A Literary Scandal Read online

  Suddenly I was everyone’s confessor. And normally my gossipy self would love that, but I had an event to get going here. Nancy was counting on my help.

  “Lights flash ten before the hour getting everyone into their seats,” I told Eva. “We need Luanne on stage directly after, and we’ll present her right after the announcements.”

  “We’ll be there. With bells on.” Eva shot me a wry glance as she headed into the theater. I went in after her and shoved the brick aside that smokers used to prop the door open when they were taking a break, shutting the fire door tight.

  True to her word, Eva had Luanne seated on stage right after the lights flashed. The agent sat to one side of the author, and on the other was the guy who had been talking to the agent. He was a beefy middle-aged man. The lights reflected off his bald head, and his tailored suit strained against his folded arms. I had no idea who this guy was or why he was on stage with the others, but he didn’t look any happier now then he had earlier.

  The audience applause was thunderous as Nancy introduced Luanne. The woman had shed her earlier malaise and had miraculously transformed from the diva she’d been the last few days into a smiling, animated celebrity. She introduced Eva, gushing her thanks for the woman’s invaluable assistance in guiding her career and both negotiating and closing her various contracts. Then Luanne turned with a smile to the man, stating that she had a big surprise for the audience, and would be introducing him later.

  Was I the only one who saw how stiff and wooden that smile was?

  Knowing the behind-the-scenes tension didn’t negate the fact that Luanne Trainor’s presentation was mesmerizing. She told of her inspiration for the Infernal Awakenings series, and how the success of those novels led her to explore the idea of taking a minor character—Trelanie——and developing a series based on her and featuring vampires as opposed to demons. She talked about the push-and-pull of a slow-burn, although intensely erotic, romance and how she maintained the sexual tension between Trelanie and Roman throughout the series. At the end, everyone was all star-struck, even me, and I had seen the woman at what was surely her worst.

  Whatever Luanne Trainor might be in person, up on stage she was just as much an entertainer as she was on the page.

  The author took a break at this point in her narrative and said that before getting to the evening’s exciting announcements, she wanted to field questions from the audience. With a wave of her finger, she warned us she’d not be revealing anything that would spoil upcoming books but was happy to discuss anything about the current novels, the characters, or general worldbuilding.

  There were a few excited questions about the nature of Trelanie’s magic weapon, and if Roman immediately burned to ash in the sunlight or was there some wiggle room as far as exposure time, and if it were possible, magically or otherwise, for the two to have babies.

  Half-vampire babies? I guess anything was possible in the world of fiction.

  Then a woman stood in the back of the room patiently awaiting the microphone, her perfectly coiffed hair sprayed into a helmet of gold surrounding her lean face. As the volunteer with the mic approached, my eyes turned to her. I heard a soft gasp from the stage and could practically feel the tension.

  Unfortunately, the volunteer with the mic didn’t feel the tension and hopped right up to the woman, handing the device over.

  “Yes, my question is how do you sleep at night knowing you’ve plagiarized every single thing you’ve written?’”

  The audience froze then turned slowly to stare at the woman. I, on the other hand, stared at Luanne Trainor. The author went white, then red, then looked like a puffer fish about ready to blow.

  Eva got to her feet and took the microphone from Luanne, calm and cool as ice in a glass of lemonade. “That lawsuit was dismissed, Ms. Swift. The plagiarism charges you brought against Ms. Trainor were without merit. And this is hardly the place to discuss your wild accusations.”

  Swift. Star Swift. I remembered that Eva had mentioned the lawsuit about how Luanne’s Fanged Darkness series was plagiarized from Ms. Swift’s Wicked Night series. A stressful year indeed. This lawsuit, the fan furor over Barton Wells. It did explain some of Luanne’s less-endearing moments, although I got the idea those were more personality traits than situationally stress--induced nastiness.

  “The stories are identical to mine,” Star Swift insisted. “She changed the names and a few of the plot details, but they’re the same books.”

