This afternoon, it felt like her mother might pop up from behind a flower bed, shears in hand, the sunshine reflecting in a smile born from hours in her happy place. Or step onto the patio with two glasses of strawberry lemonade and a book that she was certain Harper must read. Even now, Harper could almost hear her squeal of delight at the possibility of her daughter writing a script based on one of Via Belle’s books. In fact, if Angeline Rayne was standing beside her right now, she’d tell Harper exactly which novel to use.
Harper turned the page.
Olivia had married Reverend Graham Ashe—a beloved minister in Catawba—before her junior year in college. According to Dr. Lamb, they lost their only child and then the reverend died in 1937. While Olivia was passionate about finding God’s goodness around her, it was a struggle to find joy in those years. Even so, she’d continued to press on, producing multiple bestsellers in the early 1940s. Almost like she grappled with grief through words.
Harper understood. The best stories often brought healing to the author first before offering a balm to the world.
In 1941, not long after her aunt Hattie died, Olivia married another man who was ultimately drafted to fight in World War II.
Simon Farrow.
The engraved name she’d found in the lake.
The name that made Finn Sterling cringe.
Harper glanced up from the book to watch a pair of bluebirds chasing each other through the garden. How long had the button with Simon Farrow’s name been buried in the mud?
Dr. Lamb didn’t include any other details about Simon—perhaps he couldn’t find the information—but Harper wanted to know more about this man.
Olivia’s last novel was published in 1943. According to the author,Moonflower Lake,her bestselling book, was different than her other stories. It was a murder mystery with a shock of an ending. Even more shocking, just as it was topping the book charts, Via Belle disappeared.
Harper paused, thinking back over all the books on her mom’s shelf. Did she haveMoonflower Lake? Betsy mentioned it as well, but Harper didn’t remember reading that story.
Dr. Lamb noted the extensive search for the missing writer. Newspapers across the country ran stories with her photograph. Readers barraged her publisher with letters, worried about the safety of their favorite author. Eventually police found her vehicle near Philadelphia, but no one in Catawba, at least no one willing to talk, knew where she went. Olivia Belle Ashe Farrow was gone, Dr. Lamb wrote, but her stories lived on.
Harper closed the biography but didn’t move from her chair. She hated unfinished endings. Real life was full of them, she knew that well, but not for someone like Via Belle.
How could a novelist, so well-known in the 1940s, vanish? Or had something terrible, like Rene suggested, happened to her? And what had her husband told police? Once Mr. Farrow returned from the war, they must have interviewed him.
Then again, maybe Simon Farrow never returned. Olivia could have honored his life by casting the gold button into the water, a quiet tribute to him and his service.
But Harper wanted a better ending for Olivia, preferably a happily ever after like in all of her books. Riding into the sunset with Simon Farrow, perhaps, or something equally romantic. Maybe—after he returned safely from the fighting—Olivia and Simon had sequestered themselves in a mountain cabin. Or a cottage by the sea. Someplace quiet to start anew. They might have lived for decades together, away from the spotlight.
Since she had no living children, had Olivia’s publisher created a trustfor her royalties? If so, who was put in charge of that in the early years and how did they spend the money?
Dr. Lamb left those questions hanging.
The lumberjack might have the answers, but she had no number to contact him or confidence that he would even speak with her. So she called Brett’s cell phone instead.
“Everything okay?” he asked after the fourth ring, the sound of a keyboard clicking in the background.
She glanced across the pristine garden and then down at Boss Man. “All is well at the house. I just had a quick lawyerly question to ask when you have a moment.”
“Ask now. I’ll call you back if I need to.”
“Do you ever work in copyright law?”
The keys quieted. “Occasionally.”
“If I wanted to make a movie from one of Via Belle’s books, how would I get the rights?”
“You’d have to option them from her literary trust.”
“Trust...” Her voice trailed off in thought. “Does that mean Olivia Belle passed away?”
“Not necessarily,” he said. “She would be presumed dead, of course, after being gone for so long, but she could also have had the trust in place before she disappeared.”
“Any idea how I’d find the information to contact her estate?”
