Ghostwriter Read Online Free PDF Page A

Nobody
     liked the truth when it was bad.
    So Dennis remained silent on the issue.
    He’d figure something out.
4.
    There had been no way to do it. He wasn’t sure how to pull Maureen aside and tell her during dinner. He wasn’t sure how to
     tell her or exactly what to say. All he knew was that he was in trouble, and time was truly ticking away.
    As he sat in the cab heading back to his hotel, the irony of all this pampering from his publisher gutted him.
    Just moments earlier he’d received a text message from his phone service reminding him that if he didn’t pay the bill that
     was overdue by two weeks, they would shut off his service. Sure, it was just a hundred dollars or so. No big deal, right?
     Not for someone like Dennis, some big-name bestselling author.
    But the text was a symptom of something much bigger.
    It wasn’t his negligence in paying a stupid cell phone bill. It was his avoiding paying any bills—which would force him to
     think about his financial situation, which would force him to think about the novel he was supposed to be writing and handing
     in to get his next check.
    All of this would speak the truth, a truth he didn’t want to hear.
    As he climbed out of the cab and headed into his swanky hotel, thoughts of his unpaid bills hung over him like vultures waiting
     for a carcass, circling and hovering. Just a few years ago money was not an issue, and it was easy paying for a cabin in Beaver
     Creek, Colorado, or paying Audrey’s college tuition outright.
    But then Lucy got sick. And their family insurance didn’t turn out to be as helpful as he had hoped.
    None of that mattered the moment Lucy told him. But it mattered now. He had Audrey to think about, and he couldn’t lose their
     house in Geneva.
    It meant too much to Audrey to lose it.
    He decided to go to the hotel bar to have a drink. Not to think about things but to
not
think about things. He didn’t want to think about the book he wasn’t writing, the book he wouldn’t be handing in, the advance
     check he desperately needed but wouldn’t be receiving anytime soon.
    He didn’t want to think about the cabin in Beaver Creek that had been for sale for the last year and a half.
    Dennis didn’t want to think about any of it because it always came down to the same old thing.
    The bitter reality that Lucy was gone.
5.
    The telephone rang. Dennis knew he was dreaming because it didn’t sound anything like the telephones in his house. Not the
     one in his bedroom nor in his office nor in the kitchen.
    He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. The phone continued ringing.
    I’m not at home.
    His hand waved through the black to find the phone.
    “Hello?”
    “I hope you appreciate the fact that I spared you from embarrassment and humiliation tonight in front of your agent and your
     editor and your adoring fans.”
    Dennis opened his eyes, looking at the clock on the dresser.
    It was 3:15.
    “Who is this?”
    “You know who it is,” Cillian Reed said.
    “Why are you calling?”
    “Because our conversation is not over.”
    “Yes it is.”
    “No, Mr. Shore, it’s not. You stole something of mine.”
    “I didn’t steal anything.”
    “I think we both know that’s not true.”
    “I don’t know what—”
    “You know exactly what you did. And you turned pale as a ghost earlier because you were afraid I was going to tell them, weren’t
     you? But I didn’t.”
    Dennis didn’t say anything, wondering if he was dreaming.
    “What did you think—that I would never find out? That you could slap another one of your appallingly unoriginal titles on
     a hardcover and go completely unnoticed?”
    “Look—”
    “Granted, we all lead very busy lives, and mine in particular has been quite thrilling these last—well, who keeps track of
     time anyway? But did you really honestly think I would not find out?”
    “What do you want?”
    “What do
I
want? What do
I
want?”
    The words were spoken slowly and quietly, as if