Page 65 of Ghostridden
“Look, I know you didn’t intend to kill Avi. But if you shoot me, that’s pretty intentional, don’t you think?”
Carson pressed his trembling lips together, although he didn’t lower the gun. In fact, he pointed it straight at me. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I just wanted him tohelp. It’s not like it would have cost him anything tohelp.”
“You didn’t just want him tohelp. You wanted him to write the bookforyou, and that would have cost his time, and his time had a real, significant value because he used it to earn his own living.” I hugged the manuscript closer, mentally crossing my fingers. “The other thing about trying to shoot me? If you try to fire that gun, things might not turn out the way you plan. When’s the last time you maintained it?”
He barked a laugh. “Nice try. I cleaned it this morning.”
“Yeah? What did you use? Garden mulch? Because it looks like the barrel is full of sawdust.”
“What?”
He turned the gun toward himself, his mouth dropping open when he saw the blocked barrel, just as a tall, broad-shouldered woman who looked like she could bemycousin hustled into the room behind him with Ricky at her back.
The deputy—I assumed that’s who it was, since she had the khaki uniform, the badge, and a gun holstered on her belt—grasped Carson’s wrist and forced his arm to his side with no apparent effort.
“Carson,” she said, her voice calm and kind. I realized if she was stationed in Ghost, she probably knew all the locals personally. “Why don’t you give that to me? You don’t want to do anything you’d regret, now, do you?”
“I have a right to protect myself, Kamilla.”
“That’s as may be, but accosting an unarmed man in his own home is not a good look for you.” She nodded at Ricky, who stepped forward and held out an evidence bag.
He quirked a smile at me as she dropped the gun inside. “I’m a volunteer reserve deputy.”
“Of course you are.” I laughed weakly. My knees buckled and I ass-planted on the tile, my back to the island, as the deputy cuffed Carson and led him away. “One of these days, you’ll needto tell me what your actual job is.”
“It’s a date.” He held up the bag. “I have to accompany Kamilla back to her patrol car, but once Carson’s secured, I’ll be back. Are you all right?”
“I’m… recovering.”
“Good. Hold that thought.”
He disappeared down the hall and I heard the front door close. The next instant, Avi reappeared and collapsed next to me. Evidently ghostly legs could get wobbly as much as physical ones.
He braced his elbows on his knees and dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t believe Carson attacked me.”
“Avi.” I let my head thunk back against the island. “Hekilledyou. He may not have intended to, but he hit you in the head, knocked you out, stole your work, and didn’t even bother to check back to see if you were okay. If he’d gotten you medical attention right away, you might have been fine.”
His shoulders lifted and he mirrored my head thunk, although his was silent. “Or maybe not. There’s no way to tell.” He winced. “I have to admit, I could have been nicer to him about his literary aspirations. If he needed a writing coach—”
“He so did,” I muttered. I’d readBorderline, unable to reconcilethatJake Fields with the Jake Fields who knew how to keep readers on the edge of their seats, turning pages and not counting the cost of sleepless nights.
“Regardless, I would have been the wrong choice. I’m not—or rather I wasn’t—known for my patience. Or tact, for that matter.”
“I’m not sure anybody would have been right. I mean, I like to think I’m good at my job, but I have my limits, and I try to keep them in mind when I evaluate a prospective project. If a concept or manuscript is beyond my skill level, it wouldn’t be fair to the client or me to take the job. I couldn’t have savedBorderlinewith the literary equivalent of an IV, a heart transplant, and an iron lung.” I smiled at him. “Nice work with the sawdust, by the way. Where did that come from?” I hadn’t seen any in the spotless basement.
Avi shrugged. “Same place the dust goes, I guess.” He smiled back at me. “If I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know.”
There was a brisk knock at the front door, followed by Ricky's voice. “Maz? It’s me. Okay if I come in?”
“We’re in the kitchen,” I called. “Come on back.”
The door closed softly and Ricky’s footsteps padded along the hardwood floor before he peeked into the kitchen, Gil’s carrier in his hand. He scanned the room and his eyebrows lifted. “We?”
I gestured to my ghost housemate. “Avi.”
Ricky nodded toward Avi. “Hola, Avi.” He set the carrier down and opened its door. “Sorry if you weren’t ready for Gil’s homecoming, but Tia’s hosting her scrapbooking group tonight, and he… forgot himself among the embellishments.”
“I should have named him Magpie. He can never resist shiny things.”
