Page 6 of Jack
Harper turned up the heat in her cute little Chevy Sonic. She should have packed better for her drive north. Hopefully her mother hadn’t gotten rid of her winter clothing.
Then again, her mother made her living helping people let go of the past.
“It’s not Boo Kingston I’m worried about,” Clarice said. “It’s her fiancé’s manager, Goldie. You don’t know her like I do.”
Outside, the wind cast snow across ice-crusted fields and into the late-afternoon shadows. Now and again, a red silo pierced the horizon, the rumpled cornfields cordoned off by stands of oak or pine.
Serene. She’d forgotten that, maybe.
She took a sip of her hot cocoa, cooling in the paper cup from Caribou Coffee. “Listen. Boo’s an old friend. We went to all twelve grades together. I’m practically family. She’ll say yes and talk Oaken into it.”
“It won’t matter. Goldie’s probably fielding all the exclusive offers, includingPeoplemagazine.”
“Boo is not interested in fame, believe me. The last thing she wants is for her wedding to be splashed across a national magazine?—”
“Excuse me, but isn’t that what you’re asking of her? To get the nitty-gritty details of Brontë Kingston and Oaken Fox’s fairy-tale wedding and sell it toInside NashvegasorPopMuse?”
Harper imagined Clarice sitting in her home in Franklin, outside Nashville, in the cute office above her three-car garage, with its vaulted ceilings and pictures of her clients—artists, photographers, and the occasional freelance writer who got in over her head.
“Yes, but . . . I’ll make it . . .authentic. Talk about how they came together during the reality show and how she supported Oaken during the Mike Grizz case, and maybe talk to the family members.”
She drew in a breath at her words.Someof the family members.
Please, please let Jack be off chasing a missing person. . .
“Let the past be a stepping stone, not a stumbling block.” Yeah, thanks, Doctor Malone.
“Fine. I’ll put out feelers and see who bites. But Goldie is still pretty angry about the tell-all piece you did on her client, that singer-actress-whatever-she-is superstar, Bliss.”
“I sent Bliss the copy before I published it. Got the okay.”
“She claims she never read it. That she had no idea you’d gone digging into the death of her mom, and her dad’s history?—”
“That’s what made people love it! It was one ofPopMuse’s best-selling issues last year. Especially afterMain Street Blueswon the Oscar for best picture.”
“And that’s the only reason that Bliss isn’t pursuing a lawsuit. Goldie negotiated for higher residuals on the article—but we’re back to our roadblock. Goldie. She’s going to be a tiger for Oaken’s privacy.”
“I got this. Trust me. It’s going to be amazing.”
“It better be, because your career might be over if it isn’t. You’ll be writing for theDuck Lake Gazette.”
“It’s theDuck Lake Currents.”
“Clever.”
“It’s a weekly. And it’s where I started. I’m sure they’d take me back.”
Kidding. The last place she wanted to live was Duck Lake. Too close to the Doc and, well, memories.
“It’ll give you plenty of time to write that novel you’ve been talking about. Maybe fiction is your gig anyway.”
“I don’t write fiction. I write . . .vivid nonfiction.It’s why people love my stories. I bring them into the world I’m describing.” But the idea of writing fiction had lived in her head sincePopMusefired her from their regular staff roster six months ago. Frankly, she’d been working on a romance for years.
Just not one that could ever be published.
“Vivid nonfiction. That’s one way of putting it.” Clarice sighed. “I’d call it overuse of your imagination. One of these days you’re going to go too far, dig too deep, and I’m not going to be able to rescue you.”
“Some people just can’t handle the truth.”