[Suspicion, Revenge, Desperate, Theft, Destroy]

  Just after I opened the next morning Lachlan came to inquire on my progress or lack there of his novel. Which was starting to make less and less sense as it went along. In chapter six it introduced a murder mystery. I love a good science fiction murder mystery. Altered Carbon By Richard Morgan is one of the best, Lachlan’s was not one of the best. The mystery after being introduced was surplanted by a lot more sex scenes.

  “Are you going to get back to my novel today? You were an editor, did you see any typos?”

  “Lachlan, I’m a line / managing editor, not a copy editor. If you are worried about typos, turn on spellcheck. I assume you have that turned off because it’s distracting.”

  “I have it turned off because I’m an excellent speller.”

  “Yes but like you asked, if you hit the wrong key by mistake you might still have typos, no matter how well you spell. Just run it through the spellchecker. That’s the first thing a copy editor would do anyway. You should have turned on the grammar checker as well. I’m not editing your book for you, I’m just giving it a quick read as a former editor and giving you my opinion. If you want me to do a full edit of your book it’d cost you at least five hundred dollars, but in the end could cost you up to one thousand, depending on how much editing I had to do and how many rewrites, I had to go over again. Editors get paid by the hour. But there are different levels of editing.”

  “Fine, I get it. You get what you pay for and since I’m not paying, that’s what I get.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “It sounds like it to me.”

  “Look Lachlan, we are a writing collective, the writers help each other out. But you opted out of all that. The writing sprints. The readings. If you read sections of your work to your fellow writers, they’d give you their honest opinions of sections of the writing that sound clunky. You’d probably hear it for yourself if you read it out loud.”

  “Then they could steal my ideas.”

  “First off good writing isn’t about the ideas, it’s about the execution. That’s what the readings would do for you. Plus your ideas are based on a science fiction premise. You are the only science fiction author here.”

  “What about Emily, she's a romance writer and half my novel is romance.”

  “I take it you’ve never read any of Emily’s work. Her novels and her writing style are completely different from yours. Her novels are romantic comedies, aside from that there is little to none on page sex in her books. Your novel is not romantic in the same way that hers is.”

  “What do you mean on page sex? What other kind of sex could there be in a novel?”

  “Well first off there doesn’t necessarily have to be any sex in a romance. Many, many very popular romances didn’t have any sex at all. Then others have implied sex, that is also very popular. When you watch a movie, you are usually not watching a couple of hours of the main character's life in real time. You’re seeing a collection of scenes that when combined show the story of that main character. It could be the actual time frame for the character could be a day or the movie might cover the entire course of the main character's life in just a few hours. You only see the scenes that are important to the story, your imagination as a movie goer fills in the rest. As far as sex scenes go some readers prefer to have the writer lead them right up to the moment, then let the reader fill in the actual details of the sex to themselves. Anyways the whole point was that your writing style and Emily’s are polar opposites, there is nothing in your novel that she could steal and vice versa.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “That’s all I’m asking you to do, now I have five cases of new books, that I need to find shelf space for. Later this afternoon, I’ll get back to your novel. You put a mystery sub plot in chapter six but then you just seem to drop it. Does that subplot go anywhere?”

  “Yes, in the later chapters, I’m trying to build suspense.”

  I wanted to tell him you don’t build suspense by inserting a murder and then having four unrelated sex scenes. It just looks like you lost the thread of your own story. Instead I went in the back and started moving the cartons of books from the stockroom to behind the counter. Then opening and sorting. I always stock the romance section first. It was my biggest selling genre by a mile. With men reading less and less for pleasure, women’s genre fiction became more and more important.

  I was up on the ladder, wondering why I’d ordered any of the western genre. Once a huge mainstay of men’s action historical fiction. Now I see most of my last order sitting up here on the top shelf, gathering dust. Pretty soon, I’d need to take down this old stock and discount it fifty percent, all of my profit, just to get it out the door. Being up here would make a bestseller, hard to sell. But some books need to go up here and they should be the ones that are the hardest to sell. Romance, Mysteries, Thrillers, Romantasy, Fantasy, Techno Thrillers, Science Fiction, Historical Fiction excluding romance and lastly westerns, that’s the order of sales per my very detailed inventory control software.

  I’d decided that some of these westerns really had to go into the bargain bin, so I was climbing down the ladder, with almost as many books as I had carried up. When suddenly the ladder was knocked over and I was flying through the air. The books I’d been holding each now assumed their own singular trajectory. Then my head hit something hard.

