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The adjoining door was cracked open. He rolled his shoulders, ran his hand through his hair, and found his equilibrium. Then he strolled through.
“Sibling-support call done,” he said. “Now about that shower…”
He trailed off as he saw Daphne. She was on the bed, huddled at the headboard, knees drawn up, gaze down, her expression…
He ran forward and sat on the edge beside her, laying a hand on her arm. “D?”
She looked up, her eyes empty, as if she hadn’t heard him come in.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“It’s… Robbie.”
Robbie? It took a moment for him to remember that was her asshole neighbor. The one they’d scared off with their make-out session.
“Did something happen to him?” he asked.
Daphne made a noise, almost like a derisive snort. Then she lifted her hand, her phone in it, thumbed to an email and passed it over.
The email was from Robbie. Chris read it.
Fine. You don’t want to call. Let’s do it your way. I have this niece who runs a blog thing online. She’s weird, always holed up with a book. I don’t talk to her much. Then out of the blue, she’s texting me about some author. She read this book, it was great, blah-blah, and she was posting about it on her blog thing, and she looked up the author, who lives in the Yukon and OMG, her uncle lives in the Yukon. Do I know the author? Like I know everyone in the Yukon. I ignored her. Then she sent a photo, and it turns out I do know him. Saw him just last week, practically banging you against a tree.
Seems your Chad is some kind of author. Whatever.
But the kid doesn’t let up. OMG, you’ve met Zane Remington? Where does he live? Here are some photos of his place. Do you recognize it?
Oh yeah, I recognize it. That’s why Chad was at your house. He was pretending it was his. I knew the bastard was up to something. So I did a little digging and found out there is no “Zane Remington.” It’s what they call a pseudonym. Not only is he a fake, living in a fake house, but he’s using a fake name.
That’s when I remembered the BBQ last year, when Pam was going on about some short story she’d written and how she wanted to get it published and shit. Talked my ear off for ten minutes, with Ren right there, pleased as punch because his woman could string together a few sentences. Then you overheard and got talking to Pam. Ren asked if you wrote, and you said you did.
So I start thinking, and wondering, and I go online to see this book, and I find a free copy of it on some website. I start skimming through. It’s about a girl, which has me wondering why a guy would write that, unless he’s some kind of perv. Then, right in the first chapter, there’s this part where the girl’s dog falls through the ice, and it happens just like that time Tika fell through chasing a hare, only in the book they were running from a zombie.
Chad didn’t write that book. You did. Maybe he hired you or whatever. Don’t know. Don’t care. I just know that you wrote it and now you’re lying to people, and I talked to my niece, and she says that’s a really bad thing. She says people who do that get cancelled. If this comes out, you’re done, and not just your book. You.
I’ve only told my niece that I think I know who wrote the book and that it’s a chick. She wants details. Begged me to give her names so she can be the one who outs you.
Little shit, huh? Goes from “OMG, this book is so good!” to “Let me be the one to ruin the writer!” in a heartbeat. Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?
So here’s the deal. I’ll keep your secret… if you give me something in return. I want a one-year free rental of your house. That’s it. Reasonable, right? You have twenty-four hours to decide.
Now will you call me?
As Chris had read the email, his fingers had tightened around the phone. As he reached the end, the edges bit in, and it was everything he could do not to keep squeezing until it broke in his hand.
Daphne reached over and gently extricated her phone from his grip.
“It’s not the end of the world,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can give him the house for a year.” She audibly swallowed. “It’s temporary. I’ll find another place. I have enough money to do that.”
“No.”
She looked up at him, her jaw setting. “Yes. I got into this mess, and if this is the price I pay to get out of this, so be it. I won’t take chances.”
“This is your house, Daphne. Yours.”
She shook her head. “One year is nothing.”
“He’s not really asking for a year rent free. That’s like asking for ten grand when you know you could get a hundred. If you talked to whoever owns that place he’s currently renting, I suspect you might get a story.”
