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Lori: Is he hurting for cash?
Fiona: I wouldn’t think so. He comes from “old money,” not on his father’s side, but his mother’s. Why the sudden interest?
Lori: I’m kind of falling in love with him and somebody just suggested maybe he was after my money.
Fiona: LOL! Christie or Jess maybe—you or me? Doubtful. He’s a good friend of Slade’s and Thorn’s, I can’t imagine he’d have any nefarious purpose for romancing you other than the fact that he was giving the guys shit about taking all the best girls. Slade suggested you were still available.
Lori: I’m going to kill your husband.
Fiona: Please don’t. I’m really enjoying getting laid on a frequent and regular basis! Seriously, I’ll ask Slade, but I’d be willing to bet everything I own that Ryker McKay is a good guy.
Lori: No; don’t worry Slade with it. When I think about it, you’re right. Slade and Thorn wouldn’t be good friends with some guy who wasn’t as honorable as they are. He saved guys from a burning transport?
Fiona: Yep and took heavy fire from enemy snipers. They weren’t sure they could save one of the legs it was shot up so bad. But he survived with both legs intact and worked his ass off to get it pretty much functional. And then there’s the whole getting the girls out of a burning building. Talk about a romantic hero.
Lori: Thanks, Fi. My love to Slade. We’ll talk soon. Love you.
Fiona: Same to you. Slade just got home and was reading over my shoulder. He’s a sneaky SOB like that. He says Ryker doesn’t need your money. He’s got his own—like Jessica’s kind of money.
Lori: Tell Slade Thanks.
That put her mind at ease. She would talk to Ryker about what Annette suggested and apologize for ever doubting him. Lori began sorting through the ribbons, picking one at random. It was tedious work, made longer when she got the knack of actually reading them and making sense of them.
Reaching for another ribbon, she pulled it up and began sorting through it. The ribbon, or at least the typing, was smudged. Turning on the flashlight app of her phone and holding the ribbon directly over it made it easier to read. She began deciphering the distorted letters and they began to sound familiar. Pulling out her notebook she began to write them down and then drawing lines through where the space would be between the words.
“Holy shit!” she whispered.
She typed what she had deciphered into her writing app on her phone. She asked for it to search for the same wording. It took a minute or two and as she suspected, it was a passage from one of Antony Cobain’s books.
Lori didn’t have time to register the sensation of something settling around her neck when it pulled tight, yanking against her skin. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”
She made a grab at the noose that was tightening and cutting off her air, managing to get her fingers between it and her throat. She could tell it was a typewriter ribbon and recognized the voice as that of Annette as darkness closed around her.
* * *
RYKER
Ryker followed Ezra back to the hotel, where they encountered Jonathon Lockwood. He appeared to be worse for wear.
“Is he drunk?” asked Ryker, now concerned for Lori.
“He’s been about half drunk since Cobain died.”
“Were they close?”
“Antony Cobain wasn’t close to anyone, but there was a rumor he and Lockwood were in cahoots and then had a falling out. You don’t really think I killed Cobain, do you? I mean, I didn’t like the guy, but then, neither did anyone else, including your lovely paramour.” He said the last with a leer.
“For the record, Lori is my girl and I take great offense to anyone making disparaging remarks about her in any capacity. That was your one freebee. Don’t do it again.”
“Hey, McKay, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. The fact is, I like her. She’s a really nice gal and one hell of a writer. If you two found each other, then good for you. Seriously.”
“If you didn’t do it, then who do you think did?”
“The ghostwriter, and no, I don’t know who that is. But there are rumors that whoever it is has gotten tired of living in the shadows on the crumbs Cobain has been tossing out.”
Up in Ezra’s room, Ryker went through the drawers and Ezra even opened the safe and let him examine the contents. It looked like Ezra was not their guy and was not trying to hide anything. When he handed him the only spool-to-spool typewriter ribbon, Ryker found there was nothing but some boring notes Ezra had made for himself.
“I like the clickity-clack sound the keys make. I type out notes for the plot—even make an outline, but then I use that to write the book on my laptop. It’s inefficient to write an entire book on a typewriter. You can’t edit it effectively there.”
