“I don’t remember that being so bad,” Christine hedged. “You’ve worked hard for us — you really have — but the money isn’t everything. Some things are more important. That’s why I want to go now. I think we should head home, spend some time together. You don’t need this conference. You already know everything they’re trying to teach you.”
“It’s not about what I learn, it’s about who I meet. Conferences are about networking. The classes are ... unimportant. It’s about the people. Why can’t you get that?”
“I get that. I ... .” She broke off, her eyes slowly tracking to me.
I felt moronic for getting caught eavesdropping, so I offered a lame wave and pretended I hadn’t heard them arguing. “I’m looking for Clark Savage. Have you seen him?”
Clearly done with his part of the conversation, J.D. trudged away from his wife. “I can’t say I have,” he said. “It’s been a few hours at least. I’m pretty sure I saw him at breakfast, but that was a long time ago.”
“You don’t know where he’s been spending his time when not attending classes, do you?”
“I don’t pay that much attention to him. He’s not my kind of guy.”
I expected that to be a regular response when I started questioning the other writers. “Okay, well ... I’m going to head inside. See you later.”
I was relieved to get away from them, but I felt Christine’s eyes burning a hole in my back. She hadn’t spoken to me, but it was clear she was angry that I had the audacity to interrupt them during an important conversation.
The lobby was packed with people, the authors split into the small groups. Those sitting on couches close to the back door were the first to catch my eye. Leslie, Abigail and Priscilla were among them.
“Oh, it’s you.” Leslie beamed as if I were her favorite person in the world. “I’m so happy to see you.”
For a moment I thought she mistook me for someone else. Then I remembered she was crazy and plastered a smile on my face. The last thing I wanted was for her to start stalking me. Besides that, she might have information about Clark.
“It’s me,” I agreed, sliding into an open chair. I wanted her to believe we were friendly. “How are you guys? Enjoying the conference?”
“It’s wonderful,” Leslie intoned. “I’ve learned a great deal.”
“I think it’s kind of boring,” Abigail supplied. “I could teach every class here.”
“You think you could teach every class at every conference,” Priscilla countered. “That’s not always true. I think some of the things we’ve been discussing the past few days have been new and innovative.”
Abigail snorted. “Like what?”
“Like in the craft class about opening chapters. The woman teaching it said the exact thing I’ve been saying all along. You have to write hooky. Hooky! It matters that you suck in readers, write intelligently for them, and don’t put out drivel.”
Abigail’s expression was withering. “Don’t you think that’s a given?”
Priscilla shrugged. “If it was a given everyone would do it. Instead of having stupid books about women with glowing blue hands and moronic characters who say snarky things, we would have serious characters with a literary bent if it was a given.”
“Yeah, but ... people prefer genre fiction to literary fiction. They think literary fiction is boring.”
Priscilla balked. “You take that back!”
“It’s the truth.”
Leslie rolled her eyes as the duo continued to bicker, instead focusing on me. “Have you read the book I gave you? Amazing, huh?”
She clearly needed accolades. I could have offered them blindly, but if she questioned me about the plot of the book I’d be in real trouble. Instead, since he wasn’t here, I decided to make Jack my sacrificial offering.
“I haven’t read it yet, but I’m really looking forward to it,” I replied. “My friend Jack has it. He says it’s amazing.”
“Really?” Leslie wiggled her butt as she preened. “So much better than James Sanderson, right?”
“I believe those were the exact words he used.” I managed to deliver the statement with a straight face, but just barely. “I know he wishes he had more time to read, but we’ve been dealing with Shayne Rivers’ death. I heard you knew her.”
Leslie’s lips curved down. “I knew her.”
I waited for her to expound. When she didn’t, I prodded her. “Were you friendly?”
“No one can be friendly with the gum found on the bottom of a shoe,” she replied, her tone chilly. “There was nothing good about that woman. Ask anyone. If you find she had a fan here, that individual is lying because he or she is trying to avoid attention from law enforcement. That woman was hated.”
“It seems she did quite a few things to be hated.”
“She liked hurting people,” Leslie agreed. “She wasn’t happy unless she was ripping hearts out and stomping on them, leaving a bloody mess in her wake.”
That was quite the visual. “My understanding is that she was brokering a deal with James Sanderson, one similar to what you have with him.” It was a calculated risk, but I figured I might as well ask so I could see her reaction. If she flipped out I could always run.
“She was not writing with James.”
Leslie’s eyes flashed in such a way it made me nervous. “Oh, well ... a few people mentioned that she was working with him. In fact, someone — I can’t remember who now because all the faces blur in my head — but someone said that he might have to drop you in favor of her.”
That was a bald-faced lie. I was well aware of Leslie’s position in the Sanderson writing pool. She was there because she was crazy and essentially threatened his family. Her place in his life was unique.
“Who told you that?” Leslie was furious as she leaned forward. Abigail and Priscilla finally broke from their conversation long enough to realize Leslie was about to lose it.
“I don’t remember,” I repeated, remaining calm. It would do no good to freak out. “Someone said that Mr. Sanderson was thinking about replacing your series with Shayne’s proposed series.”
