September 9, Monday

THE SHRILL ring of my phone pierced the morning quiet, making me jump. When I saw Bruce's name on the screen, my stomach dropped. I'd been avoiding his calls, but I knew I couldn't put this off any longer.

Taking a deep breath, I answered. "Hi, Bruce."

"Josephine, darling!" His voice was chipper, but I could hear the tension underneath. "How's my favorite reclusive author?"

I winced. "I'm good, Bruce. How are you?"

"Oh, you know me. Just trying to keep the wolves at bay. Speaking of which..." He paused, and I braced myself. "How's the book coming along?"

I glanced guiltily at my notebook, filled with more doodles than actual writing. "It's... progressing."

Bruce sighed. "Josie, I need more than that. We're way past the deadline, and with everything else going on—"

"Everything else?" I interrupted, a knot forming in my chest.

"Ah. I was hoping to ease into this, but... well, there's no easy way to say it. Curtis's claims about writing your books? They're gaining traction."

The knot in my chest tightened. "How is that possible?"

"Social media, darling. It's a beast. His posts have gone viral, and now some 'insider sources' are backing him up. It's caught the attention of the VP of Editorial."

I sank onto the porch swing, my legs suddenly weak. "Bruce, Curtis never wrote a word of my books."

"I know that," he said, his voice softening. "But perception is everything in this business. And right now, the perception is that our rising-star romance author might be a fraud."

Tears stung my eyes. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Well, for starters, we need to prove your authorship. The higher-ups want to see time-stamped files of your books, with the IP addresses where they originated."

My heart sank. "Bruce, I... I don't have those files anymore. My laptop died, remember?"

The silence on the other end was deafening.

"Okay," Bruce said finally, his voice tight. "Is there any way you can get Curtis to retract his statements?"

"The man who emptied my bank accounts and left me in debt? Yeah, I'm sure he'd be happy to help."

"Josie—"

"No, Bruce. I can't. I won't beg that... that parasite for anything."

Bruce was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "I understand. But Josie, we need to do something. Without those files, and with this new book so delayed... it doesn't look good."

I closed my eyes, feeling utterly powerless. Curtis had already taken so much from me—my savings, my confidence, my trust. And now he was trying to take my career, the one thing I had left.

"What happens if I can't prove it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce hesitated. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. But... well, there's talk of an investigation. Possibly even retracting your previous books if we can't verify your authorship."

The world seemed to tilt beneath me. "They can't do that. Bruce, those books are mine. Every word, every late night, every revision—that was all me."

"I believe you, darling. But we need proof."

I swiped at a tear, anger replacing my despair. "So what, Curtis can just lie and everyone believes him? How is that fair?"

"It's not," Bruce said simply. "But fair doesn't always factor into publishing, I'm afraid."

We talked for a few more minutes and Bruce promised to do what he could to buy me more time. But after I hung up, I felt more lost than ever.

I'd come to Irving to escape, to heal, to write. Instead, I found myself distracted by the web of secrets surrounding the Whisper Graveyard.

But I had to get serious about my deadline.

And I had to figure out what to do about Curtis. I'd joked with Frida about having a curse put on him. Even if it didn't work, it might make me feel better.