  Poor Nancy had a horrified expression on her face. She glanced over at me as if I could help out, but I didn’t know what to do either. We hadn’t prepared for this sort of thing. It wasn’t like we had bouncers to escort the woman out, although looking back on the situation, we should have had our volunteer just take the mic and walk away. Although Star Swift might have continued, shouting to make herself heard without the mic.

  Note to self: we probably needed to have bouncers next time. I doubted if the environmentalist guy from the local college would draw the kind of crowd who might require a bouncer, but just in case…

  Luanne snatched the microphone back from her agent. “You can’t copyright ideas, Star. There’s a million vampire romances out there. You don’t see Mary Shelley suing me now, do you?”

  I winced. Mary Shelley, who was long dead, wrote Frankenstein, not erotic vampire romances. Still, I understood her point. There were a million vampire romances out there, all variations on a theme. Just because Luanne Trainor had a steamy series with common themes didn’t mean she’d lifted her stories from another author. Those who hit the big-time tended to attract these kinds of lawsuits, and most of them were without merit, from desperate people who were looking for any reason one author’s series had gone bestseller where theirs remained unread. But I’d been a journalist in my youth, and I’d seen my share of carefully manipulated story-theft. It might not violate copyright but mosaic plagiarism crossed some serious ethical lines in my opinion. And sadly, there were a lot of people who felt it was a perfectly acceptable way to make a living by lifting someone else’s work, putting a fresh coat of paint on it, then releasing it as their own.

  The two authors started to yell at each other, and I beckoned for Nancy to go get the mic. She ran up the stairs faster than I’d ever see her move and snatched it from Star Swift’s hands, giving her a bad-cop worthy glare.

  “Thank you. Thank you for that comment. We’ll be taking some additional questions at the end of the night, and those of you who have registered for our meet-and-greet will have an opportunity to ask Luanne Trainor your questions personally.”

  Ugh. I hoped Star Swift hadn’t bought a meet-and-greet ticket or we were going to have a problem.

  Eva motioned Luanne aside and took her place, repeating Nancy’s comments then saying she, as Luanne’s agent, was thrilled to be announcing something everyone had been waiting to hear.

  “Fanged Darkness has sold the film rights to the series, and we expect the first adaptation to hit the movie theaters in the next two years.”

  The audience went crazy with applause and shrieks of joy. Half the theater rose to their feet in a standing ovation. Once the excitement had calmed down, Eva turned and motioned to the man behind her. The man who was still seated. The man who continued to have a scowl on his face.

  “And here from White Night Studios is assistant producer, Sebastian Codswim!”

  I’d never seen someone so reluctant to walk to the podium and discuss a film deal that had the entire audience abuzz. Was it the problem he’d been discussing with Eva before the event? It couldn’t be that big of a deal. Eva had said she’d take care of it, and surely she wouldn’t have made the announcement if it wasn’t completely a done deal?

  Maybe he didn’t like Luanne Trainor, or he didn’t like vampire novels and movies. Perhaps he doubted that the book sales would translate into money at the box office? I didn’t. I’d only read one and a half books and I would be at the movie theater on opening day. I was pretty sure a huge perc
entage of readers would as well. And nothing sold books like the announcement of a film deal. Luanne’s books would skyrocket back up the charts again, no doubt staying for months at the top of all the lists as hordes of people picked the book up in anticipation of the movie, wanting to see what all the talk was about.

  “We’re excited about the licensing of film rights for the Fanged Darkness series,” the man said. “And we anticipate beginning production just as soon as the appropriate signatures are obtained on the contracts to ensure legal transfer of rights. After that, the studio will be making a formal announcement. Thank you.”

  That had to have been the most flat, unemotional, boring speech in the history of mankind. It didn’t seem to dampen audience enthusiasm, but I noticed Eva looked as though she were about to have a heart attack. The man shoved the mic back at Luanne, and the author continued to expand on her earlier topics, cautiously again opening the floor to questions.

