Page 70 of The Ghostwriter

“I’d love to see you again,” he says. He reaches out and brushes a finger over my bare knee and I leap out, slamming the door quickly. A few carnies glance at me as they carry equipment from a flat-bed truck onto the football field.

“Thanks for the ride,” I call, my mother’s manners drilled into me.

He toots the horn twice. “Maybe I’ll come back for the carnival,” he calls out his open window. “I’ll look for you.”

I give a tight-lipped smile and wait until he’s turned the corner before bolting toward the line of trees and home.

Chapter 30

After my conversation with Mr. Stewart, I decide to take a walk through the preserve to the high school, imagining Poppy being dropped there after the ERA rally. Thinking about the story Margot had shared about the creepy man who’d driven her home and wondering if the police had it right all along. It’s feasible that despite Margot and Mark insisting my father was lying, their feelings are clouded by the conflict my father was having with Danny at the time.

It’s deserted today and I take the trail toward the pond, a gorgeous expanse of water that wasn’t put in until long after I left Ojai. I try to imagine the meandering paths Poppy and her siblings would have worn down and followed through the weeds and tall grasses. To visualize the trees in a wilder context. But I can’t. The conservation group has done a wonderful job of saving this land for local wildlife habitats, and the old acreage now exists only in the memories of people who once lived here and in Poppy’s movies.

When I finally return to my car, I notice I have several texts from friends I haven’t heard from in months.

You’re working again??? Tell me more!

Good for you!

Fuck John Calder.

And one from Nicole, with a link.Call me ASAP.

The link takes me to John Calder’s latest social media post.Good news that a certain writer is back to work, since she owes me a lot of money. I look forward to taking a vacation on her advance.

That motherfucker.

I pull away from the curb as my phone rings. Nicole. I turn it off, not wanting to talk until I know exactly how this happened.

When I get back to my father’s house, I head straight upstairs to his office. He and Alma are out at another one of his appointments, and I crash into his chair, logging into his computer, the saved password allowing me access to his in-box once again. I see my last message to him—The book is under contract and I’m happy with its progress. I’m afraid that’s where we need to leave things.And then Calder’s response.I have some ideas about that.

I take a moment, trying to calm down. To quell the rage that has risen up inside of me. Calder’sideais to make it look as though I’m talking about the book so that they’ll fire me.

I try out several responses:

Drop dead, asshole.I delete the words.

Please do not contact me again.No.

This is Olivia Dumont. I could sue you for what you’re trying to do.Again, I delete the words.

I guess I don’t hear the door open downstairs because suddenly, my father is behind me. “What’s going on? Why are you sitting at my desk?”

I point to the computer screen. “Calder is trying to pitch you for the book.”

I scoot back so he can see the email on the screen before rememberingthat he can’t read it. Calder has been emailing into a black hole, and if I’d never responded, his pitch would have gone nowhere. But that doesn’t negate what he’s trying to do now.

“How would he have found out?” my father demands. “Did you tell him?”

I hold my hands up, embarrassed to see them shaking. “I haven’t told anyone anything about the book,” I say, swallowing hard. Knowing that’s not true. I’ve told Jack.

I mentally run through everyone I’ve interviewed, confirming to myself that none of them could have figured it out. “It wasn’t me,” I say again. Then I tell him about Tyler Blakewood, the man who thought they should have gone with Calder originally.

“And since you haven’t shown any interest, Calder is now trying to get me fired.” I read the post aloud, the one that sent a flurry of texts, emails, and calls to my phone before I turned it off. “‘Good news that a certain writer is back to work, since she owes me a lot of money. I look forward to taking a vacation on her advance.’”

“I’ll kill him,” my father says. I give him a sharp look and he says, “Calm down. I’m speaking figuratively.”

I glance back at Calder’s email on the screen. “What should we do? Do you want to respond?”

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