Ghost Writer - Pandora Pine Page 0,37

hand reached out for another cookie.

“James Hale is the guy who totally lost his shit on Letterman back in the day. His book Darkest Before the Dawn was an international best seller until that late-night appearance.”

“What do you mean he lost his shit?” Cope leaned in closer.

“Hale made a big deal about the antique typewriter he’d used to write the book. When Letterman asked about it, Hale said it was haunted. Letterman started cracking jokes. Hale kept trying to tell the story, but the audience kept laughing. He ended up shouting obscenities and shoving Letterman. He had to be restrained by security.”

Cope’s mouth hung open, but no words came out.

“His career was ruined after that,” Ronan said. “He moved back to Salem and has been a recluse ever since.”

“Seriously? That book came out thirty years ago. He’s been banging around in that old house ever since?” Cope wore a worried look.

“Yeah, well those days are over. He lists his phone number on the sales slip. I’ll call him in the morning.” Jude was going to talk to James Hale and that was that.

Cope nodded. “We both will. He might be more willing to chat with total strangers if I’m there to tell him I’m having the same issue with the typewriter.”

Jude hoped having Cope on the line would help. Being confined to your house for thirty years could have serious effects on a person’s psyche. Watching the old Letterman clip, James hadn’t seemed very sane. After thirty years, Jude couldn’t imagine what condition he’d be in now.

17

Copeland

Cope was still in shock. Jamie Hale not only answered the phone but agreed to meet with him and Jude.

“Is it just me, or did you think this was too easy?” Jude sat staring out the Thunderbird’s windshield at the massive house. “Are we going to walk in there and he’ll have a freezer full of human heads?”

Cope snorted. “No. I’ve been scanning the house since you parked the car. He’s not a danger to either one of us, and the only questionable thing in the freezer is a bottle of Limoncello from the 1980s.”

“That’s a crying shame.” Jude shook his head.

“As for this being too easy, I never really stopped to consider that. What I do know is that thirty years is a long time to be stuck in any house. Even one as magnificent as this.” A pretty prison was still a prison.

Briarcrest was a rambling three story colonial mansion built in the eighteenth century. The original section of the house was three stories tall with white clapboards and a soaring view of Salem Harbor. A widow’s walk sat atop the house. A glassed-in atrium dominated the right side of the property.

Jude opened Cope’s door. A stiff ocean breeze stirred Cope’s hair. “This place is amazing.”

“You would never be happy here.” Cope pressed a kiss to Jude’s cheek.

“What do you mean?” Jude seemed puzzled by Cope’s statement.

The grandeur of the house reminded Cope of the New Orleans house he grew up in. “It’s too big. A house like this would swallow our little family whole.” Jude gave his head a little shake. “You in one room, me in another. Wolf playing video games in his room. We wouldn’t survive a house like this.”

Jude seemed to be considering Cope’s words. “You might be right.”

“I grew up in a house just like this one. The only time we were together as a family was at dinner. With as much time as my Mom and I spent working spells, we didn’t spend a lot of time together. There were no family movie nights or game nights…” Cope trailed off.

“Our little house is just perfect for our little family.” Jude pressed a kiss to the side of Cope’s head. “When our little man is old enough, we’ll have movie nights, craft nights, baking nights.” Jude snorted. “You name it, and we’ll do it.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. Especially the baking. If Ronan can learn to make cookies, so can you!”

Jude shot Cope a dirty look. “I can make cookies.”

“Yeah, when you buy a sleeve of raw cookie dough.”

“They’re still cookies.” Jude pouted.

Cope gave Jude’s shoulder a pat. “Just remember to be gentle. Jamie agreed to meet with us, but don’t be surprised if he changed his mind between then and now or isn’t as willing to talk about the typewriter as we’d like him to be.”

“I’ll let you do the talking.” There was no snark in Jude’s tone.

A wave of nervous energy broke over