The Story Keeper by Lisa Wingate Read Free Book Online Page A

decision made. I could’ve slipped it into my pile of in-process manuscripts and summaries for the editorial team meeting, could’ve been the first one to arrive, surreptitiously dropping the package onto Slush Mountain, then walking away. Even if George Vida noticed that it was out of place, no one would know I was responsible.
    No one . . . except the person who had anonymously left it on my desk. And how could anybody reveal that without being in as much trouble as I would be in for having it?
    Scratching a fingernail across the aging brass pull, I contemplated my own foolishness. The manuscript was over twenty years old, a relic from well before my time. By now, it had either been published, left for dead in some writer’s closet, or trashed. Maybe this stray fifty-page partial was all that remained of the effort.
    Forgetting it made sense. Putting it back without burning up the time to read the rest made sense. In fact, it was the only thing that made sense.
    But the meeting wasn’t for a few more hours. Enough time to think about it, maybe talk some sense into myself.
    Or not.
    As I worked through the morning, sifting through summaries of nonfiction projects that would be presented at the pub board next Monday, Rand and Sarra remained where they were. When I gathered my things to leave, the contraband stayed behind. Snatching the key from beneath my in-box, I locked the desk before heading for the war room.
    Slush Mountain loomed larger than before when I arrived at the team meeting. Basking in the sunlight of a beautiful autumn morning, it seemed to watch me accusingly as I took a seat   —purposely at the other end of the table. I wanted to search the unevensurface for the faded outline of a nine-by-twelve envelope. But I didn’t. Just in case someone was watching. If the guilty party was nearby, let him or her think I hadn’t even noticed the surprise on my desk or that I hadn’t opened it. If this was a joke, two could play that game.
    Five minutes into Mitch’s meeting, I figured out that, while distracting myself with The Story Keeper earlier, I had screwed up. Royally. Via e-mail that morning Mitch had sent around material for a submission she wanted to push through the upcoming pub board meeting. We’d been given summary, proposal material, and sample chapters via attachment. Since I hadn’t checked e-mail before the system went down, and the system still wasn’t working, I’d missed the memo.
    It was clear enough that Mitch’s project was the intended primary topic of today’s session. She wanted each of us to be familiar with the story   —the memoir of a World War II soldier who had fallen in love with a Japanese girl behind enemy lines. We were here to brainstorm sales points and build a united front for pub board, where sales, marketing, and other departments would be invited to throw any and all possible darts at our presentation. I was clueless. Unlike everyone else on the team, I didn’t even have Mitch’s material with me. Consequently, I felt like an idiot and knew that, soon enough, I was bound to look like one too.
    It wasn’t long before Mitch noted the lack of her last-minute material in the stack I’d brought with me. “Didn’t get the e-mail?” She was somewhere between surprised and peeved. Probably more toward the second option.
    “No, sorry. I got caught up in something this morning and hadn’t checked before my in-box went down. I’ll read the material as soon as the system’s back up and be ready for pub board on Monday, I promise.” What else was there to say, really?
    Mitch’s lips pressed together in a thin line intended to remind everyone whose interests came first. I’d just stumbled dangerously close to making myself look too mercenary   —caring only about finding and acquiring my own projects, rather than supporting the projects of others, especially others higher up the ladder than me. On the other hand, Mitch was aware of the hours I’d been