She hoped Sissie wouldn’t ruin it, but there were no guarantees. Even if Harper wrote a close rendition to the original plotline, another writer could step in and shift the pieces. “You could reprint a whole library of her books, and they’d sell a bundle. Just like her sales soared after the release of her movie.”
“You’ve done your homework, Ms. Rayne.”
“Please call me Harper,” she said. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep the story intact, but I can’t promise the studio won’t make changes to Via’soriginal plot. At the very least, if the screenplay is actually made into a movie, it would inspire people across the country to find out more by reading her books.”
“I’ll think about it,” he said which sounded a whole lot like he’d already made up his mind.
She rocked forward. “Eventually, the copyright will expire.” And once the books entered the public domain, she could make a movie based on any of Via Belle’s books.
“Not until seventy years after an author dies.”
“Which is challenging in this case since no one seems to know when Mrs. Farrow passed away.”
He winced like she’d stuck him with a knife. “Mrs. Ashe.”
“Do you know what happened to her?”
“I’m not talking about—”
“Or what happened to Simon Farrow after the war?” Not the question she’d set out to ask, but one that had been burning in her head since she finished the biography.
He stood to signal the end of their conversation, but she wasn’t finished, rocking back in the chair again. “You must have an idea where he and Mrs. Ashe went.”
“I keep most of my ideas to myself.”
“Someone said she might have been murdered.”
“That’s ludicrous.”
Harper stopped rocking. “Maybe I’ll write a screenplay about her instead of one of her books.”
“Then I’d sue you for defamation.”
“Would that be before or after you called the cops without cell service?”
“I can get service just fine on the porch,” he said, pulling a phone from his pocket. “Either way, her story isn’t yours to tell.”
“I have no intention of defaming Mrs. Ashe. I only want to find outwhere she went.” And if she couldn’t find the truth, she’d fill in a happy ending. “I am curious about one other thing—”
“Your curiosity seems to know no bounds.”
She grinned. “I often get lost in my head.”
“Then let me direct you home.” He pointed down the driveway. “Right on the other side of that gate.”
“Fair enough.” She stood but didn’t turn toward the stairs. “How exactly did you end up overseeing her estate?”
“Would you like an escort?”
“I’m leaving,” she replied. “But could I get your phone number first?”
“I don’t think—”
“Because I’ll definitely have more questions, and I get the feeling you’d like us to stop meeting here.”
His lips twitched, but she couldn’t tell if he was fighting off a smile or a frown. “I’m going to stop meeting you here either way. Next time the alarm goes off, the police chief will greet you instead.”
“Does he have your phone number?”
