Camino Ghosts полностью

In anticipation of spring break, Mercer began dropping hints that she wanted to return to the island and paint the inside of the cottage. Now that the outside was pristine, they should work on the interior. The walls had not been painted in decades. They owned the necessary supplies — brushes, ladders, pans, rollers, drop cloths, everything but the paint — and they were somewhat experienced now that they had painted the outside. The interior would be much easier, she thought.

Thomas wanted to go skiing in Utah. He mentioned this a couple times but it apparently went unheard. A mysterious phone call from his editor at The Atlantic got his attention. He was needed in New York to review the final edits for his lost submarine article. Away he went, and Mercer drove ten hours to the beach with only the dog. The little family was happy. She needed some quiet time to write and work on her book. Thomas, who had shown little talent with the brushes, had avoided manual labor. The dog would get to sleep on his side of the bed.

Mercer and Diane talked by phone at least an hour a day. They emailed and texted constantly and couldn’t wait to hang out on the island. Even as a paralegal, or office assistant, or whatever she was supposed to be at her card-table desk in the cramped kitchen at the Barrier Island Legal Defense Fund, she was supposed to keep the firm’s work confidential. She did not. At least not when she wanted to talk to Mercer about the Dark Isle litigation. Steven Mahon sort of gave her the green light. They reasoned that Mercer was writing an in-depth book about the case and would find out everything sooner or later. She could be trusted. Lovely had given her approval for the two women to discuss her life and the lawsuit.

The first night on the island, Diane arrived at the cottage with a pizza and a bottle of inexpensive red wine. They talked nonstop for three hours and watched a movie. Diane slept on the sofa. The following morning, she was up early with a pot of coffee and reading Mercer’s first draft.

Noelle cooked dinner for Mercer the following night and they ate on the veranda with Steven and Diane. With surprisingly little embellishment, Bruce told Mercer the story of Noelle sniffing out Lenny Salazar as she examined the new condo for her client. If Lenny had a direct financial connection to Tidal Breeze, and one had certainly not been proven, Steven said he planned to go after the judge.

Mercer listened as if enthralled, though Diane had already covered all the details. Bruce was a gifted raconteur, especially after some wine. He liked nothing better than a long dinner “on the porch” with writer friends and other admirers. As always, Noelle said little. She was content to listen to the others and speak only when she had something to add.

Mercer was delighted with the new twists and turns. She had written 51,000 words, which she judged to be about half the book. And, most important, she had stopped thinking of tossing it. She liked her narrative so far and knew the best was yet to come. Not only would it be long enough but the subplots were spinning. Diane had blitzed through the draft in three hours and said it read like a crime thriller.

“When can I take a look at it?” Bruce asked.

“How about when it’s finished?” Mercer replied.

“Come on. I’m intrigued by your first effort at nonfiction, which is one of my strong suits.”

“Along with everything else.”

“No, not true. I don’t read much poetry. I think I should read the first half and do so with a red pen.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Which is a nice way of saying no.”

“I’ll think about it. The first half is still pretty rough.”

“I disagree,” Diane said. “I devoured it this morning before breakfast. It’s amazing. The stuff about the ex-slaves on Dark Isle is so compelling.”

“Thank you.”

Bruce poured some more wine and said, “Come on, Mercer. If you want me to sell this book I need to read it.”

“And you will, as soon as I finish.”

“Which will be?”

“Depends on the story. If the Barrier Island Legal Defense Fund wins Lovely’s title dispute, then there will be a happy ending this summer. Right, Steven?”

“I suppose. However, there is always the possibility of an appeal. That’ll eat up a year, maybe a year and a half.”

Diane said, “The average appeal from chancery court takes fourteen months in Florida.”

“My ace paralegal,” Steven said with a nod across the table.

Bruce said, “Well, I can’t wait that long.”

“You’ll have other books to read while you wait,” Mercer said.

“Are you kidding?” Noelle said. “He’s reading three a week now.”

“Just part of my job,” Bruce said with a smile. “Reading great books, drinking great wine.”