(See previous disclaimer.)
A/N: A not-so brief but pivotal chapter. Chapters will start getting shorter again soon.
Pumpkins are loaded with vitamin A and potassium. (Useless factoid, couldn't resist.)
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Rainey set off for Nadine's house the next day with four more pumpkins in his trunk. After a restless night, he'd given up attempts to sleep and gone back to "Gemini Descending". The next several chapters introduced Michael Hernandez, Janice's new therapist, who started probing at her problems. "Fugue states" was the term the therapist used to describe the blackouts Janice was having. He was inquiring about the trauma of her broken engagement...then Cecelia showed up for an appointment and tried to seduce him. When that didn't work, she managed to swipe a folder full of confidential patient information, and tried blackmail.
Mort was caught up in the story in spite of himself. Yes, it was uncomfortably close to home, but maybe that was part of it. Janice's confusion and fear bore an unmistakable similiarity to his own feelings.
Having to put the book down to shower and shave before his lunch date was harder than he'd've expected. He chose one of the more colorful shirts he'd gotten last summer during his initial burst of optimism at having the Amy situation resolved. (That faded out fast enough, especially when it didn't unblock me. Anyway, if I go over there looking like a slob, Shooter will give me hell for it later. No point in pissing him off on purpose.)
Nadine greeted him warmly. Mort looked around the big open area of the cottage, taking in the hats ringing the room and wishing his own place was so uncluttered. "No books?" he asked, before he could stop himself. It was the one thing that didn't click.
"Upstairs." She waved a hand toward the steps ascending to the loft above. "Figured it was easier to keep things contained that way. Are you ready for some pumpkin?"
"Good grief," he said as she produced a serving bowl of something orangey with chunks of ham and vegetables. "Pumpkin stir fry?"
"More or less. Also pumpkin turnovers --" another plate "-- pumpkin mousse, that's in the fridge with some whipped cream for later, and last but not least, pumpkin nut bread!" She ceremonially set a loaf on a cutting board down on the table with the other dishes.
Rainey laughed. "What are you putting off writing this time?" he teased.
"Oh, hush!" Her cheeks were pink. "You're not supposed to say that! Shoot, you've got me pegged, don't you? The big confrontation with my killer and the person who's been putting the pieces together is coming up, and I'm really not ready to go there."
Nadine's pumpkin experiments were pretty tasty, Rainey discovered. The stir-fry was on the spicy side, the turnovers weren't a dessert item at all -- there was onion in them -- and her pumpkin nut bread was even better than her banana nut bread. As he ate, Mort returned to her earlier comment.
"If your big confrontation scene is coming up, you must be nearly done with whatever it is."
"The end is in sight. Which brings me to something I wanted to ask you about...."
Her grey eyes met his, and Mort's gut knotted. (Confrontation. Oh god, she knows. What am I going to do?) "I think it would be fun to collaborate on something," she said, impaling a chunk of ham on her fork. "You and me. We could take turns writing chapters or get together a couple times a week to brainstorm. What do you think?"
"Uh...." The proposal was so far removed from what he'd expected that for a moment, Rainey couldn't think straight. "That could be...interesting," he said cautiously. Remembering what had happened last summer, he asked, "How would we go about it? I mean, so there's no confusion about who gets credit for what."
Nadine shrugged elaborately. "You call your agent, I call my agent, they do lunch. Then they call our mutual publisher and negotiate obscene amounts of money for both of us. We share a by-line and our mutual readers line up in droves to buy the hardcover."
That was a perfectly sensible suggestion, and Rainey thought about it. On the one hand, there was the possibility that the more time she spent with him, the more likely she was to uncover his secret. Shooter was right; that slow, down-home accent camouflaged a quick mind. But the prospect of working with that mind was enticing. Mort knew he wasn't really back on track, although the last couple of weeks had produced better work than he'd done since before the split with Amy. Wouldn't it be great to have someone to bounce ideas off of, someone who could look over a scene with fresh eyes and improve it?
"How would we decide what to write? You have some great idea kicking around that you want to try?"
"How about we each write down a couple ideas, an opening scene, a character, something like that, and draw one out of a hat?"
"No shortage of those," Rainey said, looking around the room.
"So, is that a yes?"
Rainey wrestled with his conscience and lost. The temptation was too great. "That's a yes."
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