Chapter 4 #2
He just nodded, not wanting to get into his contentious relationship with his family there. “Thanks for giving us time this afternoon. Should we talk in here?”
“Perfect.” She sat in a large chair next to a small table stacked with a few books. “Craig, I’ll take a lemonade. I’ve already pre-gamed with Tums.”
Alden and Roz both laughed and sat.
Alden got Enolia’s permission to record, then embarked on several questions about her books and writing, hinted that he’d love to see her office—“maybe later,” she said—and warmed her up with his unabashed love of her work.
It was a thrill to talk to her about her novels, as cynical as he was about celebrities in general. Writing still held magic for him.
“Any romance in your life?” Alden asked. He had to. You could take the reporter out of the tabloid, but it was hard to take the tabloid out of the reporter.
Enolia smirked. “Not at the moment. And I’m not in the market, in spite of what dear Mae said at the signing.”
“Oh? So no future Mr. Honeywood in the works, then?”
She looked amused. “Probably never. I assume you know my divorce was final twenty years ago. Best thing I ever did. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not pooh-poohing marriage. Everyone should get married at least once.”
Alden and Roz both chuckled. Craig just smiled. Maybe he’d heard the joke before.
“Mae said your Shellbreak Island is going to be a movie?” Alden asked.
A slight frown touched her lips. “I’m not so sure now, if what I heard about the unpleasantness behind the bookstore today is true.”
“What did you hear?” Roz asked, wrapping her napkin around half of the big book cookie she’d nibbled when Alden was on a roll.
Enolia swallowed and took a breath. “That the man who died was someone who was going to make my dream of a film adaptation a reality.”
Roz sat up straighter. “You knew Wayne Vandershell?”
“I did. He’s—he was a film producer. He committed to producing Shellbreak Island.
” Enolia’s eyes unfocused, gazing toward the ocean, as she mused.
“He was so charming. I’ve talked with these movie people before, you know.
My agent set up meetings. Nothing ever came from it.
But Wayne sought me out. He talked me into a drink.
He ran into me after my weekly lunch at Sirenia with my pickleball club—we play at Lunaria Lodge on Wednesdays.
” Her smile held a hint of sadness. “Maybe he was stalking me a bit, but I didn’t mind.
I thought him rather clever. I was flattered. ”
“More lemonade?” Craig interrupted at what Alden considered an inopportune time.
“No, thanks,” Alden and Roz said simultaneously, then exchanged a glance.
“Had you signed a contract with Mr. Vandershell?” Roz asked.
Craig interrupted again. “I don’t think these are the kinds of details Ms. Honeywood should be discussing with you,” he said pointedly to Alden, not Roz.
Why me? Alden was trying to shed his tabloid reputation and thought he’d been doing a pretty good job. Who was this Craig, anyway?
“It’s all right, Craig.” Enolia focused again on the reporters. “We had an agreement. Some papers were signed, but you know how the movie business is. It’s all options and pitches until someone books the caterer, signs the director and actors, and sticks them in front of the camera.”
Interesting, even if she was stingy with details. “What do you know about Wayne?” Alden asked.
“He was great at making connections, which is not one of my skills. I know that may come as a surprise,” she said, reading his expression, “but while I’m good on stage, I rarely get close to people.
Wayne did.” She closed her eyes for a moment.
“I’m getting a bit tired, speaking of being on stage. It’s been a long day.”
Craig stood instantly and turned to Roz and Alden. “I’ll show you out.”
Alden ignored him and turned his winningest smile on Enolia. “Could I take a quick photo of you first for the newspaper? It would mean so much to get a photo of you here in Comet Cove. Outside of the bookstore, I mean.”
She perked up a bit. “All right. Where do you want me?”
“Your office?”
“Not today. How about here?” She pointed to a spot on the bookshelves where a lot of her titles were on display.
“Sure.” Alden and Roz stood.
“Let me help you out.” Roz pulled a real camera from her big purse, and Alden suppressed a chuckle. He didn’t need his phone after all. Roz was a good photographer in her own right, and as always, she came prepared.
She gently directed Enolia and moved around, hitting the shutter fast, getting close-up shots and wider views of the author with her shelves, the fireplace, and the art, taking advantage of the excellent light from the big windows.
Craig had whisked away the refreshments to discourage their lingering while Roz took her photos. She was done in less than ten minutes. Not overstaying their welcome was a good idea, because Alden had a feeling he’d want to talk with Enolia again and didn’t want to tick her off.
“Thanks so much for your time. I can’t wait to read the book,” Alden told her as Craig rematerialized, ready to escort them to the door.
“My pleasure,” Enolia said, giving off performer vibes again. Had they gotten the real Enolia at all today?
“Thank you,” Roz echoed, and they were out the door and heading to his snappy red car.
He took a moment to pull down the convertible’s soft-top roof so they could enjoy the pleasant evening as hints of sunset oranges and purples touched the sky. Roz pulled an elastic tie out of her bag and secured her hair once they got into the car.
Alden drove them up to the gate, which slowly slid aside. “What do you think?”
“I think I want to learn more about Wayne Vandershell. I feel like there’s a lot she didn’t tell us.”
“So do I.” Alden turned south on the beach road.
“Let’s process what we have and figure out where to go next. And I’ll ping Duke, too.”
“Oh, goody,” Alden said.
Roz laughed. “Want to get some dinner?”
“I saw you palm that half a cookie. That not enough for you?”
“Ha. I figure I’ll have it for breakfast. Those things are huge.”
“Not quite as thick as Enolia’s books, but close.” He glanced at her. “Seafood?”
“I see food. I eat it. That’s the problem.”
Alden gave her an appreciative look. “You’re gorgeous.”
“Oh, shut up.” But she grinned just the same.
“It’s a beautiful evening, and I know a good place in Bohemia Beach. Up for a ride?”
She gave him the side-eye at his sultry tone. “Sure. As long as you get me home in time to do some research.”
“I might not get you home at all.”
She quirked her mouth. “That might also be acceptable.”
Yes, he thought. Research could wait until the morning.