Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Natalie had seen Professor Lionel Graves in many moods in their short association, but for the first time he looked angry.
“Why in the world would you agree to a deadline next month?” he demanded. A bit of spittle flew in her direction but didn’t quite reach her.
“Your publisher had a hole in the schedule and your editor said he could get the book out early fourth quarter of this year if we submitted the finished manuscript next month. Otherwise it would be a full two years before it was released. I thought you would be happy.”
“Is he not happy?” Harper asked as she watched what to her would appear to be a one-sided conversation.
“Happy? No, Miss Chase and whoever this other person is, I am not happy. A masterpiece takes time. Art cannot be rushed.”
“It’s a history book. Not the Sistine Chapel.” Natalie turned to Harper. “He wants more time.”
“It’s going to be tight. I admit that. But I think it will be more than worth it to make that late October release date. That will position the book perfectly for the holiday gift giving season,” Harper explained.
Lionel, brows raised, shifted his glare to Natalie. “Who is this person?” Lionel spat, forcing another fine spray of moisture from between his lips.
“This is my friend, Harper Lowry. She’s a published author,” Natalie explained, leaning back out of the splash zone.
Would she even feel ghost spit should it hit her? It was too disturbing of a concept for her to want to find out.
“A New York Times best-selling published author,” Harper corrected.
“And what, pray tell, does she write?” Lionel asked with a judgmental glance that took Harper in from head to toe.
Granted Harper was not dressed to impress. She was wearing her usual winter outfit of leggings, snow boots, turtleneck and oversized sweater. It wasn’t much different from what Natalie had on.
It was January in cold and slushy upstate New York.
No one was dressed up… No one except for Professor Lionel Graves who would be spending eternity in what Natalie thought of as his pompous author uniform of corduroy slacks, a button-down shirt, plaid vest and sports jacket, suede elbow patches and all.
But as for Lionel’s question, Natalie said, “Harper writes…romance.”
It was as if the man, ghost, whatever, had been slapped in the face. He actually drew back and paled. She didn’t know ghosts could go pale but he did.
“Romance!” he roared. “Good God.”
“Yes,” Natalie replied reluctantly. Then added, “Best-selling romance.”
Harper let out a sigh. “I don’t need to see or hear his reaction. I can guess.” Her gaze pivoted from Natalie to the empty space in front of them. “And I’ll have you know, buddy, that I earned enough on one book release this year, one, to buy a brand-new car, in cash. So there.”
By the end of the rant, Harper was poking the air with one finger, likely imagining stabbing Lionel in the chest to emphasize her point. Unfortunately, he stood nowhere near her.
Lionel did now wear a satisfyingly annoyed expression as he said, “There is no accounting for the taste of the masses. But even the writer of that trash has a valid point.”
Natalie did not pass that back-handed compliment along to Harper.
“Getting the new book in the hands of my voracious readers in time for Christmas is smart. However, we’ll have to buckle down, girl.
No more taking breaks for half the day the way you did today.
We need to work, work, work.” He emphasized each repetition of the word with a slap of his fingers against his palm.
“No more taking breaks? You mean when I had to run my shop and like work at my actual business to earn a living and pay the bills? Those breaks?” she asked, flabbergasted.
“I can help with the shop. And Jules too,” Harper offered.
“Thank you, but you have your own work. And Jules has school.” There just weren’t enough hours in the day. Lionel was right. She should have never let Harper, while pretending to be her, agree to this deadline.
“I’m between books. Honestly, I have the time,” Harper insisted.
Natalie sighed. Harper might have the time, but Natalie didn’t know if she had the energy to work with Lionel for every waking moment for the next month.
“Wait, I might have an idea. Do ghosts have to sleep?” Harper asked.
Natalie opened her mouth and closed it again. “I’m not sure. I think they do but I’m not sure they have to. It might be more out of boredom or habit.” She turned to Lionel. “Do you know?”
“I haven’t slept since I arrived. How do you think I’ve become so familiar with your papers?”
“He hasn’t slept,” she relayed to Harper, who donned a slightly evil smile.
“Then I do have an idea,” Harper announced, eyes wide with excitement.
Lionel rolled his eyes. “I can’t wait for this reveal.”
“Since I can hear Gabe and Millie when they’re together.
Graves can tell them the book changes he wants and they can tell me.
But not just me. What if we recruit more people?
Alice. Agnes. Others. We could, theoretically, schedule out twenty-four hours a day of productivity, if the old man can keep up, that is. ”
“Ha! If there is a weak link in this plan, it won’t be me.” Lionel crossed his arms with another humph.
Natalie nodded. “That could work. But there’s one problem. Gabe hates Lionel. There’s no way he’d agree to spend so much time with him.”
“I have a solution for that too,” Harper announced.
“I’ll promise Gabe and Millie that large screen television they’ve been begging for in their bedroom, with whatever streaming services they want, and a voice-activated remote so they can change the channel themselves.
But only if they agree to help us with this book. ”
It was a good plan, but Gabe was as stubborn as they came. And his hatred for Lionel couldn’t be discounted. “I still don’t know if he’ll agree.”
“Of course he’ll agree. That man is smitten. He’ll do whatever Millie wants and I know for a fact, Millie wants to binge Downton Abbey and The Gilded Age.”
“Okay, let’s assume Gabe isn’t an issue, why would Alice or Agnes or you for that matter want to spend your free time on this project?” Natalie asked. She still wasn’t completely sure why she’d agreed herself.
Harper shrugged. “Alice, of course. She would do anything to correct the history regarding her family’s legacy.
And since you said he’ll write that article as soon as the book is submitted, the rest of us will do whatever it takes to make that happen.
I might complain a lot, too much, about Mudville but you can’t deny we’re a tight community. ”
“Well, Miss Chase?” Natalie glanced up to see Lionel’s pinched face as he glared at her. “It seems the romance writer has miraculously solved all your problems. So what are you waiting for?”
What she was waiting for was to wake up from this nightmare. But that wasn’t going to happen.
Natalie sighed and said, “Okay. We’ll try to make this work.”
“Make what work?” Liam walked into the meeting room and glanced around. “Hey, Harper.”
“Hi, Liam. We’ve just been negotiating terms with the professor.”
“Ah. Yeah, that’s kind of why I’m here.” His gaze focused on Natalie, he said, “I, uh, might have some new info.”
“What?” Natalie and the professor said simultaneously.
“As I was removing the top of the skull to access the brain…”
“Ugh. Disgusting.” Harper covered her mouth.
Natalie cringed as Lionel’s eyes flew wide. “Barbaric!”
Liam continued, “I found evidence of blunt force trauma. It might be nothing or the—”
“Or the cause of death,” Natalie suggested.
“I’ll tell you what it is. Proof,” Lionel declared, as he thrust a single finger in the air in a Eureka! moment.
“Proof of what?” Natalie asked.
“Proof that I was indeed murdered.”