  I was having the most pleasant dream, I was an astronaut floating in space and books orbited my helmeted head. I was rudely awakened from this dream, into a nightmare. I had a splitting headache and I was staring into Anais’s very pale face. I started to sit up and passed back into blackness. Next thing I knew was that I heard Anais on the phone. I opened my eyes and everything was really bright. Much more slowly and gingerly I started to sit up, when Anais started shouting to lie still until the emt’s arrived.

  I wasn't about to do that. I abhor hospitals, I’d much rather be in prison, at least when you arrive in prison, you get an out date and some time outdoors daily. Very much the opposite of when you arrive at the hospital, where you arrive you lose all autonomy, no out date. Just the vague hope that you live through the experience, and just maybe someday a doctor will take pity and release you. Only to be met with a plethora of follow up visits that seemed to be designed to put you right back into the hospital that just released you.

  I did make it into a seated position before the EMTs came crashing through the door. The sound of the siren wailing out front of the store, drew the writers from their lairs and I could see them coming down the stairs one or two at a time. To see what was going on. One of the EMTs held a penlight in front of my eyes, which hurt like hell the other was about to put a blood pressure cuff on my arm when I heard a blood curdling scream. I couldn’t place the voice, a woman, no male over the age of eleven could hit that high a note or hold it for so long. I wish she would stop, I was fine, besides what was screaming supposed to do besides give me an even worse headache.

  Ezra came over and dragged the EMT that still held the blood pressure cuff in his hand away. A few seconds later, the screaming thankfully ended. Maybe she, finally needed to take a breath. Whoever it was would make an excellent opera singer, at least she had the lung capacity for it, I’m not sure if she could carry a tune. The other EMT returned and he had blood on his blue latex gloves. His phone up to his ear. I couldn’t make out a word of what he was saying. Maybe the screaming lady hadn’t stopped screaming, maybe she’d rendered me deaf.

  The EMT who’d been on the phone, pocketed the phone and exited the building. The other EMT continued to flick the light from eye to eye and back and forth. But he was back moments later with a gurney. Wheeling it towards me. A minute after that Amy came running in the front door. Then the first cop arrived. All I did was fall off a ladder this is really getting to be ridiculous.

  That’s when it all just goes into a blur. The next thing I clearly remember is being in a bed in Adirondack Medical Center. Anais on one side of the bed, Amy on the other.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, Laura I was so worried.” said Amy.

  Just then a man came into the room.

  “I’m sorry ladies, I need to speak to Ms Eriksson alone.”

  “She’s just said her first word, Detective Jones, she has no idea where she is, did you get a doctor's permission to come in here and start interrogating Laura.” said Amy.

  Anais stood up and came over to the bed.

  “Do not say a word to this man, my attorney is on his way, for you. You listen to me Laura for the first time in your life you listen to what I say. Not a word to this cop, not until you talk to your attorney who is just minutes away.” Then she turned to the cop. “Not a word of what she says will be admissible in court and if you try to interrogate her in this condition before she has spoken to counsel. I’ll sue you, the department and the town, I might even throw in the county because they have deeper pockets.”

  “I can have you removed Ms. Ferraro.”

  “Just try it, and I’ll have you in front of a judge in thirty minutes. Explaining why a woman with severe head trauma is being subjected to a police interrogation before she has been apprised of her medical condition, for which I’ll sue the doctor and the hospital for allowing this gross intimidation. NURSE, NURSE.”

  “That’s enough of the theatrics Ms. Ferraro, officer, please show her out.”

  Just then a man in a lab coat came in.

  “What’s going on here? You people can’t all be in here, this woman had a serious blow to the head. She needs peace and quiet.”

  “I need to speak with her doctor.”

  “Well, it will just have to wait. Now please leave and don’t come back until you have my permission.”

  Anais smiled smugly. I thought she was going to stick her tongue out at the cop like she used to do to me after we’d had a particularly brutal argument on the tetherball court. But decorum won out for once. Instead she just resumed her seat.

  “Would you please give us some privacy Ms. Ferraro.”

  “Not unless you plan on stripping her naked for that head wound, doc. I’ll wait right here until her attorney arrives. I have her power of attorney and medical proxy with a head wound like that she needs someone competent that she trusts to act on her behalf.”

  “Fine.” said the doctor. “What do you remember, Ms Eriksson?”

  “I was stocking the westerns on the top shelf. When someone knocked. No, I was coming down the ladder, with the westerns that need to go into the bargain bin. They hardly ever sell. I should just stop ordering them. When someone knocked over the ladder. I fell, I had a lovely dream, then I saw Anais. The EMTs arrived and after that it’s just a blur until I’m in this room.”

  “That’s very very good. I have more good news: the cat scan came back and you have no bleeding on the brain. You do have a concussion and we’ll be keeping you under observation for at least the next twenty four hours. Do you have any questions for me?”

  “Can’t I just go home, doctor?”

