“Um.” I looked around at the stunned faces of my friends and fellow authors and felt my stomach lurch. Uh-oh. “Yes. Aren’t you?”
“Heck, no!” Saul suddenly sat straight up. If he’d ever been asleep at all, he was certainly awake now. “I’m only getting fifteen hundred!”
Frannie patted her husband on the knee. “Now, now, dear. Fifteen hundred dollars is nothing to sneeze at. And we’re getting a lovely, all-expense paid, first-class vacation out of it. And think how many books you’ll sell at your signing tomorrow and Sunday.”
“I’m only getting fifteen hundred, too.” Bernadette looked at Jerome. “You?”
He nodded. “Same. How about you, Kellyjean?”
Kellyjean was staring up at the stars again. “I don’t know. My agent arranges all of that. But I don’t think it’s anywhere close to ten thousand.” She looked back at us. “Why would Will Price pay Jo so much more than the rest of us? No offense, Jo, you know I love you. But I have a Netflix series, and you don’t.”
I shook my head, my throat suddenly dry. I had no idea why … and didn’t want to venture a theory, since every one I could think of sounded absurd.
“I know why.” A new, masculine voice rang out from the darkness. I gasped in alarm, thinking for a moment that Will Price had driven over from his mansion to join us for a nightcap and overheard everything we’d said.
But it was only Garrett who stepped from the shadows, wearing the complimentary robe the hotel had supplied over a pair of ridiculously bright yellow board shorts. Apparently he’d decided to take a break from rehearsing his magic trick to go for an evening dip in the pool.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Garrett sounded indignant. “He wanted to make sure she’d show up, of course.”
Kellyjean gasped as she whipped her head around, long blond hair flying, to look at me. “Of course! Jo isn’t in love with Will. Will is in love with her!”
“Oh, come on,” I said.
“Really, Kellyjean,” Frannie scolded. “Now you’re just being silly.”
“How is that silly?” Garrett dropped the towel he’d brought with him onto a nearby chaise lounge and then sank down onto it. “I’m not the romance writer here, but it’s a pretty good explanation, isn’t it?”
“Honestly, Garrett,” I said. “You’re wrong. Will’s made it pretty clear that he hates my guts as much as I hate his. And we’ve only met one time before this, and that was almost two years ago for approximately an hour, after which he dogged me to a reporter. Does that sound like the act of a man in love?”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Saul shook his head. “I carried a torch for Frannie for years after meeting her only once, but she wouldn’t even consider going out with me because I told her I thought the Knicks stank. I had to swear allegiance to a basketball team I don’t like to get her to even consider a date.”
Frannie patted him on the hand. “And you’ve never regretted it, have you, dear?”
“Will probably only paid me such a huge stipend to make sure I showed up here so he could clear his conscious,” I insisted. “He told me he thought about apologizing before, but wanted to do it to my face.” I didn’t mention how Will had said he hadn’t been able to find the words. No one would have believed me.
“Well,” Jerome said. “That is one expensive apology.”
“If anyone deserves it, it’s Jo,” Bernadette said warmly. “I mean, Jo’s had terrible writer’s block ever since Will said all those nasty things about her books.”
I sent Bernadette a warning look. I appreciated the sympathy, but enough of my private business had been shared with the group.
It was too late, though.
“Oh, no!” Garrett exclaimed. “Is that why there hasn’t been a new Kitty Katz book this year, Jo?”
“Yeah, I was wondering the same thing.” Jerome looked concerned. “They’re Aesha’s favorite. She asks me when there’s going to be a new one all the time.”
I didn’t think things could get worse from there, but they did. Kellyjean scrambled to her feet and ran over to throw her arms around me.
“Oh, you poor thing.” Kellyjean hugged me. “I had no idea you were blocked. Do you want to use some of my essential oils? I have some sourced from the Rosa damascena plant that should open you up to inspiration and joy. Did you bring a diffuser?”
I was already enveloped in whatever essential oil or perfume Kellyjean habitually wore, and the scent was so strong, it was making my eyes water, not opening me up to joy. “Uh …”
“Never mind,” Kellyjean said. “You can borrow mine. Remind me when we get upstairs to bring it around to your room.”
“No, really, it’s okay—”
“I insist.” Mercifully, Kellyjean released me, but still held on to one of my hands, which she squeezed. “We’re artists, Jo. We have to help one another in our hours of need, not tear each other down.”
Great. Now I felt terrible for having asked them all for help snooping into Will’s personal life.
I felt even worse for letting slip how much more I was being paid to be at the book festival than they were. But how was I supposed to have known they weren’t receiving an equal (or greater) stipend? Male authors in the book industry often received higher advances and speaking fees than their female counterparts. It was odd that it was the opposite way around this time.
“So are we all reading that book of Price’s, the one that came in our swag bag?” Jerome asked out of the blue.
I kept my mouth shut. The real trick to being a writer, I’d learned long ago, was to keep quiet and observe.
“Saul is.” Frannie twinkled at her husband. “Saul loves it.”
Saul shrugged. “So sue me. The guy spins an entertaining yarn.”
“That female love interest, Melanie, remind you of anyone?” Jerome asked.
“Melanie?” Saul thought about it. “Not really. Is she supposed to?”
“I think she is.” Jerome looked at me. “You reading it, Jo?”
I shrugged uneasily. “I skimmed it a little.” I was such a liar. I was up to Chapter Ten and devouring every word.
“Melanie doesn’t remind you of anyone?” he asked. “Physically, I mean.”
“Not really. She’s such an idiot. The fact that she can’t figure out that Johnny killed her husband? That’s so unrealistic!”
“Oh, I don’t think Johnny did it,” Jerome said.
“Of course Johnny did it,” I said. “He says right in the book that he did it!”
“Johnny thinks he did it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I think Johnny’s going to turn out to be innocent. You wait and see.”
“Wait—did you skip to the end? Jerome! Spoiler alert!”
“And on that note,” Frannie said, rising to her feet, “Saul, I think you and I should go to bed.”
“You’re right.” He slipped an arm around his wife’s waist. “I have a big day tomorrow, a panel and a signing, plus that tour of historical Little Bridge, since you won’t let me go out on Will’s boat.”