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Lori shrugged. “I think it falls under work for hire and the intellectual property would belong to the author.”
“Well, wouldn’t it be incumbent on the author to make a claim against the ghostwriter?”
“I doubt it. The author would have what they wanted, unless the ghostwriter had failed to give them a new manuscript for which they had been hired or had embedded something in the document that rendered it useless unless the author acceded to the ghostwriter’s demands.”
“But why do I have to prove anything to you and McKay?” she asked peevishly.
“You don’t. If this is bothering you that much, you can just drive me back to the hotel, and we’ll call it a day.”
“I can’t do that, and we both know it. You boxed both of us neatly into a corner.”
For someone who had nothing to hide, Annette certainly seemed annoyed. Hoping to lighten the mood and find out more information, Lori asked, “I saw you and Detective Middleton together earlier this afternoon. I know it’s none of my business, but you two looked like you were into each other.”
Annette shot her a scathing look. “Did it? He wasn’t at my store today.”
“Hey, it’s none of my business,” she said, glancing at her phone. Still nothing from Lockwood. “But it looked like you were dropping off some home-baked goodies at the station. I doubt they’d take anything from anyone unless they knew they could be trusted.”
“I was just talking to the receptionist. I’ve known Adele for years.”
“Yes, but it was Middleton you shared a kiss with out by your car.”
“How do you know that?”
“Ryker and I saw you. Look Annette, neither Ryker nor I want to get you in trouble, and you don’t fit the description of the guy I saw killing Cobain.”
“Do you and your fancy boyfriend always stick your noses into everybody’s business? For your information, George and I have been dating for years. It’s not a big secret. The chief doesn’t know, but then the chief only knows what George tells him. Everybody else in the department knows George should have been promoted but the head of the town council is George’s ex-brother-in-law. His sister became a recluse and finally moved away. Her family blame George.”
Annette pulled into the alley next to her shop. Lori checked her phone again.
“Are you coming or not? I don’t have all night. Some of us have to work a regular job that requires more than sitting around in negligees eating bonbons.”
“That’s romance writers,” said Lori distractedly. “Most people think mystery writers look like Angela Lansbury or Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter. Most of us who write do so in some kind of casual top with pajama pants or leggings. But we do work hard.”
“I’m aware. But you have all day to do it. At least Fiona Fowler has her bookstore. You just inherited money and now live the carefree life.” She pointed to a big box behind her counter. “That’s where the used ones go. The re-inked ones are on the shelf.”
“Don’t they make new ones?” Lori asked.
“Of course they do. They’re reproductions. True connoisseurs want to use as close to the original as they can. The new ribbons use an inferior ink and can gunk up a vintage typewriter. I make my own ink that’s almost identical to the original ink. I re-ink the used ribbons by hand, one at a time, and then sell them.”
“This is going to take forever,” Lori groaned.
“You’re the one who insisted on examining them.”
Lori sighed. “I know Annette, and I’m sorry you feel put out. As I said, if you don’t want to do this, I’ll just call Ryker and let him know I’m walking back to the hotel. But if I stay, you shouldn’t feel like you have to help or babysit me. I’m sure Ryker will be along when he can. I’ll be fine.”
“You have an awful lot of faith in a man you’ve known less than a week.”
“I know. It seems weird, but I guess sometimes it just happens that way.”
“I guess. Hopefully he’s not playing you for a fool. I know he needs a sizeable infusion of cash to bring the paper up to what he wants it to be.”
They hadn’t talked about money, but she didn’t believe even for a second that Ryker was after hers. But maybe they should talk about that. If he needed cash for his business, why was he booking some big, fancy vacation?
She texted Lockwood again, and there was still no answer. Hating herself for doing so, she texted Fiona.
Lori: How much do you know about Ryker McKay and the Bleak Ridge Sentinel?
Fiona: Not a whole lot. He won the Pulitzer Prize, got shot up pretty bad pulling soldiers out of a burning transport truck that hit an IED. Why?
