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It was the early hours of the morning when Gus closed the book. Mac was still there, waiting. “Okay, I see what you’re saying, Mac. But I’m not sure what you think this means.”
“Theo made very detailed notes about this book. They were taken from your house after the brick was thrown through the window, and then my place when I was arrested. They were supposedly returned to you and then lost in the fire. The only way they could have ended up with this Altamirano guy is if the original or whatever copies the Kansas PD made, were passed on.” There was a fury building in Mac’s eyes. “After everything they did to her, Gus, we can’t let them steal her book too.”
Gus rubbed his face. Mac was right. This was one cut too many. “How would we prove this was Theo’s story, Mac?”
“Copies of her notes are probably in a police file somewhere. I’ll find them.”
Gus didn’t ask how. If anybody could hack the Kansas PD, it was probably Mac Etheridge, but as much as Gus’s legal career was over, he was still an officer of the court. There were some things he was more comfortable not knowing.
There was a thought he didn’t want to voice or acknowledge. It was ludicrous—Theo would never have walked away and casually restarted her life in Chile. Not while he was in the hospital and Mac in prison. She wouldn’t have done that. The idea was stupid.
CHAPTER 35
Has anyone read “Afterlife”? It’s a book about ghosts but I think there’re messages in it. Could it be the manifesto Primus promised us before they killed him?
WKWWK
Flagman
Just ordered it.
Frodo 14
It’s on special on Amazon.
Lostboy
Gus had closed all his own social media accounts three years before, after Theo had first disappeared, when he’d become the target in her stead for the anger of bereaved fans and keyboard vigilantes. So, he felt a little absurd trying to stalk P. S. Altamirano online. And to no avail. The writer had no official pages or accounts, nor any personal accounts either. It was unusual for a writer. There was a website…slick, designed, managed by the media company. He found numerous threads discussing the book and some that debated whether Altamirano was male or female, and countless articles on the phenomenal success of the mysterious writer, including one from Publishers Weekly featuring a statement from an agent justifying the fact that there were no photographs of the author.
“We knew from the first reading that we had a superstar in the making. We made the decision then to preserve as much privacy for P.S. as possible. It is not easy to be in the public eye, and we were well aware that the book would attract a lot of attention. We represent writers not books, so we are interested in ensuring the long-term viability of our clients’ lives.”
It was unusual, but Gus could see the sense in it. The public’s interest in the lives of writers had increased with the accessibly afforded by social media and the web in general, but that very accessibility was dangerous. Online friendship was a fickle thing. Loose comments, failed jokes, or simple flares of temper could unleash a contagion of outrage and condemnation. It was no longer enough to write a good book; authors had to be photogenic, witty saints as well.
But maybe there was another reason for the inaccessibility of P. S. Altamirano, the complete lack of any information beyond a basic, publicist-produced bio. God, what if there was another reason?
Gus was torn between wanting to believe Theo was alive, and not wanting to believe that she would do this—to him, to Mac, to everybody who had mourned her. He understood that she’d been scared. He would have helped her run, if that’s what she wanted to do, but if she’d just left… He cursed. There was a memory buried in a pethidine haze: Theo apologizing, begging him not to hate her. She’d been terrified. And she’d left that book…the novel he’d had Jack Chase sign for her when she was a kid. Why had she left that?
Mac seemed intent on avenging what he thought was the theft of Theo’s manuscript…or the notes for her manuscript. Gus shook his head. He’d suspected that his sister had feelings for Mac, but he’d only recently worked out that Mac returned them. Even after three years.
If not for that realization, Gus might have kept the nagging idea that P. S. Altamirano was Theo, or working with Theo, to himself. It seemed disloyal to suggest, and his instinct was still to defend her even against his own accusation. But he had realized. And Mac Etheridge had stood by him through disaster, grief, and despair. He had to trust him with this.
When Gus Benton arrived on his doorstep the next morning with a laptop and an idea that wouldn’t leave him be, Mac listened. He had, after all, started this by showing Gus the book. “You think Theo just took off while you were in the hospital and left you to deal with the fallout?” Mac was skeptical. “I can’t see it, Gus. She wouldn’t have done that to you. I was with her when she found out you’d been shot—she wasn’t thinking of anyone else but you.”
“Maybe she thought that confessing was the only way to save me. Mendes was still intent on charging me with Mary Cowell’s murder.” Gus pulled up the article from Publishers Weekly, and then turned his laptop screen to face Mac. “There is this.”
Mac saw it immediately. “Day Delos and Associates Management. Isn’t that—”
“The mob Theo was talking to? Yes.”
“And they were Dan Murdoch’s agents too.” Mac frowned. “What was her name…the woman Theo was talking to?”
“Cole, I think. Valerie or Victoria or something.”
Mac studied the screen thoughtfully. “That is an interesting coincidence.”
“More than interesting,” Gus insisted.
“Perhaps.” Mac punched in a quick search on Day Delos and Associates as he told Gus what he’d found. “The Kansas PD doesn’t have a copy of Theo’s notes.”
