twisted again. “I’ve been nothing but professional since the moment I walked through this door to work here. What goes on outside work hours or in my personal life has no bearing on the job.”
“I’m afraid quite a few people feel that it does.”
“Excuse me?”
Mitzi reached for a sheaf of papers. “This is a petition calling for your removal as head librarian on the grounds of being an immoral influence.”
Autumn stared at her. “You can’t be serious. What have I done in the context of this job that’s immoral?”
“You wrote what’s tantamount to pornography.”
Insult mixed with the first traces of panic, and Autumn struggled to remain objective. “Oh please. It’s erot
ic romance, and it’s tame compared to a lot of what’s popular since Fifty Shades came out. And yes, I wrote it, but under a pen name, which I told no one. I have not pushed the books. I haven’t added them to our catalog. I haven’t promoted them in any way locally. This has nothing to do with my job here.”
“The public is concerned about your access to children.”
“Oh bullshit. I’ve never made age inappropriate recommendations about books in my life.” Her gaze dropped to the top signature. Clarice Hopper Morris. Of course she’d be behind this. She’d been making Autumn’s life a living hell since elementary school. “Mitzi have you even read my books? Do you even know what they’re objecting to?”
Mitzi’s lips pinched in disapproval. “I don’t need to read them. They’re inappropriate. The entire genre is inappropriate. There’s nothing about it that’s noble or pure or praiseworthy.”
Because, of course, she was one of the sainted pearl clutchers who wanted to pretend sex didn’t exist. “That’s censorship, Mitzi, and as a librarian, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for even suggesting it.”
Autumn wished she could take the words back the moment they fell from her lips.
Before she could apologize, Mitzi’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Buchanan, this library has been under dire financial strain for some time. You’ve been a good employee for many years, and I’ve done what I can to keep you on as long as possible. But the fact remains that I cannot, in good conscience, ignore the wishes of the public. I’m sorry to have to do this in light of your difficult circumstances, but I have to let you go.”
“You’re ignoring my years of service to this library, from the time I was seventeen, up to now, and firing me for something that has no direct bearing on my job?”
“I’m doing what I have to do.”
Autumn rose, hands curled into fists. “You’re being weak and caving to the opinions of those who have nothing better to do than try to ruin other people’s lives over something they don’t know or understand. I’ve just lost everything I own and now you’re taking away my primary source of income. So thanks for that. And good luck sleeping at night.”
She stalked out, slamming the door behind her. Startled patrons looked up as she made her way down the stairs.
Livia was waiting at the bottom. “What happened?”
“I’m fired.”
“What?”
“There was a petition. I am apparently an immoral influence, who cannot be trusted around children.”
“That’s ludicrous! She can’t do that!”
“Unfortunately Mississippi is a no cause firing state. She can do anything she wants.” She shoved both hands through her hair, feeling the first traces of panic begin to leak through the fury. She needed to be far, far away before the full implications sank in. “I’m getting out of here.”
~*~
The last couple of days had been quiet. Judd thanked God and Sheriff Bill Riggs for small favors. The bulk of his department was in Jackson for training until tomorrow. He had a couple of reserve officers on loan from Wachoxee County to fill in the gaps, but even with them, Wishful PD was operating on a skeleton crew.
Since the good citizens of Wishful had managed to keep themselves out of trouble for the morning, Judd had been catching up on paperwork. He fucking hated paperwork. How Robert managed to do the job without seeming to drown in it, Judd had no idea. Years of experience, he supposed.
A knock sounded on the door.
“Come in.”
Spence Whittaker, one of Wachoxee County’s investigators, stuck his head in the door. “I heard tell you’re a few men short the next couple of days.”
Judd leaned back and tossed a pen down on all the paperwork. “You heard right.”
“Want an extra badge?”
“Wouldn’t turn it down. Come on in. Find a seat.” Judd gestured absently toward the two chairs overflowing with files.
Spence shifted a stack to the other chair and sat. “Looks like Curry saved up all the paper for you.”
“Sure as hell feels like it. The idea of juggling all this for twenty-five years instead of twenty-five days is enough to make my skin crawl.”
“Bill wanted me to let you know that investigator position is still open.”
“Don’t think I’m not tempted. I miss being in the field.”
Spence shifted his attention to the incident board Judd had set up on the big bulletin board stretching along one wall of his tiny office. He’d laid out everything they had on the arson investigation and the attempt on his life. “Reckon you gotta take care of this mess before you can think about anything else.”
“That’s the damned truth.” Once this case was closed and he could be certain of Autumn’s safety, maybe he’d re-evaluate his career plans. “You got time to go over this? I could use a fresh pair of eyes.”
