The Megalodon Mix-Up Read online

  “It’s definitely going to be awesome.”

  JACK WAS LIKE A MOTHER hen during the drive back to the hotel. Chris and Hannah took the back seat so they could stare soulfully into each other’s eyes and whisper things they thought we couldn’t hear. Unfortunately for them, Chris’s voice carried even when he thought he was being quiet, so their plans for a moonlit beach stroll were essentially public knowledge.

  Jack helped me from the rental when we hit the parking lot, shaking his head when Hannah and Chris scurried away. He looked frustrated, angry even, and I braced myself for a blow-up. Instead, when he was certain we were alone, he ran his hand over the back of my head and stared into my eyes.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  The change in his demeanor took me by surprise. “You’re not going to yell?”

  “Oh, I’m going to yell. I want to make sure you’re okay first. You dropped fast, Charlie. Like ... out of nowhere. I didn’t know what was happening. One second you were standing there and the next you were falling. I think my heart stopped.”

  It was a stirring admission. “I’m okay.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Great.” He gave me a quick kiss that was soft rather than sexy. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I relaxed. “Me, too. That body was something, right? Have you ever seen anything like that?”

  “No, and I didn’t want you to see it because I knew it would be too much.” His voice took on an edge. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

  “Oh. This is the part where you’re going to yell?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we do that inside? I want another green tea.”

  “Fine.” Jack was resigned as he ran his hand over my hair to smooth it. “We’re back to being on the clock. You scared the crap out of me.”

  “I’ll try not to do that again.”

  “That would be a nice change of pace.”

  ONCE JACK WAS CONVINCED I wasn’t about to pass out, he left me to my own devices in the lobby and disappeared to track down Bernard. Apparently he was trying to get a feel for the currents in the Gulf — which I thought was a waste of time because a Megalodon was strong enough to ignore currents — but he clearly needed a little space to collect himself.

  I planted myself at one of the tables in the lobby and watched the writers. The conference seemed to be set up in such a manner that various classes were going on at the same time. When the classes were in session, only a handful of writers remained in the lobby. Most seemed excited to attend the classes, but it was the ones who remained at the tables while the others were learning that truly intrigued me.

  “Are you an author?”

  I shifted to study the woman who took the chair to my right. She sat without invitation, a bottle of water clutched in her hand, and seemed legitimately interested in my answer.

  “No, I’m here with a different group,” I replied after a beat.

  “I thought the hotel was full of mostly writers. That’s odd.”

  “We’re staying in one of the condos on the property. We’re here because of the death.”

  “Oh, Shayne.” The woman made a clicking sound with her tongue. “That is some awful business. I can’t tell you how stunned I was to hear about all of that this afternoon. Are you with the police?”

  “Not exactly.” I was never sure how to describe our group to strangers. “We’re looking into the possibility that marine life was involved in the death.” I chose my words carefully. “It’s a possibility and we need to be sure.”

  “Of course. I’m Leslie Downs, by the way. I write thrillers and mysteries.”

  The declaration took me off guard until I realized other authors would be interested in that information. She was simply speeding along the “get to know you” process. “Charlie Rhodes.” I extended my hand. “Have you been an author long?”

  “Well, I’ve been writing a long time,” she said. “I went the whole traditional route first. You know, querying an agent and trying to find a publisher. I did that for twenty years before I realized it was never going to happen for me if I kept trying to force things.”

  The woman looked to be in her sixties, which meant she spent a third of her life chasing what turned out to be the unattainable. She also looked to be bucking for a keynote speaking position at an Aqua Net convention, but that was a whole other issue. “So you don’t write?” I was confused.

  “I’m an indie. I publish the books myself.”

  “That must be fun.” I meant it. “That means you can write what you want without having anyone else dictate to you. If I was a writer, that’s how I’d want things to be.”

  “It has its ups and downs,” Leslie hedged. “Some indie authors hit it out of the park and understand exactly what they’re doing. Others ... well ... others struggle.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder which category she fell into. It felt invasive to ask. “Would I know any of your books?”

  Leslie preened at the question. “I write the Anderson Dawkins books.”

  That didn’t sound right. I recognized the name of the series. In fact, Jack often read them when we were on planes. “I thought a guy named James Sanderson wrote those books.”

  “Oh, not those books.” She flashed a tight smile. “My books are a spinoff series.”

  “How does that work?”

  “They’re in the same world. We came to an agreement so I could write in his world. I’m not doing it illegally or anything.”

  The way she said it made me think she probably got accused of something nefarious regularly. “Okay, well ... .”

  “We were supposed to write the series together,” Leslie explained, launching into a tale I wasn’t remotely interested in hearing. “I met him at a writing conference. I paid a lot of money to be there. We hit it off right from the start. Our eyes met across the room and it was as if we recognized each other from a great distance.”

  Her moony tone made me instantly alert. “I’m not sure I understand. You’re involved with James Sanderson? I thought he was married. I only know because I’ve read the back of his paperbacks. My friend reads them all the time. He seems to like them.”

  “You should point him toward my books, too.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “As for James we’re friends not ... you know ... friends.”