  Was I the only one who noticed Eva and the producer guy having a quiet, close, heated discussion back at their chairs? What the heck was going on? Surely he wouldn’t have come all the way out here to announce the film deal if there were any issues. Unless the issues had just come up in the last twenty-four hours. Or perhaps the issues were the reason he’d come to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere.

  That would explain his sour expression and peculiar statements about contracts and legalities. Who was dragging their feet about signing off on the film deal? Surely not Luanne who had probably already assigned those rights to the publishing company. And surely not the publishing company who would stand to make a ton of money on a movie and related sales and merchandise.

  Unless there was another offer in the wings, and they were stalling to see if that was a better deal. But if that was the case, then why announce this at a public session and risk looking like idiots and upsetting a whole room full of fans?

  It probably didn’t matter. These things always got sorted out in the end. Right now, my focus was on making sure none of the other questions sparked Luanne’s temper. That and meeting the caterers up front to set up for the meet-and-greet.

  Get through tonight. That was my goal. Get through tonight without any further issues, then manage to get Luanne to the airport tomorrow without me or anyone else killing her.

  Chapter 9

  Daisy was scooping more icebox cake onto a plate loaded down with ham salad sandwiches and chips. It was her second helping. Suzanne, Olive, and Kat stood beside her, each of them with their own plate of the decadent dessert. The first container was already gone—practically licked clean—and we were now halfway through the second batch. I smiled, smug that my contribution had been a big hit.

  And so far, knock on wood, the meet-and-greet had gone smoothly. Luanne was on her best behavior, a stiff smile plastered on her face as she signed books and answered questions from fans. The producer guy had vanished once he’d realized that the main event had finished. Eva stayed, keeping a sharp eye on Luanne and doing her part to be social as well.

  “Ham salad. Ham salad. More ham salad.” Nancy flitted by me, calling out instructions to the catering staff.

  Daisy looked up and grinned, her eyes meeting mine. “Icebox cake. Icebox cake. More icebox cake.”

  I laughed. “Any more and you’ll be leaving here in an ambulance. That’s all I’ve got. Pace yourself.”

  Daisy stuck a forkful of the dessert into her mouth. “It’s totally worth a trip to the hospital, especially if the paramedics are cute.”

  “Did you all get your books signed?” There was quite a crowd around Luanne and I wanted to make sure my friends had a chance at autographs.

  “First thing.” Suzanne hefted the huge tote bag she’d slung over her shoulder. “I’ve got everyone’s books in here. Olive scored some playing cards with the book covers on the back, too. They’ll make poker night extra special.”

  “There’s a poker night?” I teased.

  “There will be now,” Suzanne shot back. Then her eyes drifted over toward the group around the author. “Oh, look! Someone’s in costume. That’s so cool. I wish I had the guts to do something like that.”

  I turned and saw a woman with black leather pants and a camo tank top, bandoliers holding amulets and vials full of colored liquid crisscrossing her chest. Her wig of dark hair was in a long braid down her back and she’d done a great job recreating Trelanie’s tattoos as well as her signature scar across her left bicep. Everyone made room for her, admiring her outfit as she shyly held a book out for Luanne.

  “Impressive,” the author told her, signing inside the book jacket with a flourish before handing it back. “Now go fight some ghouls and save the world.”

  “That’s my job. I’m here to save the world.” A blonde woman with fashionably retro cat-eye glasses and frayed skinny jeans pushed her way to the front of the crowd, nearly knocking the cosplay girl over as she came face-to-face with the author.

  Then she pulled out a knife—a real, metal, non-plastic knife.

  It was like Moses parting The Red Sea the way everyone jumped away from her. Luanne turned whiter than the marble floors. No one stepped up to defend the author or confront the woman with the knife, and I found myself again thinking that we probably needed to have a bouncer at these events. A bouncer and a metal detector.

  The woman extended the knife toward Luanne, not in a stabby sort of way, but more as if she wanted the woman to take it in hand by the blade. “I’m here. I’ve come to protect you and escort you safely to the hinterland. Roman is outside guarding the perimeter.”