  “No I’m sorry, maybe tomorrow. You were very lucky but we still need to make sure you are physically and mentally well, before we can release you. But we’ll talk again tomorrow.”

  With that he left and Amy and Anais resumed their seats.

  “What’s going on, why do the police want to speak with me, whoever knocked over the ladder I don’t want to press charges. I’m sure it was just a mistake. Sending someone to jail over it isn’t going to make it any better.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “We have some bad news, Laura.” said Amy

  “What the doctor just said I might go home tomorrow. Oh, wait did something happen to the store? I have to call the writers and have them lock the place up. I guess we’ll need to stay closed tomorrow, if I’m still here.”

  “No, Laura, the store is closed. It’s a crime scene.”

  “No, I just said that I don’t want to press charges.”

  “No Laura, you don’t understand someone’s been killed, murdered.”

  “Who Amy, who?”

  “Lachlan Grauers”

  “Lachlan, no he’s fine we were just talking about his manuscript this morning.”

  “No, Laura, he’s not fine, he’s been murdered.”

  “I can attest to that, Laura, I saw his body.”

  “Anais, what are you even doing here? And what was all that stuff about you having my power of attorney and medical proxy.”

  “I wanted to be sure you didn’t incriminate yourself, and I couldn’t claim to be your attorney, so I picked the next best thing.”

  “How can I incriminate myself, if I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “The prisons are filled with people who have done nothing wrong. Just because they said the wrong thing to the cops. That cop Jones, he has you down as his prime suspect. He’s the type that never looks for what really happened, he’ll twist every shred of evidence that he finds and pin this on you. That’s why we’re going to find out who did this together.”

  “No, absolutely not, Anais, just leave this to the police, I have faith in the system.”

  “You should listen to her, Laura. Jones really believes that you killed Lachlan, then faked an injury to yourself. He will try and pin this on you. Anais knows what she’s talking about.”

  “I’m not an investigator, this isn’t Murder She Wrote.”

  “No it’s much worse, wasn’t the cop friends with the author on Murder She Wrote. Jones is not your friend. If you are not going to do this for yourself, do it for the store, do it for the writers.”

  “Look Amy you’re always trying to get me to turn investigator, it’s just not going to happen.”

  “Listen here Laura, remember these words when you are sitting in prison lamenting your choice to do nothing. The minute they lock you up, I’ll buy that mansion and raze it to the ground. My brand new inn, five star restaurant and state of the art marina will go up on the property. Your writers will all go back to wherever they came from. Most probably no one on the grounds will ever touch a book again. Or when they release you we can start a real investigation to find out why anyone wanted that kid dead.”

  That’s when it really sunk in that Lachlan was dead. He was an idiot, and a horrible writer but he certainly didn’t deserve to die. I’d never really seen him engage with anyone, other than myself and I think the only reason that he bothered with me was because he wanted some free editing advice and possibly insider knowledge of the publishing industry.

  I wondered how the other writers were taking the news. He wasn't really very popular. But he was still one of their own. Might they all leave, worried that someone had been murdered in the house they lived in. Most of us don’t even lock our bedroom doors. That’ll change now, I’m sure.

  “So Laura, are you going to investigate with me or not? The faster we find the real killer the faster that you all will be able to move back into the mansion.”

  “What do you mean move back in?”

  “The police escorted them all out, it’s a crime scene. They won’t get back in until the investigation is over most likely. Of course if Jones gets his way, the investigation will be over tomorrow when he formally charges you with murder.

  Lachlan was just a stupid kid, why would anyone want to kill him? It must have something to do with where he came from right. There hasn’t been a murder here since the nineteen nineties. What doesn’t make any sense is why the police would think I wanted him dead. Don’t you need Motive, Means, and Opportunity.

  I had zero motive, if I wanted him to leave, my contract allows a writer to be evicted without cause. That clause had never been used by my aunt or myself. But it was in the contract, in case a writer was causing trouble with the other writers, they could be removed. It was meant to prevent trouble. So no motive. As for means, unless he was bludgeoned to death with a book. Oh, there was a box cutter behind the counter that I’d been using to cut open the boxes with. Crap, it would even have my fingerprints on it.

  So I suppose it’s possible that I did have the means, opportunity that’s a yes, I was in the same house as him so I guess I could have crept up the steps and murdered him in his room, then came back to the store and faked the accident. Or because I know I didn’t do any of that stuff, maybe the killer had crept back down the stairs and knocked me off the ladder.

  “Well, Laura, are you going to answer me or are you having a stroke and we should get a doctor.”

  “I was thinking Anais, where was Lachlan when he was killed? In his room writing?”

  “No in the store, three aisles behind where you were stocking books.”

