Page 59 of Ghostridden
Avi’s eyebrows snapped down. “Not possible. My agent negotiated an eight-book deal for the Harcourt series with my publisher. A really good deal. We were all happy with it.”
“And yet…” I tapped the stack of torn pages. “Here we are.” My eyes widened. “Taryn said your will and Oren’s were still being contested. I wonder if breach of contract overBorderlineis one of the reasons.”
“For the last time,” Avi growled, “there is no such thing as—”
“AsBorderline. Yeah, I get it. Obviously, some plagiarist SOB self-published this after your death to take advantage of your reputation and the popularity of the Harcourt series.” No wonder that other than those first chapters, it was total junk.
Those first chapters.
“Avi, could anyone have found those chapters somewhere online?”
He shook his head. “I deleted them. With extreme prejudice.”
“Then the only place they existed was in your trash. In your trash right before you died.” I flung out a hand to point at the Lang. “When somebody hit you on the head with a freakingliterary awardand stole your work to pass it off as their own.”
“That makes no sense. Just because an author dies, that doesn’t mean the killer gets to take over their pen name. And what a stupid thing to do, anyway. It’s not like readers can’t tell the difference. That kind of deception isn’t sustainable.”
“I’m guessing the thief figured that out. That’s what they’re looking for. The real sixth book. If they—” The mass of papers behind Avi began to tremble, and this time they undulated like the surface of a lake at the passing of a huge fish. I gave Avi a stern glare. “Avi.”
“Sorry.”
“If we…” A sudden glint at the edge of the mess caught my eye. “Hold on a sec.”
I pushed myself to my feet and crept closer. There, gleaming on the jewel-toned rug and half-hidden under the open flap of an envelope, was a tiny arc of gold. I picked it up and held it in my palm.
A wedding band.
My heart felt as though it were being squeezed by a vise. As Avi continued to mutter to himself behind me, I teased the envelope out from under the pile. It was blank and unsealed, so I only felt alittlesquicky when I peered inside. Sure enough, it held another, slightly larger gold band, along with some folded papers.
Throat tight, I dropped the ring back in the envelope and pulled out the papers. On top was an itinerary. Two round trip train tickets to Seattle. Vouchers for the ferry from Seattle to Victoria. A reservation at a B & B. A letter from a wedding officiant with a message of congratulations and a confirmation of the time of the ceremony.
The dates were for two days after Avi’s death.
At that time, same-sex marriage hadn’t been legal in the US, but it was in Canada. Oren had been planning to propose. Instead, he had to mourn.
No wonder he couldn’t bear to come back to Ghost.
“A-Avi?”
“Hmmm? God, I can’tbelievehow horrible this is.”
“I have something to show you, but it might upset you.”
“More than somebody putting my name on this absolutedreck?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure.”
“Fine.” The word was laced with long-suffering. “Lay it on me.”
I hunkered down and smoothed the itinerary in front of him, then extracted the wedding bands and placed them on top. “I think this was the surprise Oren had for you.”
Avi covered his mouth with his hands, but it didn’t muffle his sob. A transparent tear dropped toward the paper but left no trace.
“I yelled at him,” he said brokenly. “I yelled at him and all the time he had this planned.” He touched the smaller band, and both of us sucked in a breath when it moved. With a startled glance at me, he pinched the ring between his thumb and index finger andpicked it up.
“Holy crap,” I whispered.
Avi slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his left hand, where it turned as transparent as the rest of him. Suddenly he was gone—one moment sitting and the next on his feet in the middle of the room.
