Ellipsis by Stephen Greenleaf Read Free Book Online

had been replaced by boots of such soft leather they seemed to have melted around her ankles. “Coffee will be ready in a minute,” she said. “Do you take cream?”
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œI could make a Bloody Mary if you want one.”
    â€œNot while I’m on duty. But thanks.”
    â€œIs that chair comfortable enough for you?”
    â€œIt’s fine.”
    â€œThe reason I ask is that you seem ill at ease all of a sudden, Mr. Tanner.”
    I laughed uneasily. “I think it’s because I have a feeling I’m not going to get the job done this morning.”
    â€œWhat job is that?”
    â€œTricking you into revealing your deep-seated animosity toward Chandelier Wells.”
    â€œHa,” she cackled gleefully. “My animosity’s as deep-seated as Dolly Parton’s boobs.”
    I felt myself blush. I tried and failed to remember whether any other sexagenarian had ever prompted a similar reaction. “I just meant that—”
    â€œChandelier is a lying, cheating, thieving bitch,” she surged on. “And that’s when she’s on her good behavior. Is that up-front enough for you, or should I elaborate?”
    I grinned. “I really hate people who mask their true feelings. Come on, Ms. Dane. Tell me what you really think.”
    She giggled. “You’re on to me, you rascal. I’ve hated the woman for more than a decade. Let me get the coffee.”
    She left and returned after some rattling around in the kitchen. In her absence, the smell of lavender threatened to overload my olfactory nerves. After my first sip of coffee, I realized she’d laced it with whiskey. Not suppressing a smile, I asked her what had happened between her and Chandelier more than a decade ago.
    â€œThat’s when she wrote her first book.”
    â€œYou didn’t like it?”
    â€œThat’s putting it mildly.”
    â€œOn aesthetic grounds or something else?”
    â€œChandelier Wells stole my literary creation, which is to say my life’s work, lock, stock, and barrel.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œMy first book was set in Carmel and hers was in Monterey. My heroine was a lawyer, hers is a newswoman. My heroine’s sidekick was a cabbie; hers is a bus driver. My first plot involved the fashion industry; hers delved into the diamond business. My first title was Spike Heel ; hers was Pendant . I could go on, but it will only depress me.”
    â€œWhen was your first book published?”
    â€œNineteen seventy-seven. It was a national bestseller.”
    â€œAnd Chandelier’s?”
    â€œTen years later.”
    â€œSame publisher?”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous. My publisher has been in existence since the Civil War. It doesn’t print trash; not even profitable trash.”
    â€œIf she stole from you, did you ever think of suing her?”
    â€œI not only thought of it, I did it. Copyright infringement, theft of intellectual property, passing off, intentional infliction of emotional distress—I sued the bitch for everything my lawyer could think of, and when he couldn’t think of enough, I got another lawyer.”
    â€œAnd?”
    Her nose wrinkled and her lip curled. “I got tossed out of court on my tight little ass. It didn’t even get to trial. I was sleeping with my lawyer at the time, which I think was part of the problem—he was more interested in the after hours than the nine-to-five. Ended up costing me fifty grand for an empty gesture. But, hell. It was fun while it lasted. I got to see her sweat, at least.”
    â€œSo after that her career flourished and yours declined?”
    â€œIn a nutshell.”
    â€œDo you publish at all anymore?”
    â€œOnly in France. Two books a year. The French are the only people in the Western world who still possess a modicum of good taste.”
    I waved at the room and its contents. “You don’t seem