Page 38 of Kill Your Darlings

My rental car was parked in the drive.

There was no hiding.He’d already seen my car.I had to brazen this out.

I stepped into plain view, calling cheerfully, “Hey, there!”

He started and turned.Middle-aged, short, stocky, white beard, and yes, smoking a pipe.

He kept a little distance between us, calling, “I heard your car coming up the road.We don’t get a lot of visitors up here.”

I could tell he was slightly suspicious, but mostly curious.I was a white, refined-looking adult male driving a nice car.I did not fit anyone’s stereotypical criminal profile.

“That was me,” I agreed.I hooked a thumb over my shoulder, pointing back at the house.“I was looking for…Colby, is it?”

“Troy Colby, yeah.”

“He submitted a manuscript to the publishing house I work for.Since I’m in town for a conference, I thought I’d stop by and—”

“You’re going to publishhim?”Colby’s neighbor seemed astounded.

“Well, we’ll see.I definitely want to talk to him.”

“You mean he really did write a book?Is it anygood?”

“It certainly caught my attention.”

“Here, I thought it was all bullshit.He’s always claiming he’s working on this book or that book.I thought he was making it up.”

“Is he around?I knocked but no answer.”

Colby’s neighbor burst out laughing.“Well, here’s a funny thing.He’s at a writing conference in Monterey.I bet it’s the same damned conference you’re in town for!”

Chapter Ten

Why the hell had it never—not once—occurred to me that U.N.Owen might be attending the Noir at the Shore conference?

What.The.Hell.

I knew perfectly well only conference attendees could get into the panels.

No.In the interests of accuracy, local residents and random hotel guests did occasionally crash conference bookrooms and panels.Not often.

But the guy had submitted a blackmail threat in the form of a manuscript.Why hadn’t I considered the possibility that he was a genuine fan of the genre?Jesus.He was using the nom de plume U.N.Owen.How had that not been my first clue?

On the other hand, how would I have located him at the conference when I didn’t have his actual name and could barely recall what he looked like?

You could have messaged him.

Yes.I could have messaged him.But if I messaged him, I was admitting…too much.I’d be leaving cyber footprints, cyber fingerprints.I’d wanted to see for myself what I was dealing with.I wanted to look him in the eyes.

Well, instead, I’d got to look his neighbor in the eyes.

Great.

And for good measure I’d treated myself to the pleasure of dropping by the old family homestead so I could dredge up a lot of terrible memories that I’d spent years trying to flush.Not useful.Not productive.Not conducive to my mental or emotional health.

I took a couple of deep breaths as I drove slowly back to the main road.

Focus on the positives.I now had a name.Troy Colby.

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