Once Upon a Novel by MARY KELLY REED

Author:MARY KELLY REED
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: 7 SEASONS
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Once we get outside, Danny grabs my hand. “Stop. We’re not going to Kate Davis’s house.”

“Danny, please. I have a feeling there’s more going on than she was telling us. This is our chance to get answers to some of our questions.”

“There’s a more simple and effective way to do that. Let’s go ask her. Because not only is breaking into her house a crime, but I doubt we’ll find anything useful.”

“But she’s not going to just admit the truth herself. We need proof to confront her.”

“You can always threaten to tell the police about your suspicions; which you should do, by the way.”

I know when I have no chance of winning—plus I don’t really see myself showing up at Kate’s house alone, at night, so I follow him to the hotel. The reception desk calls Kate, and she agrees to see us. But she seems surprised and not particularly thrilled by our visit.

“We would like to talk to you about something very important,” I announce, getting straight to the point.

“I was just getting ready for bed.”

“This won’t take long. I’d rather talk to you before going to the police. I hope you’ll be able to answer our questions.”

She ushers us inside. “What is this about?”

I can tell she’s nervous about what I’m going to say.

“I don’t think you told us the truth about your relationship with your brother. I think you’re still angry with him and not just because he left—because you’re the one who writes his books and he’s the one who gets all the recognition.”

“Me, write his books?” she repeats, incredulous. “I work two jobs; I barely have time to sleep, much less write.”

“I saw the creative writing trophies on your bookcase.”

“So? Just because I had talent doesn’t mean I wanted to be a writer. I already told you, I was upset with my brother for a long time. Because we had the same dreams: to see the world, experience new things, make something of ourselves, but certainly not because I’m the author of his books.”

“So you think he wrote the books himself?” I ask, refusing to give up. Now that the idea is in my head, I can’t let it go.

“Of course … Peter was always good at making up stories ever since we were kids. He was better than me actually.”

“So how come you’re the one who won the trophies?”

“Simple. He was lazy. He never wanted to put in any real effort. Every time he started a new activity, my dad was worried he’d just quit but my mother would encourage him. When my dad died, she was the one who pushed him to focus on his writing. My father was a broke college professor. He loved his work but he didn’t leave us much money. My mother took all her savings and gave them to Peter; that’s how much she believed in him. And she was right. One year later, he signed his first publishing contract. Today, I’m not angry with him anymore. I’m happy for his success and glad that he seems to want to reconcile with me.

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