Page 62 of Ghostridden
“Sorry.What?”
“You ransom their words.”
“I’m not sure where this is coming from, but I provide a service, just like you do with your real estate clients. I workwiththe writers who contract me. There’s a dialogue. I assist them in telling their stories so they’re ready to move on to editors and proofers.”
“Exactly!” His scowl deepened, and he shoved a hand in his blazer pocket. “You take money from them. You shouldn’tchargethem. You should begrateful forthe privilege of basking in their genius.”
I thought about my clients, none of whom were professional writers but who nevertheless had a story to tell. Their work held the promise of being interesting and entertaining, but I’d never describe any of it asgenius. No writer with real genius needed someone like me.
Then I remembered the conversation with Ricky, about Carson not placing value on professional services that didn’t center around something physical, as well as Carson’s insinuations about Avi’s emotional abuse.
“Carson.” I kept my voice as soothing as I could. “Was that the dream you abandoned? The dream to be a writer?”
“Iama writer. Arealone!” Carson’s tone was just shy of a shriek. “If Oren hadn’t brought that ridiculous nuisance lawsuit,everyone in the world would know by now. I was ecstatic when I heard that he’d died—”
Suddenly Avi appeared behind Carson’s shoulder, literal fire in his eyes. “What thefuckdid he just say?”
“—because I thought it would finally get dropped, but then they foundyouand it all heated up again.” He sighed gustily. “If you’d only dated me instead of Ricky, this would have been so much lessinconvenientfor me. However, despite your deplorable lack of taste, I suppose you had your uses.” His gaze dropped to the manuscript I was holding up like a breastplate, and he extended the hand that wasn’t jammed in his pocket. “Now, if you’d just hand that over, please, we can both get on with our day.”
I hugged the manuscript tighter, shaking my head. This might very well be the only copy of Avi’s last book. He’d saved his work online, but cloud storage options had been very different ten years ago. Who knew if his accounts were accessible anymore?
Besides, this one had Oren’s notes in it, which I suspected would be far more important to Avi now.
“Forget it, Carson. This doesn’t belong to you.”
“Oh, for the love of—” Carson rolled his eyes. “I’m not going topublishit, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m going to destroy it.”
“What?” I croaked. “Why?”
“Because it’s unnecessary. The brand has moved on.” He glanced over his shoulder at the family room fireplace. “If it makes you feel better to witness it, we can burn it right here.”
I backed up until the counter pressed into my lower back. “Absolutely not. It’s got Oren’s notes in it.”
Avi’s gaze snapped to me, and the rage on his face morphedinto desperate hope. “Really?”
I nodded. “On the cover and in the text.”
“So what?” Carson said. “His scribblings can’t be important to you. You’d never even met the man. You said so yourself.”
Avi flashed away from Carson’s side and appeared next to me. “Show me?”
I tipped the manuscript forward enough that he could see the Post-it on the cover, and he raised trembling hands to his mouth.
“It doesn’t matter that I’d never met him, Carson. He was still part of my family, and I intend to respect his wishes.”
Carson’s eyes narrowed. “Well, I’m Avi’s family. What about his wishes?”
“Pretty sure those were laid out in his will,” I said dryly. “He leave anything to you? Anything at all?”
“Obviously, Avi would have wanted things to go to Oren when he was alive. I can grant that they were devoted to one another. But Oren’s dead.” Next to me, Avi twitched at Carson’s dismissive tone. “I’m sure Avi would want anything that was his personal property to go tohisfamily, not some random stranger.”
“Is that right?” I drawled.
“In a pig’s eye,” Avi muttered.
“Of course.” Carson’s breathing had evened out, and he’d recaptured the self-assurance he wore like his two-hundred dollar shirt. “And clearly, as the last of his family, I’m the best curator of his legacy.”
Avi scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust him to curate the contents of my refrigerator.”
