Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Natalie was afraid she might have broken her friend’s brain.
It was very possible Harper had never been speechless before in her life. But now, after Natalie had recapped recent events, rather precisely she thought considering how much had happened in a mere day, Harper sat before her, mouth agape, just staring.
“Can I, uh, get you something? Tea? Wine?”
“Yes.”
“Which?”
“Possibly both, but let’s start with wine. So let me get this straight. Lionel Graves. Is here. And dead. And he wants you to finish writing his book and get it published.”
“That about covers it. Yes.” Natalie nodded, moving toward the kitchen counter and the wine bottle and glasses.
“But you’re not a writer.”
After the shocking reveal that the man they’d hated since Salem was now a ghost living in Liam’s lab, that was the thing that Harper chose to focus on? That Natalie, who wasn’t a writer, was finishing his book.
She set a very full glass of red wine in front of Harper to smooth things over before saying, “I know. I definitely am not a writer. I don’t even like writing emails, never mind a whole book.
But it’s nearly done. He’s talking me through finishing it.
” And boy was he fully enjoying ordering her around and telling her what to do.
“Why didn’t he ask me?” Harper asked, clearly insulted by the slight. “I’m published. I know this business like the back of my hand.”
And there it was. The reason Harper’s frown was comically deep. Professional jealousy.
“Harper, he doesn’t even know you. So how could he know to ask you? I’m the one he met on the panel. I’m the one he publicly fought with on Facebook.”
“You could recommend me to him,” Harper said with hope in her voice and doe eyes. This probably worked on Stone to get her whatever she wanted, but the expression only made Natalie laugh.
“Harper, trust me, you don’t want this job. And believe me, if I could pass this project on to you I would. In a heartbeat. But even with all your writing and publishing experience, I have one advantage you don’t. And I’m afraid it’s a dealbreaker.”
“You can hear him and I can’t,” Harper supplied with a resignation-filled nod.
“Correct.” And how Natalie wished it weren’t the case.
If everyone could hear all the ghosts, how much less of a burden would rest on her shoulders. Mudville would likely be far more chaotic, but her life would be easier.
Of course, widespread ghost communications could result in village-wide panic. The notoriously over-zealous Planning Board would have a field day establishing new ordinances as part of the Village Code to regulate the ghost community. It would be a nightmare…
Natalie’s imaginings were interrupted by Harper pouting deeply as she stared into her wine glass across the table.
“I’m sorry,” Natalie said.
“I know.” Harper took a big swallow of wine and, visibly pulling herself out of her funk, asked, “So what have you done so far? How far along is the project?”
“Well, I’ve logged into his files online. And there are a lot of files. He’s got a ton of research, which was a surprise—”
“Since his Mudville research was shoddy at best,” Harper added.
“Exactly. And he’s got a completed first draft of the new book, so now we’re in the process of searching through the research to fact check the manuscript. But it’s all a bit of a mess. There’s been a lot of rewriting. He kind of writes like he talks.”
“Rambling and long-winded mansplaining?” Harper guessed.
Natalie laughed at the accuracy of Harper’s statement. “Yes.”
“How long do you think it’s going to take?” Harper asked.
Natalie let out a snort. “A long time. We’ve completed one chapter so far.”
They were only that far along because Natalie was ignoring all her other work as much as possible. And that was because, after much debate, they’d agreed the article revealing the new information about Mudville’s founding families wouldn’t be written until after she sent the book to his publisher.
Maybe that wasn’t the only reason she was pushing to get this done. She figured the faster she finished the sooner they could end this unholy partnership.
“One chapter in twenty-four hours isn’t so bad. How many chapters is the book?” Harper asked.
“Eighty,” Natalie revealed with a slump of her shoulders.
“Eighty? Jeez. But listen, if you keep up that pace you’ll be done in under three months.”
Three months of working with Lionel would feel like an eternity.
“I honestly don’t know if I can continue like this. I have the shop to run. Not to mention Lionel is a very particular—and a particularly demanding—writing partner. And then when we’re done with the factchecking, we’re supposed to polish the first draft enough to submit it to his publisher.”
“The publisher you’re supposed to lie to and say you and he were partnering before his death.” The doubt was clear in Harper’s expression as she recapped the plan.
“I know. It’s a stretch, but it’s all we got.”
“Well, I can help you with the polishing stage. I’m an excellent proofreader and I’m not a bad editor in a pinch.”
“That would be great… if Lionel agrees. But finishing the book is only step one. It’s step two I’m worried about. Getting the publisher to believe me.” And believe the whopper of a lie she was going to have to sell them.
“Yeah.” Harper cringed. “Have you reached out to them yet?”
“I emailed his editor. He didn’t get back to me.”
Harper wrinkled her nose. “Mmm. They might not, ever. They could have deleted it without having read the email. There are too many authors trying to circumvent the slush piles by contacting an editor directly. You’ll have to call and talk to them.”
“Call?” Natalie sunk lower in the chair with a groan. The only thing she hated more than writing emails was talking on the phone.
Harper shook her head. “And Stone calls me an introvert. Give me the number. And all the information you have on Professor Dickhead and this project. I’ll call and pretend I’m you.”
Natalie sat up straighter at the offer. “You’d do that?”
“Of course I’d do that. If you think you can keep me away from a real life caper that revolves around publishing and ghosts, you’re crazy.”
Moments later the two sat with Natalie’s cell phone on the kitchen table between them. The phone number on the screen and Harper’s finger paused over it.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Yes. But remember to mention how he called me to apologize—”
“I know. I’ve got the story.”
“We’re probably both going to end up in jail over this,” Natalie predicted.
“Publishing jail?” Harper smiled. “Relax. it’s going to be okay.”
Then before she could stop her, Harper tapped the screen to connect the call and the ringing turned quickly into a human voice.
It was all Natalie could do to not snatch the phone away, apologize for dialing the wrong number and disconnect this horrifying call. Forget all about Lionel and his book, and Alice and her family legacy.
“Hi, hello. I know this might sound odd but I have information about one of your authors. The late Professor Lionel Graves. I was wondering if I could speak with his editor,” Harper began as Natalie’s heart pounded.
“What kind of information?” the woman said over the speaker phone.
“I’m in possession of his next book. The one he, actually we were working on together when he passed.
Since we worked very closely together on the research during the final month of his life I feel responsible for fulfilling his last wish and seeing this published.
Of course, my first step was to reach out to his editor…
” Harper referred to the page of notes in front of her, “Allen Turning, since he worked on Lionel’s last release.
Is this something you think Mr. Turning would be willing to discuss? ”
“Yes, definitely, let me get your name and number and I’ll have him get back to you.”
Looking satisfied, Harper relayed the information while Natalie felt like vomiting.
She hoped Harper knew what she was doing. There might not be a publishing jail, but being prosecuted for stealing someone’s intellectual property was probably enough to land them in regular old jail.
Call her crazy, but Natalie didn’t think claiming Lionel’s ghost gave her permission to publish his book was going to fly as a winning legal defense.