  The way she said the second “friends” had me biting back a laugh. “Yes. You’re not romantically involved. I get it.”

  “Exactly. We’re not romantic soul mates, but writing soul mates.”

  That sounded a tad delusional, but she was determined to tell her story so I simply nodded.

  “Anyway, we were at this writing retreat,” she said. “He set it up so we could learn from him. I told him an idea I had for his characters and he liked it a lot. He suggested we collaborate, that I write a series set in his world.”

  “Would he get money from that?”

  “Of course, like a licensing fee.”

  “So you essentially pay him to write in his world,” I said. “I get it. I don’t know that it sounds fun because I think the appeal of writing is making up your own characters, but if you really love his characters it was probably a good idea.”

  Leslie shot me a withering look. “I can think up my own characters.”

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t.”

  “My world is even better than James’s,” she stressed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Okay.” I held up my hands in capitulation. I didn’t start this conversation. She sat down with me. How was I suddenly the bad guy? “Let’s talk about something else.”

  Leslie ignored my suggestion. “We were supposed to have a meeting with his publisher when he suddenly cut off contact. I kept calling and calling ... and then something weird happened that forced him to change his phone number. I had to track down his agent and follow her into a bathroom stall to get her to listen to me. She made the mi
stake of thinking I was a random kook and was trying to protect him – which I get – but it took me forever to plead my case to her. I knew he had to be worried because he hadn’t heard from me.”

  Wow! Leslie Downs was clearly a stalker. She probably didn’t realize it, but she was. “Um ... so ... did you meet with his publishers?”

  “No. Apparently they changed their minds about us collaborating. They didn’t think it was a good idea. Like they would know a good idea if it bit them on their behinds.”

  “Uh-huh.” I desperately scanned the room for an exit. “That sounds terrible.”

  “It was. James was so embarrassed he disappeared again. He was mortified and blamed himself, and went into hiding. I kept calling, but he was too upset to return my calls.”

  I very much doubted that was why he didn’t return her calls. “Well, you obviously got in touch with him again because you’re using his characters.”

  “I am.” Leslie brightened considerably. “I found him on a fishing trip. I remembered an interview he once gave. He said he had a fishing cabin he visited in Minnesota for a month every year. July. I wasn’t sure if it was the beginning of July or the end of July, so I showed up in mid-June, just to be on the safe side.

  “I got a hotel room and watched his cabin,” she continued. “I had to pull documents from the clerk’s office to find out where the property was located. You should’ve seen his face when he arrived and realized I was already there.”

  “I can imagine.” Holy crap! She was definitely a stalker. The pimento cheese girl was starting to look sane compared to this lady. “Did he call the cops?”

  She knit her eyebrows. “Why would he call the cops?”

  “I don’t know. It was just a question.” I didn’t want to upset a woman with stalker tendencies, so I pretended I was confused. “He allowed you to use his characters, right? That means he’s a good guy.”

  “He is,” Leslie agreed. “He finally agreed to allow me to use his characters, and once the restraining order was processed and I agreed not to return to his fishing cabin, we signed off on everything and now I’m allowed to publish two books a year in a spinoff series.”

  “And how is that going for you?” Please say good. Please say good.

  “Not great.” Leslie’s scowl returned. “There’s a group of trolls out there who want to take me down. They’re jealous that James and I are so close. They don’t understand that I’m really the superior writer and he sees that so he’s helping me attain the heights I deserve. I get a lot of bad reviews and complaints from his readers because they’re jealous he chose me.”

  That didn’t make much sense. Jealousy was one of those things that I believed should’ve died out as soon as a kid hit thirteen. It was such a middle-school word. “Well, you can’t do anything about jealous people. Haters gonna hate, right?”

  Leslie nodded. “Definitely.”

  I took advantage of the momentary lull. “I should probably be going. I have a death to investigate, after all.”

  “Not until I grab a book for your friend. I want you to give it to him. He’ll definitely love my books if he likes the others. Mine are better.”

  “Oh, well ... .” I tried to picture Jack’s face when I gave him the book. It would be easier to deal with than her face if I told her no. “I would love a copy of one of your books.”

  Leslie beamed. “I’ll be right back.”

  I considered running when she scampered away but I’d already told her we were staying in condos on the property. I worried she would track me down and turn thriller book killer crazy if I didn’t give her the adulation she so desperately needed, so I opted to wait.

  That turned out to be a mistake because the pimento cheese woman found me seconds later. “I see you met Leslie,” she said, shining an apple against her cat T-shirt. “She’s a real nut job.”

  If it wasn’t for the pimento cheese thing, I’d really like Sarah Hilton, I decided. She had an amiable personality and an infectious smile. The cheese thing was definitely weird.

  “She’s making me wait for a copy of one of her books,” I explained. “She seems determined to make sure I don’t leave without it. I figure it’s best to wait for her to come back.”

  “Yeah. You don’t want her tracking you down. Just ask James Sanderson.”

  “She mentioned something about that.” I plowed ahead with the obvious question. “So ... he’s still alive, right?”

  Sarah barked out a laugh. “He is. He allowed her to write in his world if she agreed to sign a voluntary restraining order and keep at least two-hundred feet from him. That story was the talk of the conference last year.”

