Fox Island (21 page)

“Barbara Mason says her mother fell and
broke her hip. They’re rushing her to a hospital in Tacoma. She’s
desperate to find Melody. I don’t think Barbara does well under
stress, and Melody usually handles this kind of thing. We have any
way of reaching her?”

“I don’t know where that scene is being
taped.”

“That’s what I told Barbara. After the way I
scolded her last week, I thought she’d never talk to me again, but
she practically begged me to come over and drive her into Tacoma.
She hates driving over the Narrows Bridge. I think I should
go.”

“But do you feel comfortable doing
that?”

“It’s a possible chance for a follow up.
Besides, it was her idea.”

“Then go. You’re about caught up with me
anyway.”

“Yes, but I still need to re-edit chapter
five. I’ve only got it down to twenty-seven pages.”

“Chopping that much isn’t easy, is it?”

“No, but this is not shaping up to be an
easy morning, either.”

“Apprehensive about being with Melody’s
mother?”

“I meant it won’t be easy for you.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Oh?”

“Remember? This is the morning the church
ladies stop by to get our advice on how to begin a writer’s
critique group.”

“What? Here? Today?”

“That’s what you told them.”

“But I supposed you’d be the one to talk to
them. You’ll have to call and cancel.”

“I can’t do that, Tony. I already turned
down their first two suggested dates. Besides, they’ll be on their
way by now.”

“I’ll tell them you had an emergency. Maybe
they can all go out to lunch or something.”

“That’s not right. You agreed.”

“I certainly didn’t agree to sit around and
have tea with a dozen old ladies for a couple hours.”

“They’re bringing their own homemade
doughnuts and an espresso maker. There’s only six of them and the
oldest doesn’t look a day over thirty-nine. But you can have your
choice. Do you want to drive Barbara to the hospital? Or stay with
the ladies?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll take the
doughnuts.”

“Okay, but behave yourself. Be … fatherly.
I’ll grab my purse and run. I want to get there before Barbara
completely falls to pieces. From the sounds of our conversation,
that won’t be long.”

In what seemed to Tony record time, Price
rushed out the door on her way to Gig Harbor. He wandered to the
deck and watched seagulls near the water’s edge fight over a scrap
until it dropped into the Sound, buried somewhere below their
frantic dives. The sky was hazy, but the sun beat through with
steady summer warmth.

Lord, I don’t mean to complain, but I just
want to write.

He loved everything about the writing
process. Digging around dusty roads and ghost towns for research.
Crafting characters that jumped off the page. Living out every
scene. Even the fun of telling the stories of the hidden west
places. However, the other stuff ... interviews, contracts, book
signings, writers’ conferences, and critique groups. He didn’t do
them well. They seemed like such distractions. Let Price do that
part.

The doorbell rang several times before he
shook himself free from his thoughts and sauntered into the house.
Eight women introduced themselves. Two brought their mothers. Tony
dragged in extra dining chairs and opened the drapes full length,
hoping to distract them with the beach and bird scene. They circled
him in the living room and served him delicious homemade chocolate
and caramel doughnuts and a mug of steaming mocha coffee with a
huge dollop of floating whipped cream and chocolate curls.

Tony tried on as sincere a smile as he could
muster and listened to the chatter. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad
after all.

Cherry somebody was in charge. “Mr.
Shadowbrook, I can’t tell you what an honor it is to get to meet
with you.”

“Please call me Tony. I’m sorry my wife
couldn’t be here. An emergency. She’s the expert in critique and
editing. I’m afraid you got stuck with the lesser of the
Shadowbrooks when it comes to this sort of thing.”

They didn’t seem convinced. For an hour they
barraged him with questions as his mug of espresso got cold.

“Where do you get your ideas?”

“What’s a book proposal look like?”

“Who publishes poetry?”

“What’s the best computer program to
use?”

“Where do you get writers’ guidelines?”

“How many different publishers have you
worked with?”

“How much money can you make on writing?
Will it pay the bills?”

“Do you copyright your own work?”

They leaned forward or scribbled in
notebooks as they listened intently to every word. Several
explained their WIPs--works in progress. No sluggards here. Each
gal came prepared to learn.