  Did this woman think she was the heroine of Luanne’s novels? Or was she here to offer a replica knife as a gift to the author, and her boyfriend, coincidently named Roman, was a police officer or a security guard ensuring the plagiarism woman didn’t come back? Either way, she had the wrong end of the knife pointed toward our guest.

  “Hey, easy with that thing.” Daisy stepped forward, her hands upraised. My friend, the social worker with a soft heart, the yoga guru, and the brave confronter of knife-wielding fans. “Is that Trelanie’s knife you’ve got there? It’s beautiful. The detail on the hilt is a work of art.”

  The woman turned slightly and Luanne edged to the side, carefully putting distance between herself and the knife.

  “It kills ghouls,” the woman confessed. She’d rotated the knife in her hands to show Daisy the etchings on the hilt. “They’re magic runes. Spelled against the undead.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Nancy on the phone, no doubt with the police, but my concern right now was for my friend.

  “Can I see it?” Daisy smiled warmly at the woman, her tone full of respect and admiration. “I work magic myself, and I can see the aura around this knife. It’s clearly the work of a talented master.”

  The woman hesitated, eyeing Daisy suspiciously. The thing was, my friend was partially telling the truth. I knew she did things she called magic in her Wiccan circles, but from what I’d heard, they were mostly to help someone find a desperately needed job, bring positive energy to a friend suffering from depression, or to provide strength to a co-worker going through a hard time. They were like the prayer circles at my church, not etching the hilt of a dagger so it could slay undead.

  Although maybe Daisy did that sort of thing, too. I saw ghosts and one of them liked to roll potatoes off my kitchen counter. If there were ghouls roaming beneath the streets of Locust Point, I was pretty sure Daisy would be the one to single-handedly stop them.

  We all held a breath as the woman extended the knife, point first, toward Daisy. Luanne was almost free of the corner she was boxed into.

  Daisy took a step to the side and in, so she was perpendicular to the woman, the side of the blade less than a foot from her chest. She leaned forward, making admiring murmuring noises, then held out her hands as if she were about to receive a sacrament, giving the other woman a hesitant smile. She looked up at my friend through those cat-eye glasses, then gently put the knife in
her hands.

  The room exploded into action, and that was when I realized that the police had arrived. One grabbed knife-woman, putting her on the floor and cuffing her as they read her Miranda rights. The other took the knife from Daisy, placing it into a bag. The whole time the woman screamed that we were all going to be eaten by ghouls unless they let her go and gave her the knife back. As the police perp-walked her out the door, she started shouting for Roman to meet her at the police station. And to bring bail money.

  “Do you think there really is a Roman outside?” I asked Daisy, putting a shaky hand on her shoulder. She’d been so close to that knife, and I’d had no idea what was running through that woman’s head. What if she’d stabbed Daisy? What if she’d hurt or killed my friend?

  “It might be all in her imagination. Or it might be she found a boyfriend just as unstable as she is to play the part of Roman.” Daisy blew a breath out between her teeth as her shoulders slumped. “I hope one of the officers takes a look around the building, just to make sure. I’d hate for any of us to get knifed by some guy in a black cape who thought we were ghouls.”

  Yeah, that would just be the icing on the cake for this evening. “You were awesome, Daisy,” I told her. “I can’t believe you talked her into giving up her knife like that. We were all frozen. If it had been up to the rest of us, Luanne would probably have been skewered.”

  “From what I’ve heard, that wouldn’t have been too much of a tragedy.” Daisy grinned. “And that woman with the knife wasn’t all that difficult. You work with troubled teens all day, you learn how to defuse a situation and how to disarm someone peacefully—whether it’s a knife, a can of hair spray, or the metal arm off an AV projector.”

  “Well, you deserve a medal.”

  I looked around for Luanne, thinking it would be nice if the woman delivered some -much-deserved thanks in person to the one person who’d come between her and a knife. With a quick word to Daisy, I went to look for her, finding the author back in the dressing room we’d set up for her. She was in the chair, her head in her hands, her purse and briefcase on the floor beside her.