  “Was he killed with a boxcutter?”

  “They won’t tell us any details, but it looked like his skull was bashed in.”

  “Oh, god.”

  “I’m sorry but you did ask.”

  “Yes I needed to know, also what happened to the writers. Did they just leave after they were kicked out of the mansion?

  “No, I put them in one of my inns.”

  “Anais, I can’t afford that, things are tight as it is. Please tell them to just go home until the case gets resolved and then I’ll let them know when they can come back.”

  “Laura, the cops aren’t going to let them just leave town in the middle of an investigation. That’s not how it works, besides I didn’t say anything about charging you did I. I had some empty rooms, a couple of them paired up. They are fine, worry about yourself please. A couple nights at a fine inn will be good for them. So now answer the question, are you going to help me investigate this or not.”

  “Yes I don’t suppose that I have any choice, I will investigate this, but I’ll do it by myself. It might be dangerous and I’m not going to let anyone else take a risk on my behalf. One person is already dead, and the killer is still out there.”

  “Laura you don’t get to tell me, who or what I get to investigate. You are not the boss of me, so if I feel like investigating, I damn well will. But it would be safer if we did it together, also we wouldn’t be going over the same ground, making the investigation go twice as fast together.”

  “Fine, but I’m in charge and at the first sign of danger we are both quitting, agreed?”

  Amy just sat there smiling. Until Anais turned toward her.

  “Amy, we’re going to need your help too. You are our woman on the inside.”

  “No absolutely not, Amy isn’t going to risk her career, here, I told you Anais, I’m in charge and Amy is not to be involved in this do you understand. This is already a bad situation, I will not make it worse. This is why I wanted to do this on my own.”

  Just then my lawyer arrived. The bills were mounting up fast, a hospital stay, a lawyer, the store was closed, the writers put up in an inn.

  “Hi, I’m Eve Whittle, an attorney friend of Anais's. If you ladies would leave the room I’d like to talk to Laura please.” Anais and Amy went out, talking about getting a coffee. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer but was too chicken to give it a chance. I understand that you offer a free six month residency on the lake and if I’m published you only take ten percent of the royalties.”

  “Yes that’s exactly right, there is a clause that the owner may evict any writer without cause, but if that happens the writer retains the full royalties to the novel.”

  “So if you had an annoying writer, you could kick them out but then you’d lose the ten percent stake. If you didn’t like Lachlan, why didn’t you just kick him out, why resort to murder.”

  “I didn’t murder Lachlan nor did I dislike him, I never once considered kicking him out, even though I could fill the slot with a better writer.”

  “Good I just wanted to hear you say it. Now tell me what happened.”

  I told Eve the story, I talked to Lachlan, agreed to read more of his book later in the day, then I got to work stocking the shelves with an order that had arrived the day before. I’d assumed that Lachlan went upstairs to write, I had been surprised when Anais said he had been murdered in the store.

  “Do you keep large sums of money in the register?”

  “No, our biggest sales day since I took over was less than three hundred dollars and we hadn’t made a single sale today, so there was a hundred dollars in the till. No one could possibly have murdered him for one hundred dollars.”

  “So how did you fall off the ladder?”

  “Someone knocked it over, I assumed it was an accident until I learned that Lachlan was murdered.”

  “So did Lachlan have any issues with the other writers? There were ten of you in the house this morning.”

  “No, there were no issues. At least nothing serious enough that they told me about it. Lachlan was strange in that he came to the collective but didn’t really take advantage of it. The writers do writing sprints, they critique each other's work, they do readings. But Lachlan wouldn’t participate as far as I can tell he got all his support from reddit.”

  “Was he a very good writer?”

  “God no, you have to submit a piece with your application to join the collective. I ask for a piece that was already published somewhere, but will take unpublished. Lachlan had never published anything but submitted a decent enough if generic short story, so I thought I’d give him a chance to improve. I thought working with the other authors he’d do just that.”

  “But that never happened.”

  “No his writing got much worse, he took hundreds of ideas from reddit subgroups and just mashed them all together. It’s mostly one alien human sex scene after another, at least the first six chapters that’s as far as I’ve read so far and of course it’s a first draft of a first novel, so you expect there will be problems with the manuscript.”

  “Okay, Laura, that is it for tonight. You do not speak to anyone in law enforcement without me present and then you tell me what you want to tell them and I’ll let you know if that is a wise thing to do. I’ll need a dollar from you to retain me, I’ll just grab it from Anais, and a promise that you’ll look over my writing and if it’s up to standard, give me six months.”

  “Of course I will, but I have to let you know, we were under financial pressure before this happened, now with the store closed and the writers tossed out of their home, long term I’m not sure we’ll survive this. I just want to be up front with you.”