Cherry’s widowed mother, Patsy Mitchell,
talked the most, a plump woman with kind eyes. “At this season of
my life, I’m reading a lot more, and you have become one of my very
favorite authors.”

“Thank you, Patsy.”

She gently touched his arm. “The characters
in your books have become my friends. I feel like I know them well.
I sometimes find myself worrying about them. I feel I should have a
picture of them in my wallet. When your newest book in a series
comes out, it’s like a letter from home. I get caught up on how
everyone’s doing.”

Tony felt a lightness in his chest as a
satisfied warmth spread through him. “That’s just about the nicest
compliment I’ve ever received.”

Patsy flushed and cleared her throat. “But
there’s something I have to ask you.” She leaned in close. “You
aren’t going to let Houston marry Beth Marie, are you? She’s no
good for him.”

The room roared with laughter. In the midst
of the cheerful noise, the phone rang. Tony rose to answer it.

“Is this Anthony Shadowbrook, the famous
writer of western novels?” a deep voiced man began.

What was he selling? He should hang up.

“Tony, this is KSAB in Denver. You’re on the
air, partner.”

“What?”

“You’re live on 103.5 FM talk radio, and
we’re calling a dozen of the country’s top western writers to ask
if they can remember the first lines of their last novel.”

“Are you kidding?”

“That’s exactly what Elmer Kelton just
said. Don’t grab a copy. Give us a spontaneous rendition of the
first lines of
Standoff Creek.”

“Eh...” Tony rubbed his head. “‘The bullet
that struck Brownie seemed to fall straight out of the sky. When
the horse went down, Houston didn’t know whether to dive right or
left. Either way, he knew he had to come up firing.’”

“Right on. I can’t believe it. Joaquin
Estaban couldn’t even remember the
title
of his latest book. Tell us the truth, did
you read that?”

“No. I’ve got eight lovely women here in the
room to verify it.”

“Amazing. How are you able to remember the
exact words?”

“Because I was riding the horse when it
happened.”

“Would you explain that to our radio
audience? Are you saying this really happened to you?”

“I’m saying I walk through and ride out
every one of my scenes. They become personal memories, like any
real experience.”

“Weird, man. You writers are wild. So, do
you always pack the room with chicks when you write?”

“Actually, it’s a group of ladies from the
church.”

“Like I said, you writers are eccentric.
We’re going to take a break now, and when we come back, western
week continues. Thanks, Tony.”

“Adios
, trail
partners.” He turned toward eight pairs of astonished
eyes.

“That was a radio show?” Cherry asked.

“Yeah, but usually they book things ahead of
time. It’s not often a spur of the moment thing like that. Sorry
for the interruption, gals.”

“Do you do lots of radio interviews?”

“One a week is average.” Tony decided to
turn this occasion around to his advantage. “While I have you here,
by any chance are any of you native Fox Islanders?”

“Oh, yes,” Patsy said, “I grew up on the
Island. After the war I got a job in Olympia, and I’ve lived there
ever since. I used to be a very good friend of Jill’s and
Jessica’s. But after the wreck ... we lost Jill, you know ... and
Jessica, well, she seemed so lost without her sister.”

Tony switched from polite to rapt attention.
“I hear she changed quite a bit after the wreck.”

“That’s true,” Patsy continued. “The only
way we could really tell them apart was Jessica seemed more
dominant. She made decisions for them, like going to Radcliffe.
Jill was the quiet one, introverted. She waited for Jessie to make
their next move. But after the accident, the spark went out of
Jessica. We often wondered what if Jessica died instead. She was so
dependent on her sister.”

“Jessica’s sudden marriage to Reynolds must
have been a shock to Jill.”

“I suppose. A complete surprise to all of
us, although we presumed Jessica would marry first. But, of course,
Jill never made it home to tell us how she felt.”

Tony looked around the group. They all
seemed interested, so he kept on. “Did you go to high school with
the twins?”

“Yes, we rode the ferry together. Did you
know Jill broke her legs in an accident?”

“We read about that.”

“All those weeks Jill was laid up, I rode
the ferry with Jessica and we’d bring Jill’s schoolwork home to
her.”