  “At least she hasn’t killed him.”

  “No, not him. I’ve thought maybe she killed Shayne Rivers, but that’s probably too easy of an answer.”

  My interest was officially piqued. “Why would she kill Shayne Rivers?”

  “You’ll find the author community is a very ... weird ... group.”

  That wasn’t really an answer. “But why would she want to kill Shayne?”

  “Everybody wanted to kill Shayne,” Sarah volunteered. “She was essentially the most disliked woman in the literary world. I mean ... people hated her. They doxxed her online and threw Facebook parties simply to attack her.”

  I didn’t know what to make of that. “Facebook parties to attack her?”

  “Totally lame, but funny. Basically a big insult-fest. I got a lot of ideas for future series from it.”

  “I see. Why did Leslie hate Shayne?”

  “Shayne was trying to pursue a partnership with James Sanderson, similar to the one Leslie has,” Sarah explained. “The thing is, if Shayne managed to sign a contract, it was pretty obvious Sanderson would back those new books and not throw any publicity in Leslie’s direction.”

  “Was he throwing publicity toward her at all?”

  “No, but it wouldn’t be as obvious if she was the only one. If there were two of them and one was getting all the love ... .”

  I picked up quickly on what she was saying. “So Shayne Rivers was essentially threatening to take away Leslie Downs’s livelihood.”

  “In a nutshell.”

  That sounded like soap opera stuff, and not in a good way. “Huh.”

  “Yeah, we’re a very complicated and interesting group.” Sarah rested her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I wasn’t kidding about the pimento cheese. You need to try it. Your life will never be complete if you don’t.”

  Oh, geez. Talk about complicated.

  “I’ll pass for now. Thank you for the offer, though. As for the gossip … I greatly appreciate that. I now have a place to start looking.”

  Six

  Jack found me at the coffee bar an hour later. He looked more relaxed than when I’d last seen him, although his eyes were keen as they scanned the lobby. I could almost see his sigh of relief in the way his shoulders relaxed when our gazes finally caught, and he immediately set out in my direction.

  “I wasn’t sure you were still here,” he said as he joined me at the bar. “I was about to text you.”

  “It’s been an interesting afternoon.” I told him about my run-in with Leslie Downs, gifting him with the book she gave me upon her return. “You’d better read that or she’ll hunt me down.”

  Jack flipped over the paperback and shrugged. “I’ll give it a try. I don’t see what it could hurt.” He turned serious. “The other stuff, though, how did you find that out?”

  “You’d be surprised what these authors are willing to volunteer,” I replied. “The pimento cheese girl told me most of it, but that chick over there, the one with the curly hair, she told me a few additional things.”

  “Like?”

  “Like Leslie Downs has been kicked out of three different conferences — apparently there’s no end to writing conferences held here and abroad — because she’s so intense and makes other authors feel uncomfortable.”

  “Huh.” Jack rubbed his chin
as the barista approached. “I’ll have what she’s having.” He pointed toward my drink.

  “No problem.” The barista, who boasted the chest of a stripper and the butt of a Kardashian, offered him a flirty smile. “Are you one of the authors?”

  She’d barely noticed I was alive, let alone a paying customer. Jack was another story. She couldn’t fall over herself fast enough to wait on him.

  “I am not.” Jack’s return smile was pleasant but not open. “We’re here investigating the death.”

  “Oh, right.” The woman, whose nametag read “Andi,” grew more interested by the second. “I heard a special group came in for that. You’re staying in the condos, right?”

  “We are.”

  “Once your co-worker is down for the night, you should head to the tiki bar. It’s right around the corner.”

  I hated the way she referred to me as a “co-worker.” Of course, I technically was. However, I was much more than that. She didn’t know that, though. Jack and I could have passions on top of passions for all she knew. “Thanks for the tip,” I said dryly.

  She ignored me and remained focused on Jack. “I’ll get your iced tea.”

  “Thank you.” Jack waited until she was at the other end of the counter to focus on me. “There’s no reason to get riled. I won’t go to the tiki bar without you.”

  “I don’t care about that.” Mostly. “It’s just ... have you ever noticed the way women look at you?”

  His smirk told me he had. “No. How was she looking at me?”

  “Like you were the last pimento spread on the shelf and she had all the crackers.”

  Jack barked out a laugh. “Oh, geez. That was funny.”

  It didn’t feel funny to me. “Women throw themselves at you all the time, don’t they? I mean ... I’ve seen it. I never really gave it much thought. You’re like a Jonas brother.”

  Jack’s smile slipped. “What’s a Jonas brother?”

  “Hot boy-band dudes.”

  “Take that back.”

  I enjoyed the way his eyes darkened. “No. You’re totally like a Jonas brother.”

  “And this conversation is done.” He squared his shoulders and straightened his back. “So, I was thinking, Chris is all caught up doing research with Hannah on Megalodon migratory patterns. How anyone could possibly know anything about that since they’ve been extinct for millions of years is beyond me, but it doesn’t matter. With them caught up with each other and Millie fascinated with the tiki bar, I thought we might be able to slip away for a private dinner.”