“That is ludicrous.” Spittle formed at the corners of Leslie’s mouth, making me nervous. “I have a deal with James. We’re writing soulmates. He would never shove me aside like that.”
Sensing trouble, Abigail cleared her throat. “You should know that Shayne was notorious for making things up,” she offered. “She’s been telling people for years that her books were being made into television shows and movies, but it never happened. She always came up with excuses after the fact for why the deals fell through, but none of them ever made any sense.”
“So ... you don’t think Shayne was telling the truth?”
“Not on this one. In fact, she didn’t write mysteries or thrillers. There’s no way James Sanderson would partner with someone new to the genre like that.”
“That’s right!” Leslie was still livid. “She was too stupid to write a mystery. That takes brains and talent.”
“And a hooky writing style,” Priscilla added.
“Oh, let it go, Priscilla,” Leslie groused, shaking her head. “I’m so sick of the word ‘hooky’ that I want to smack you over the head with it. If you’re not careful you’ll end up with a different type of hook sticking out of you at the end of the pier. Do you want to end up like Shayne?”
The threat was pointed enough to set my teeth on edge. When I risked a glance at Priscilla it was obvious she felt the same way. She was furious at the words but leery enough of her friend that she didn’t want to risk things flying out of control.
“Fine. I won’t say the word again. Are you happy?”
“Thrilled.”
I decided to take advantage of the momentary lull in the conversation to get to my feet and make an escape. I paused at the corner of the carpet to ask the question I’d almost forgotten about in my haste to get away. “Have you seen Clark Savage?”
Leslie furrowed her brow. “The p
repper writer who thinks women should sit home doing dishes?”
“That’s the one.”
“Not since this morning. Check with Carter Reagan Yates. They’re thick as thieves, although Carter isn’t nearly as annoying as Clark.”
“That’s what I keep hearing.” I kept my smile in place. “I’m sure I’ll see you again later. I’ll make sure Jack comes by to express in person how much he loves your book.”
Leslie’s smile was back to benign. “That sounds lovely. I’ll see you later.”
I FOUND CARTER DRINKING from his adult sippy cup outside the resort’s main door. He was a good thirty feet from the door, and he had a Vape device in his hand.
“They make you come outside to Vape?” As far as opening lines went, it wasn’t my finest. Carter looked amused, though, so I relaxed just a bit. We weren’t the only ones outside. There were bellmen by the door. Everyone said he was the friendly one, but his association with Clark made me suspicious all the same.
“They have very strict no-smoking rules,” Carter replied, puffing on the thin device. “It’s annoying. There’s a dedicated smoking area, but it’s right behind a dumpster, so I come out here even though it’s against the rules.”
“Well, you have to get your nicotine fix somewhere. It’s unfair that they essentially torture you to make it happen.”
“Right?” His eyes flashed as he looked me up and down. He didn’t linger on my legs or chest, which was a mild relief, and instead offered up a legitimate grin. “You’re with the group investigating Shayne Rivers’ death. I’ve seen you around.”
“I’ve been making friends with your fellow writers,” I supplied. “We met the other night at the tiki bar. I’m not sure you remember.” I gestured toward his plastic cup. “You were re-filling that regularly, if I recall correctly.”
“Well, what happens at the tiki bar stays at the tiki bar.” He puffed on his Vape again. “You’ve been a busy little bee the past few days. I’ve seen you questioning a lot of authors. I thought you’d get to me sooner. I’m a little put off that you waited so long.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Well ... I didn’t mean to put you off.” That was true. I found him interesting. “You’re usually surrounded by people that make me a little nervous.” That also was true. “Like Clark Savage.”
Carter’s expression never changed. “He’s not as bad as people think.”
There was every possibility that he was worse than people thought, but I decided to keep that to myself. “He has a few issues,” I hedged. “You must understand why women feel uncomfortable around him. He thinks they should be stuck at home handling kids and leaving all the available jobs to men. It’s fairly insulting.”
“Except he doesn’t really believe that,” Carter argued, serious. “Most of the people who read prepper fiction just want a good story. They like post-apocalyptic stories — even The Hunger Games and Divergent fit the bill — and they enjoy thinking about what they would do in similar situations.”
“But?” I prodded.
“But there is a small subset of readers who take things a little too far,” he conceded. “They like the political talk. They like our author personas to be a little rough around the edges. They like the idea that we would gut and kill zombies without blinking an eye ... or climb into the sewer system to take out a swarm of evil-doers. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but it is a hard image to live up to.”
“You’re saying it’s not the truth. None of it?”
“I’m saying much of it isn’t the truth,” he corrected. “I’m a family man. I have four children and eight foster children, many of whom are grown. I live on a farm in Michigan. I have a big garden.
“Sure, I also have an RV that was built in the seventies because it can withstand an EMP attack,” he continued. “I have four basement freezers that run on generators and contain enough frozen meat to get my family through a full year. I have other food rations that will last for five years.”
I smirked. “Basically you’re saying that you’re a complicated guy.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“What about Clark? Is he a complicated guy?”
