Page 15 of Kill Your Darlings

After the first chapter, it was all blank pages.

“What in the hell?”I murmured.

Just a partial manuscript.No note.No cover letter.No explanation.No actual threat, beyond the very existence of this “book.”

This was not a serious book proposal.So, what was it?Blackmail?What did U.N.Owen want?

I stared at the phone number.

Why not ask him what he wanted?

Because one thing for damn sure.I was too old for games, mind games or any other kind.Too old to live in uncertainty and doubt and fear.Better to know the worst up front—and plan accordingly.

I thumbed in the numbers on my cell’s key pad.

1926 Old Stage Road…

Was it even a real address?If I was remembering correctly, Old Stage Road was about a block from “downtown” Steeple Hill.In the old days that area had been surrounded by ranch-land, open spaces, farms, state parks, and beaches.

The phone on the other end jangled loudly.

Once.

Just once, and then I realized what I was doing, the mistake I was making.My heart stuttered in alarm.The phone nearly slipped from my suddenly perspiring hands as I jammed the red disconnect button so hard, the screen flexed.

Stupid.Stupid.Stupid.

Even now, even though no one had picked up, it was possible the call could be traced.My number might show as a missed call or turn up logged on Caller ID.

Jesus.What was the matter with me?I made my living editing crime novels, and yet my first move was to slip up on something elementary.

I hastily opened the Recents list, tapped and deleted the outgoing call to U.N.Owen, removing it from my call history.

I expelled a breath.There.Gone.

But not entirely.Not if someone really wanted to find it.Knew how to find it.Had the authority to access phone carrier records.

Better to make the call from the hotel lobby.

No.Better to call from a payphone somewhere well away from the hotel.

No.Better not to phone at all.Better to go in person and find out exactly what the score was.

Yes.

I needed to look U.N.Owen in the eyes when I asked them what they wanted.When I asked them what they intended to do.

No phone calls.No emails.

And speaking of emails, what the hell with the demand for the private message?Who the hellwasthis person?

Safe to say, I would not have the answer tonight.

Tomorrow…

I mentally reviewed my schedule.Steeple Hill was about a ninety-minute drive one way.Losing three hours out of the first day of the conference would be tricky to manage.But if I left immediately after Finn’s Q&A with Rudolph Dunst, Ishouldbe able to make it back just in time for the Wheaton & Woodhouse banquet.

I could not imagine the conversation with U.N.Owen would take long.