“No way,” she says, her tone shifting from playful incredulity to genuine surprise. “You’re not pulling my leg? You actually wrote something?”
“I’m serious,” I say, pulling up the file on my laptop. “I’m sending you the pages now.”
There’s a pause on Nora’s end, the sound of her typing, then a small “Ooh!” of surprise. “Petra! This is almost ten thousand words!” Her voice is practically giddy now. “See? I told you. You just needed a little reconnection to the book world to kick that block to the curb. And now karma’s dropped a hot cop in your lap. I think you’re getting your mojo back.”
“I guess so,” I admit, feeling a warmth spread through me that has nothing to do with the sun. It’s the warmth of words flowing again, of a story finally taking shape. “Writing just feels so ...right, suddenly. Like something has been unlocked. I forgot how exciting it is.”
“You unlocked a payment from your publisher soon, that’s what you unlocked,” she says. “Okay, so here’s the crucial question. Is there a Ring camera? Do you have any security footage? Because I need a visual. For research purposes, obviously.”
I sigh dramatically, leaning my forehead against the cool surface of the refrigerator. “Believe me, I wish there was a camera. Or that I had thought to subtly, discreetly,incognito-ly snap a picture of him.”
The lingering image of him, framed by my cabin doorway, feels almost like a dream now, a vivid mirage. And while the words on the page are a fantastic start, a small, selfish part of me craves that visual proof, a physical anchor to the man who seemingly broke my curse.
“I have to go,” I say, already feeling the pull back to my laptop. The well of inspiration, so recently dry, is now overflowing. “I have to jot more down before he vanishes back into the ethereal realm of ‘hot cop muses.’”
“Go, go! Don’t let Cam escape. And seriously, if you get any surveillance footage, you know who to call.”
“You’ll be the first,” I promise, already picturing myself hunched over the keyboard. Just as I’m about to end the call, there’s a sudden knock on the door.Could it be?
“Okay, gotta go,” I say.
“Wait,” she says, and my finger pauses on the screen while I head to see who is at my front door. “This means you’re on for another live stream, right? Readers will go apeshit over this.”
A tiny flicker of the earlier anxiety returns, a whisper of doubt. But then the image of the detective, tall and compelling, flashes in my mind, and everything in my life feels a little bit more manageable. More salvageable. “Fine,” I sigh, a smile touching my lips. “As long as you vet everything and read all the questions again.”
Another knock at the door.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she says. “Good luck!”
I end the call and look through the peephole, but my hope that it might be the cop is diminished when I see Mari standing at the front door.
I sigh, but open the door anyway. “Hey, Mari.” I motion for her to come in. She’s probably here for her brownie tray, so I head to the counter where I set it after washing and drying it.
“You get any sleep with all that ruckus last night?” she asks.
I shrug. “Enough.” I hand her the tray, but instead of heading toward the door, she walks over to the table and pulls out a chair.
I guess I’m having company.
She flicks her dress out so that it billows over the chair before she takes a seat. “How about those cops?” she asks. “Wasn’t too happy to see them at our door, but they sure were easy on the eyes.”
“I only met one of them,” I say.
“I hope it was the hotter one,” she says. “Well, they were both good looking, but the tall one, my goodness. This road hasn’t seen that much action since that group of swingers booked the place three summers ago.”
I never know what’s going to come out of her mouth, I swear.
Mari notices the business card the officer left. It’s sitting on the table between us, so she picks it up, tapping it against her finger. “Yes, this one,” she says. “The tall one. Nathaniel Saint.”
“Do you know him?”
“Nah, I keep away from authority as much as possible. Never know with those guys. I keep out of most of the city and county stuff unless some dumbass on the city council is trying to suggest a law to ban rentals on the lake. Twice they’ve tried that, and twice me and Louie have gone and put a stop to it. This is our income, and I’ll be damned if I have to go get a nine-to-five. What a nightmare that would be.” She feigns wiping away sweat. “Working away at some desk job that rots my soul until artificial intelligence deems me unnecessary before I’m even eligible for retirement, so I’m forced to rely on the hope that there’s a niche market on OnlyFans for an aging wannabe actress with hair like a Cabbage Patch doll. No thank you.”
She drops the business card back on the table but is still staring at it when she says, “If I didn’t see the dead body for myself, I’d think I dreamt it, but they talked to both me and Louie for a good half hour.”
“You ... saw the body?What?”
“Heard the commotion. I’m nosy. Don’t worry, they got it all cleared out. Only thing left over from last night that I saw on the walk over was some spray paint markings in the road. Happened right in front of this house, you know. I was kind of expecting to see an outline of him on the asphalt, just like they do in the shows I work on, but they didn’t do that. Probably because it wasn’t a murder and they got it on dashcam since they were in pursuit, but still. Would have been cool to see.”