“Sure. Take me through it.”
They both shifted toward the board.
“Jebediah was released from prison. The same day, Autumn’s duplex was torched and the arsonist left a message implying that he knew her identity as author, Rumor Fairchild.”
“You got anything tying him to the fire or showing he’s aware of Autumn’s pen name?”
“Nothing direct. The subject matter’s the kind of thing that would seriously get Jebediah’s back up. He beat her more than once growing up for reading romance novels.” And it hadn’t stopped her from devouring stories of hope and love. She’d just gotten better about choosing her hiding places. Judd shook off the memory. “Jebediah had a solid alibi for the time period in question, arriving in Wishful only after the fire was already contained. He didn’t set the blaze.”
“So either he was working with someone else or a second person is targeting Autumn,” Spence concluded.
“I might be more inclined to believe the latter if not for the timing. It’s too coincidental. Jebediah’s release wasn’t publicized. Who would’ve known about it in order to cast suspicion in that direction?”
“Somebody he had contact with while he was in prison? Another inmate who got released earlier? Maybe one who heard Jebediah talking about Autumn and fixated on her?”
“I’ve done some tugging on his time at the prison, looked into his associates and the like. He didn’t have visitors while he was there, nobody he corresponded with. If he was friendly with anybody on the inside, nobody knew about it. His whole stint, he kept his head down, his nose clean. Kept to himself.”
“Okay, go back to the fire itself. Anything unusual there?”
“Accelerant was used only on the outside facing wall of the structure. Why? To protect the message? As some attempt to limit the damage to Riley’s—that’d be the neighbor—side?”
“Maybe just ran out of time?” Spence suggested.
Judd shook his head. “Doesn’t play. Charlie said the burn pattern was consistent up and downstairs. If he started at the top and worked down, it would make sense that the upper floor be more uniformly soaked and it wasn’t.”
“Okay keep going.”
“Autumn moved in with me after the fire. Two days later, she had her first run in with Jebediah at Dinner Belles. She defied him, not something he ever tolerated growing up. Later that night, a prowler attempted to enter the house, scared off by Boudreaux, but not before leaving a copy of Autumn’s first book skewered to the porch, highlighting the scene wherein my fictional persona was shot.”
Spence’s brows shot up. “She wrote about you?”
“Guess you wouldn’t have heard about that over in Lawley. Everybody and their brother has been talking about it here. Yeah, she wrote about us. Or at least what happened to us when we were teenagers. That was the scene highlighted with the knife. Why that moment? A reminder to Autumn? Hey, I did this before, I can do it again? A threat to me?”
“Not sure what message it’s sending, but someone was watching her movements to know she’d moved in with you.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Wishful’s a lot smaller than Lawley. T
he fire was big news and most everybody knew she’d moved in with me. As to trace evidence, there were no prints on the book, the knife, or the doorknob,” Judd continued. “No other words or scenes were marked. The book itself was ordered ten days before Jebediah was released.”
“How’d you know that?”
Judd explained how print-on-demand publishing worked.
“Okay, so what’s the tie there to daddy dearest?”
“Again, he had an alibi for the night in question, suggesting he has someone working with or for him.”
“How good’s the alibi?” Spence asked.
“He’s staying at the Mockingbird Motel at the moment. Only one way in or out of those rooms, and I had an officer sitting on his location during the time in question. He’s old and ill, hardly up to the kind of stealth required to get past a stakeout.”
“Do you have any evidence of him meeting with anybody? Talking with anybody?”
“I haven’t been able to have someone on him twenty-four-seven, but between existing surveillance and his parole officer, nobody’s seen him talking with anybody other than a handful of failed job applications. Which doesn’t rule out phone or email, but I don’t have authorization for any kind of surveillance there.”
“What’s next?”
“One week later, someone—presumably the same individual—shot at me with a crossbow before escaping by boat. The bolt had a custom wrap referencing the third book in Autumn’s series, the only copy of which existed on the laptop that was lost in the fire.”
“So somebody copied the file. Or files. Was anything else taken?”
“Too much damage to be sure. She’s moved all her financial accounts, changed passwords across the board. We’ve kept an eye on assorted accounts—email, social media, and the like to see if there’s any activity from her that isn’t actually her, but so far nothing. The bolt wrap’s been a dead end, too. I haven’t been able to track its origin. The boat was, as we’d suspected, stolen. It was discovered floating out on Hope Springs, half a mile from its owner’s boat slip. Probably, the thief parked his own vehicle some distance away and ditched the boat on his escape. Again, no prints or identifying evidence, and Jebediah had an alibi.”
