That was what made people hate me. Made people ban the book.Burnthe book. Not that I fictionalized the crime. Not that I made money off of Alex’s death. Not even that I defended Will. Not even that I was a self-righteous bitch about it. Those were factors, but in the end, they all really hated me because in my book, Gary Hopely killed his own daughter.
“Yes, in the book, Robert Smiley kills Angelica,” I answered flatly. “But I have nothing more to say about that. It was an artistic choice, and I stand behind it.”
Aimee made a noise in the back of her throat.
“And do you believe that is what happened to Alexandria Hopely?” Mason asked softly. “That she was killed by her father?”
People always asked me this, though they never liked the answer.
I crossed my legs, keeping my face a mask of careful neutrality. We were getting dangerously close to the topic Marta had assured me they knew was off-limits. “I believe my brother William Dearling is innocent of the crime he was convicted of. He didn’t kill Alexandria Hopely.”
Deflect.That was what Marta told me to do when this came up.
“So even now you maintain your opinion that William Dearling, currently serving life in prison, is the wrong guy?” Harry asked, looking a bit surprised.
Why were they asking me all of this again? Hadn’t we done this a year ago? My opinion on Will’s innocence was set in stone. It was the reason I wrote the book in the first place. It had given me a platform to defend my brother. I’d needed the success, the money, to help him. No one would’ve cared what I had to say otherwise. No one had cared for the eleven years before my book came out.
I nodded firmly. “Absolutely. Iknowhe is innocent. Florida has one of the highest annual murder rates in the entire country. And hundreds of teenage girls have gone missing in the eleven years since Alexandria Hopely disappeared, in situations very similar to hers. Many of them remain unsolved, with some even occurring close to Loxahatchee. For example, a sixteen-year-old girl, Lakelynn Hale, vanished from Hobe Sound only a week ago. It is completely plausible that some of these cases are linked and that another person killed Alex. The police just let my brother take the blame because it was convenient.”
There was silence as the three anchors processed what I’d just said. The men looked confused. Aimee looked like she was ready to rip out my throat. One quick glance to the side showed me the subtle smirk on Marta’s face.
Again, I wondered why they were so surprised that my tune hadn’t changed. But looking back and forth from Marta to Aimee, I realized: They had thought I was going to be remorseful. Marta must have led them to think this was an apology tour. No wonder they’d allowed me back on so soon. Marta had known there was not a shot in hell of me apologizing, but that woman lived by the adage ofno press is bad press. I tried my best to ignore theanger that rolled through me. I didn’t like being misled. I’d been drenched in blood and thrown into the proverbial shark tank.
Aimee’s eyes narrowed. “You seem to be ignoring the hard evidence that got your brother sentenced. Don’t you think that rewriting someone’s violent death, absolving their murderer, and accusing their own father is exploitative and cruel?”
I felt a little bad that the corners of my mouth turned into a smile, but I couldn’t help it. Aimee was so transparent. I had seen at least twelve of her tweets before today about this situation and how much she despised me. If I had a nickel for every time she had called me exploitative over the past twelve months, I could pay for Will’s lawyers without writing another word.
“I’m afraid I don’t,” I said. “My brother is an innocent man who was railroaded into prison for a crime he didn’t commit. This book is the most honest account I have. I don’t really care if readers think the murderer is the wrong person in the book, because the jury got the murderer wrong inreal life,which is inarguably worse.”
I knew how I was coming off—arrogant, feelingless, bitchy—but I also knew Amy’s vitriol was helping my case. No one wanted to be left out of something juicy. Sales for the book were going to skyrocket. Anyone who hadn’t read it already now would.
Aimee was so furious that her face had turned red. Harry and Mason said nothing, just looked back and forth between the two of us.
“So for the clarity of our viewers: You feel no responsibility for the repercussions of the book’s success? In your hometown, or on the Hopely family?” Aimee snapped. Gone was her perky newscaster voice. She sounded raw now. A rabid dog looking at a fresh piece of meat.
I knew where this was going. Anyone with ears could figure out what Aimee was building up to. The bombshell question no one had asked on the last book tour, because it hadn’t happened yet. But I couldn’t sit here and let her ambush me with it. Not on live TV.
“The implications of the book are funds that help my brother. Beyond that, it’s none of my business. It’s been great talking to you all, but I’m done—”
I went to get off my chair, but Aimee grabbed my arm.
“Actions have consequences,” she fired back. I braced myself as she turned to the camera. “For those of you who do not know, Gary Hopely, the father of Alexandria Hopely, died by suicide five months ago, an action many suspect was the direct result of his characterization in the novel and the backlash he experienced thereafter.”
Aimee turned back to me, a withering look plastered across her face. “And Rose, do you feel any responsibility for his death?”
My stomach knotted so tightly that it sent streaks of pain up to my rib cage. I sat frozen in the chair. I could feel the bile rising in my throat.
“No. Not one bit.”
I had an hour before my next appointment, lunch at Balthazar with Archie Fellows—a well-known screenwriter and director who was thinking of adapting the book for film. It was a big deal, as selling the movie rights could fund the next round of Will’s appeal costs. As I exitedThe Morning Hourbuilding into the chaos of Times Square, my purse started to vibrate against my leg. I reached inside for my phone, hoping it was Flannery calling me to talk shit about Aimee Frasier, so I felt a mild annoyance when I saw Tommy’s name flashing across my screen again. What could he possibly be so worried about? I sighed and clicked Accept.
“Hey, Tommy,” I said, trying to hide the irritation in my voice. “What’s up?”
I could hear him panting through the phone. “What’s up?What’s up?” He sounded exasperated, his voice high and panicked. “Didn’t you read my texts? Do you have any idea—”
I had to cut him off before he could really get going. His voice already had that squeaky quality that signaled a freak-out, and if I didn’t nip it in the bud now and apologize, it would be a bigger fight later.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I had an insane day. I was onTMHpromoting the book and—”