“He’s many different things.” Carter momentarily looked sad. “I don’t agree that women shouldn’t work. I don’t think the things he says to people are okay. It’s just, underneath that tough veneer I recognize that he’s a soul in pain. He needs someone to stand with him, not another person to tear him down.”
“I would argue that he’s created a lot of his own problems.”
“He has. He would never deny it. He wants to fix those problems. I can guarantee that.”
That assessment didn’t jibe with the man I’d met. “What about Shayne Rivers? Was he trying to fix that problem?”
“Shayne was beyond fixing. You must know that. She was a walking catastrophe.”
“She was still a person, a mother. She didn’t deserve to have her life ripped away.”
“And you think Clark is responsible for what happened to her?”
“I think I know some people who want to talk to him,” I replied carefully. “Speaking of that ... I don’t suppose you know where he’s been hiding all afternoon?”
Carter shook his head. “I haven’t seen him.”
I studied his face, trying to ascertain if he was lying. He was hard to read. “Okay, well, if you see him, give me a holler. I would really like to talk to him.”
“Of course.” Carter was charming when he wanted to be, his smile infectious. I could read the lie in his eyes, though. He would never betray Clark for my benefit. “If that’s all, I’d like to get back to my Vape.”
“Sure. I didn’t mean to intrude.” I held my hands up as I backed away. “Enjoy ... and I’m sure I’ll see you later.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Twenty-Six
Jack sat at a table drinking green tea with Lily and Sarah when I returned to the lobby. He seemed much more relaxed than the last time I saw him. Instead of a polite look of mild interest as the two women chatted amiably around him, he seemed legitimately engaged.
Somehow, almost as if he sensed my presence, he shifted his eyes to me. He seemed bemused by the baffled look on my face and gestured for me to join them.
Lily and Sarah were all smiles when I sat in the open chair to his right.
“We were just spending time with your boyfriend,” Lily supplied. “He’s quite the charmer.”
“Well ... .” Jack and I had yet to define our relationship. Calling him my “boyfriend” felt like overstepping. “He probably doesn’t want you to call him that.”
“What?” Sarah asked, her attention on her phone screen. “We didn’t call him any embarrassing names, like pimento puff or cheese cuddles. That’s what I call my husband and he hates it.”
I had no idea she was married. That put me at ease ... at least a bit. “I meant the boyfriend thing. We haven’t been dating that long.”
Jack cocked an eyebrow. “What would you call me?”
Uh-oh. The question felt like a trap. “Security smoothie?”
Lily chuckled. “Good answer.”
“Don’t ever call me that,” Jack warned, though his gaze was playful. “Boyfriend is fine.”
I was caught off guard. “Really? I’ve spent the better part of this week telling you I believe it’s possible there’s a Megalodon hunting the Gulf of Mexico, something you don’t like, and now you’re willing to claim me as a girlfriend?”
“Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect.” He graced me with an easy grin. “It’s fine. But where have you been? I was a little worried when I couldn’t find you in the lobby. I thought maybe you found Clark and confronted him.”
“I was in the parking lot talking to Carter. He Vapes.”
“Fun.”
“No one knows where Clark is,” I supplied. “No one has seen him this morning. I’m starting to think I might have been the last one to talk to him.”
“What did you say?” Sarah asked, holding up her phone. “This is Mouse. He’s my cat.”
I pressed my lips together as I looked at the calico wonder. Finally, the obvious question escaped. “Why would you name your cat Mouse?”
“Why not?”
“Fair enough. I ... .” Before I could finish my statement she showed me another photo. “This is Potato. He’s my other cat.”
This one was black and it was hard to make out his features other than the lazy golden eyes staring back at me. “He’s awesome. Why Potato?”
“I love potatoes.”
“Of course.”
Sarah wasn’t done. She showed me another photo, this one of a tabby. “This is Colonel Chompers.”
“How many cats do you have?” Jack asked.
“Just the three.” Sarah shoved her phone back in her pocket. “I would have fifty if I could. My husband says three is our limit unless I rescue a stray. It has to be an emergency. I’m always on the lookout.”
I laughed. She was simply too funny not to encourage. “Well, it’s nice that you’ve found your calling in life.”
“Cats are better than kids.”
I couldn’t help but agree. “Anyway, Clark and I had a long talk this morning. I asked him about his relationship with Shayne and he denied knowing her when he was a kid even though we have proof they were involved. I don’t understand why he would lie about that.”
“He doesn’t want anyone to know,” Lily said. “I think he’s embarrassed even though she was extremely pretty. What? I can appreciate that she was pretty even though I thought she was a psycho. She aged much better than him. She should’ve been the embarrassed one.”
That brought up an interesting subject. “Do you think she was embarrassed?”
“I doubt it. Shayne wasn’t the type to get embarrassed. She used their previous relationship as a weapon.”
“Yeah,” Sarah echoed. “A baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire and she’d ... .” She broke off, miming a violent beating on an invisible foe. “She really was the worst.”
The Megalodon Mix-Up Page 24
