After they had dinner they were back on the porch. He asked her to tell him about the book.
“A couple of models are murdered and the suspicion is that there’s a killer stalking beautiful young women. There are many links between the deceased women, their boyfriends, family members, colleagues, etc. Then an attempt is made on a third model, also linked to the first two, and she not only escapes, she steps up to try to solve the murders before it happens to her. You know, eat or be eaten. Our killer gets by with a couple more signature murders, always putting her closer to danger. And of course she makes friends with a sexy detective who not only wants to protect her, he wants to help her figure it out. And there’s an elderly forensics expert also on the case.”
“Hm. Sounds interesting. Is it almost done?”
“It’s getting closer but it’s weeks from done. I’m writing another book at the same time, one that I don’t have a contract for, one that I’m more interested in writing. So I’m forcing myself to write six pages a day of the suspense, and then I find myself sitting up very late writing the one I enjoy writing. This is just coping; my ability to concentrate and think creatively took a giant hit when my mom died.”
“Tell me about the one you enjoy,” he said.
“It’s a fictionalized version of me, the character often growing in directions that make her stronger and more together than I really am. It’s not unusual to write about characters I admire or wish I was more like. It’s about a woman who runs off to the mountains to reclaim her confidence and strength after her husband dies. I decided it should be a husband, not a mother. But as I’m writing, I know the truth. And as I write, I figure things out.”
“Is that something you do to get closure?”
“No, it’s something I do to understand what I’m feeling. See, when I hear of a problem or have an issue that needs to be resolved, I often don’t really know how it should work out until I write about it. Sometimes I interview my characters, asking them key questions about themselves. Sometimes I’ll write about situations that confound me. I’ll start out writing about how it was and finish up writing about how it should be.”
“It must be cathartic.”
“Sometimes. I’ve written a few terrible husbands named Dick or Richard or Rick or Dax.” She beamed. “Once he was Zach.”
“I bet they had some familiar qualities…”
“Oh yes. Sometimes they died, depending on how I was feeling about him at the time. They always got tripped up by their arrogance and self-centeredness. And it makes me better somehow. Once I write about it, I develop some understanding.”
“Does your ex-husband ever redeem himself?” Landry asked.
“Sadly, no. Thus he is forever punished.”
“Remind me never to piss you off,” he said, laughing.
“Oh, I honestly don’t personalize those quirks of plot. If you piss me off, I might name a very bad doctor Dr. Landry. Or maybe just an incompetent pilot. Not an evil person, just a stupid one.”
“And I might make an ugly pot shaped like your head.”
She laughed happily. “Talk like that and you could end up a serial killer!”
“How long have you been writing these books about killers?” he asked.
“Since I started. It was my favorite genre when I was learning and you should always write what you want to read. I like the edginess of a great suspense novel, like a really good J.T. Ellison.”
“Who?”
She shook her head. “You have homework to do.”
“I might just read a few Kaylee Sloans.”
“There you go. If I’m worth my salt, you’ll sleep with one eye open while I’m renting your little house. Oh, by the way, Jack’s having a Halloween party on the thirty-first. I’m planning to go. Are you?”
“I’ve stopped by a few town parties. I’ll probably go.”
“I suppose you know everyone.”
“I did grow up here.”
“What was it like, growing up here?”
“It was good,” he said. “I had fun. I had friends, although like I said, I was a little too serious. I played ball, went to school things, got good grades. But almost every kid who grows up in a quiet small town can’t wait to get to the real life in the city, and that was me. I went away to college, missed my dad and my friends, came home when I could. Then after Laura went to Hollywood and hardly came back, I gave up the city and moved back here and had a whole new appreciation for it. I think it’s the people. The air, the quiet and the people who stand up for each other.”