“Jessica went to school during that time? I
understood from her she stayed home to help care for Jill.”

“Poor dear. We’re all getting a little
forgetful. I can assure you, she attended school.”

Once again the phone intruded. Tony
apologized and wiped his sticky hands on a red-and- yellow striped
paper napkin. “Shadowbrooks.”

“Davidian here. Tony, last night I was
at this big ranch party in Ojai, and Ted said TBS might want to
look at an option on
Stampede
Creek.
Here’s the problem. I don’t have the signed
agreement yet. My hands are tied, pal. Can you FedEx that contract
to me tomorrow?”

“You talked to Ted Turner about making my
book into a movie?”

“Did I say Turner? I meant Ted Roberts. He’s
a VP or something in charge of movie production.”

“I’m not real happy with that agreement
yet.”

“Tony, Tony, don’t you see you’re missing
the big ones? I can make you a rich man if you’d let me.”

“Yeah, that’s what Ed McMahon tells me every
month. Look, if you don’t hear from me in a couple weeks, the
answer is no.”

“Nonsense. What about all the work I’ve done
on this project already?”

“It’s a risky business.”

“Hey, I believe in this book. I’ll
give you until
el primero de Septiembre.
Comprende?”

“Si.”

“You drive a tough deal, Tony.”

“Good-bye, Terry.”

Several of the ladies picked up cups and
plates as the others gathered purses and notebooks. “Were you
making a movie deal?” Cherry asked.

“It’s very preliminary . An agent might be
able to sell an option ... which means they have first rights to
make a movie. But even if they pick up an option, it doesn’t mean
they’ll ever make anything out of it.”

“But still, talking to someone in Hollywood.
Incredible.”

The ladies traipsed in a line toward the
front door. Tony trailed after them. Once again the phone rang.
Patsy shooed him away. “We’ll let ourselves out. It’s probably
Harrison Ford asking to play the part of Houston.”

“Harrison’s too old for the part, Mother,”
Cherry remarked.

“Really? But he looks like such a young
man.”

The door closed behind them and Tony grabbed
the phone.

“Daddy?”

Kit’s calling me
‘Daddy’?
“What’s up, darlin’? I can hardly hear
you.”

“Eh ... D-Daddy?”

“What’s wrong, babe? What happened? Where
are you?”

“I’m okay ... really. I’m near Oak Creek
Canyon.”

“What are you doing up there?”

“Long story. I’m using Mom’s cellular phone
’cause Linc’s a jerk.” Kit sobbed again.

“What did he do?” Both anger and fear leaped
out of his heart and throbbed in his throat.

“Linc drove me up here last night to look at
a friend’s car, but the friend was gone. So he suggested we spend
the rest of the night at this friend’s one bedroom cabin.”

“He did, eh?” Did she? Surely she didn’t.
More crying. “Do you need to talk to your mother?”

“I told him to take me home, but he
wouldn’t. He said I was acting immature. That I should grow up and
have some fun. Said he brought some whiskey, and we should have
ourselves a little party. Then he started hanging all over me.”

“What did you do?”

“I shoved him off and told him if he tried
to touch me again, he’d get a half-inch ratchet alongside the ear.
Then he laughed and said I was fantasizing. Said he couldn’t
believe I actually thought he wanted to make love to someone with
grease under her fingernails.”

“What did you do then?”

“I grabbed my toolbox and hiked over the
mountain to 1-17. But I didn’t have the nerve to hitchhike, so I
stayed at a rest stop until daylight. Then I figured I’d call Josh
to come pick me up, but I’ve tried and tried and I can’t reach him.
What am I going to do?” She attempted to stop crying, to control
herself.

“Josh is up here in the Seattle area doing a
stunt.”

“He is?”

“Did you call Mark?”

“No, this is the week they were driving over
to San Diego to see Amanda’s folks, remember? I was too embarrassed
to call anyone else.”

“How about Kathy?”

“I can’t, Pop. I can’t call her. She’s mad
at me dating Line... and now she’ll say... she’ll say I’m stupid
and should have never gotten myself into this fix and I’m acting
real immature. This is really something that an eighteen-year-old
should know how to avoid. I really thought he wanted me to look at
this guy’s car. Is that naive?”