Camino Winds (Camino Island #2)(50)
The first week in January, Bruce went to court with the probate lawyer and got himself appointed as the executor of Nelson’s literary estate. The old judge had never heard of such a position, but was happy to sign the order nonetheless.
The following day, he sent the book to Nelson’s former editor at Simon & Schuster. They had been discussing it for a month and its arrival was no surprise. Nelson had become unhappy with the editor for some vague reason that no longer mattered. Bruce, on behalf of the estate, was not looking for a fat contract. The book did not deserve one, and no publisher would be willing to overpay a dead writer who couldn’t promote the book, let alone follow it with a sequel. And money was not an issue. Nelson’s estate would eventually be a windfall to Polly and her parents, and they were not greedy people.
Left unsaid was the fact that Bruce didn’t want a big contract. More money meant more publicity, especially when the word “murder” got tossed around, and Bruce was not looking forward to the attention. Ingrid was out there somewhere, and if not her then probably someone else. Lindsey Wheat was adamant in her belief that those responsible for Nelson’s murder were not that smart and would not strike again, but then she worked in the shadows and few knew her name. Mr. Cable had been appointed by the court, with all the details available online.
A week later, the editor called and offered $250,000 for all rights—hardback, e-book, paperback, and foreign. The money was about half of what the book was worth, and had Bruce been a tough literary agent he would have stormed off and threatened an auction. But he was not, and since he was earning nothing from the transaction he pondered it for a day, pushed for $300,000 and got it.
In fact, the contract was perfect. It was generous enough to be fair to the estate but low enough not to raise eyebrows. Bruce emailed the editor a press release he had worked on for hours. It read:
THE LAST NOVEL OF POPULAR SUSPENSE WRITER NELSON KERR HAS BEEN PURCHASED BY SIMON & SCHUSTER, HIS LONGTIME PUBLISHER. THE NOVEL, PULSE, WILL BE RELEASED NEXT YEAR WITH AN ANTICIPATED FIRST RUN OF 100,000 COPIES. MR. KERR’S THREE PREVIOUS NOVELS—SWAN CITY, THE LAUNDRY, AND HARD WATER—WERE ALL PUBLISHED BY SIMON & SCHUSTER AND BECAME BESTSELLERS. HIS EDITOR, TOM DOWDY, SAID: “WE ARE DELIGHTED TO RECEIVE NELSON’S LATEST, THOUGH WE ARE STILL DEVASTATED BY HIS DEATH. HE TALKED ABOUT THIS NOVEL FOR YEARS AND WE ARE CERTAIN HIS MANY FANS WILL ENJOY IT.”
MR. KERR WAS A RESIDENT OF CAMINO ISLAND, FLORIDA, AND DIED UNDER MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES LAST AUGUST DURING HURRICANE LEO. HIS DEATH IS STILL BEING INVESTIGATED BY THE FLORIDA STATE POLICE. HIS FRIEND AND BOOKSTORE OWNER BRUCE CABLE HAS BEEN APPOINTED AS HIS LITERARY EXECUTOR AND HANDLED THE SALE TO SIMON & SCHUSTER. MR. CABLE WAS NOT AVAILABLE FOR COMMENT.
THE ESTATE IS OFFERING A SIZABLE REWARD FOR INFORMATION REGARDING MR. KERR’S DEATH.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE FICTION
1.
For the ambush, Lindsey Wheat wore a pair of loose-fitting jeans, white sneakers, and a beige blouse under a navy jacket. Dressing down was not easy for a woman who cared about her appearance, but slumming as she was, she still felt overdressed for the early morning crowd eager for chicken biscuits. She recognized Vera Stark the moment she walked in the door and glanced around as if guilty of something. She was twenty-six years old, black, married, a mother of three, and for the past four years had worked as an orderly at the Glinn Valley Retirement Center. Her husband drove a truck. They lived in a neat trailer in a park just outside the town limits of Flora, Kentucky, population 3,600.
Lindsey had called her cell phone an hour earlier as she was dropping her kids off at her mother’s house for the day. Quite naturally, Vera was suspicious and didn’t want to talk to a stranger. Lindsey, using an alias, had offered her $500 cash for ten minutes of her time, plus coffee and a biscuit.
She coaxed her to the table with a huge smile and a firm handshake, and they sat across from each other. The fact that Lindsey was also black helped ease the introduction. Vera glanced around again, certain there was trouble coming. Her older brother was in prison and the family had a history with the police.
Lindsey handed over an envelope and said, “Here’s the money. I’m buying breakfast.”
Vera took the envelope and shoved it into a pocket. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” It was obvious she had not declined too many biscuits. “You a cop or something?” she asked.
“Not at all. I work for some lawyers out of Louisville and we’re investigating nursing homes throughout the state. We sue a lot of them for neglect and abuse, and, as you probably know, Glinn Valley does not have a great reputation. I need some inside information and I’m willing to pay for it.”
“And I need a job, okay? What I got ain’t much, but they ain’t no jobs around here.”
“You will not get in trouble, I promise. Nothing is illegal, okay? We just need a set of eyes inside to make our cases stronger.”
“Why me?”
“If not you, then we’ll simply find someone else. We’re offering two thousand a month cash for the next three months.”
So far, Lindsey had left no trail. If Vera suddenly bolted, drove to work and told her boss about the meeting, they would never find her. She would disappear from the sad little town and never come back. But Vera was thinking about the money. She earned just over ten dollars an hour for a forty-hour week with no benefits. Her husband was about to be laid off. They lived from paycheck to paycheck, and if they missed a single one there was nobody to help.