How Sweet It Is

by Dylan Newton

  Drake’s eyebrows rose. “Imani Lewis is your best friend? I figured you worked with Cerulean Books.”

  “No, they hired me as a contractor,” Kate said, then elaborated. “Imani and I grew up together. Her dad worked with my parents as a surgery tech at the hospital, and they recruited him when they opened their first practice, so we’re close. We took dance classes together as kids, and she even lived with us for a year after her mother died when she was in high school.”

  Drake’s eyebrows shot up. He thought he’d known his publicist—they’d certainly worked together long enough—yet he’d had no idea that they both had a parent pass away at a young age.

  Following Drake’s direction to take the next left by the Methodist Church to stay on Maple, Kate continued.

  “Actually, Imani’s the one who got me my first break—an internship with Evert Events after college. I owe her so much, which is why I wanted to come out and explain to you that Imani did nothing wrong. And she doesn’t know I’m here, by the way. I’d, um, appreciate it if you didn’t tell her when she contacts you when she gets back. She was pretty specific that she wanted to handle all conversations with you in the future. I can’t say I blame her.”

  “When she gets back? Where did she go?”

  “To the airport. To drop off Evan.”

  “Him.” Drake curled his lip. He directed her to take the next right onto State Street, then a left onto Main Street where the sign of the hotel glowed blue at the end of the block.

  She pulled into the entrance, and as she parked in a spot at the front of the lot, he had a sudden epiphany. Without significant legal intervention, Drake couldn’t oust Everstone as the producer bringing Halloween Hacker to the big screen. He was just the author, after all. Those decisions were made at a higher pay grade. Same with the launch—he’d signed the contract and had to do it. But, if he were to get Kate on his side, the launch might be a hell of a lot less painful. Look at what she’d done already with getting his publisher to do the unprecedented—making a donation to his charity. Wouldn’t it be nice if someone benefited from all this madness?

  Plus, if he were being truly honest, the writer’s side of his brain—the one buzzing in overdrive since he’d seen her this morning—recognized inspiration in the chaos-inducing event planner. Maybe if he were to flat-out write only the historical romance for the next few weeks and finish it up, it would be out of his system? He could return to churning out horror with the same zeal he used to have, back before this romance idea gummed up his synapses.

  “I won’t fire Imani, and I’m not firing you, either.” Drake held up a finger to cut off Kate’s effusive thanks. “I’ll agree to your launch ideas—let you have whatever circus you need for your EVPLEX—on three conditions: First, you have to ditch the haunted house nonsense at the barn, including me climbing in or out of any coffin. It’s never happening.”

  Kate grinned, and Drake noticed she had a small dimple at the bottom of her left laugh line, like an upside-down semicolon. The discovery made him pause so long, Kate filled in the silence.

  “You want me to tone the launch down, right? That’s fine. We’ll plan something less cliché. We’ll work together to figure out a better way to meet your expectations, while still maintaining the timeline for an engaging Halloween reader event,” Kate said, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

  “Second, I need your help for my next book.” Drake evaded her brilliant, green-eyed gaze as he filled in his fib. “In your spare hours, I need someone to assist with my…research. You game?”

  “You’ve got a deal.” Kate stuck out her hand over the gear shift, shaking his vigorously. “Now, should I call you a cab? I have a Jimmy’s Car Service card in my pocket.”

  “You didn’t hear my third condition,” Drake said, releasing her soft hand.

  “Oh. Right. You said three. What is it?” Kate’s smile dimmed, and the upside-down semicolon vanished.

  Drake resisted the urge to make her laugh so that it would reappear. Instead, he focused on something he’d been wondering about since this morning.

  “Earlier in my front yard, when we first met and you jumped into my arms, you said something I’ve been curious about ever since.”

  “I didn’t jump into your arms. I jumped away from what I thought was your Doberman,” Kate corrected. “I was trying to avoid being mauled.”

  Somewhere in his brain, he wondered how she knew about his old dog, Cade, but right now, another thought crowded forward. “What I’ve wondered is this: when you plowed into me, you said, ‘You’re not Photoshopped.’ What did you mean?”

  Although they were in a dark parking lot, lit only by a few lampposts scattered around the perimeter of the hotel, he could see her face well enough to notice her cheeks flushing.

  Her mouth opened, then snapped shut, as if she were rethinking her answer.

  Finally, she spoke.

  “When I researched you online for this morning’s launch meeting, I stumbled across some old pictures of you. In a bathing suit. On a beach.”

  Drake blinked, taking a moment to process, and then it came to him. “My trip to Barbados when I researched the Animal Flower Cave, the setting of Alien Abyss. A photographer there recognized me and slapped the picture on the internet.” Drake paused, connecting the dots. “Wait. Which part of the picture did you think was Photoshopped?”

  Kate’s hand came up to rub at her throat. “Um, the abs? I’d thought maybe a fan or someone Photoshopped that part. You know. Gave you a six-pack. But, um, I was wrong.”

  Drake tipped his head back and laughed—something she’d made him do twice in one night. “Okay, glad you cleared that up for me, and I hope I can continue to surprise you as we work together this month.”

  He waved off her apologies and protests as he clambered out of his brother’s car.

  “No, don’t say you’re sorry for being honest. Thanks for telling me the truth. And for being real. I don’t get that much in my life anymore.”

  Drake reached out his hand, shaking hers one last time.

  “I’ll call you in the next couple of days, and we can discuss your new plan. Here’s to us both getting what we want from this launch.”

  Chapter 7

  Excuse me?” Kate lifted her cell off her ear, sure that she must have misheard because of a bad connection, but she had full bars. She returned her phone to her ear. “You want me to meet you…where?”

  “I’m at the Sacred Heart Cemetery at the end of South Main Street,” Drake said, his voice muffled, as if the phone were being shifted around. “I’m about to be shut into a mausoleum as part of my book research, and this is the only open time I have to talk to you today about the launch. And we did have a bargain—help me with my research, and I’ll sign off on all your ghoulish plans. But you’ve got to get here in the next ten minutes.”

  “O-okay. See you soon.” Before Kate could say anything else, the call disconnected. She stared at the phone for a moment in disbelief. It wasn’t the craziest thing a client had ever said to her…but it was close. Then again, Drake had a definite knack for throwing her off-kilter.

  “Was that Drake?” asked Trisha Cabot, Imani’s boss and the head of sales and marketing at Cerulean Books, her voice sounding tinny from Imani’s cell phone’s speaker.

  Thankfully, Trisha’s root canal had gone well, and she’d understood when Imani admitted their almost-failure with Drake. Yet she’d insisted on a full update via conference call from both Imani and Kate this morning, and Kate read in Trisha’s tone that while her unfortunate first meeting with Drake hadn’t totally tanked Imani’s career aspirations, it had definitely dented them. Imani assured her boss that Kate would provide them both with daily text updates—hourly, if necessary—and if anything even smelled remotely off with his demeanor or enthusiasm for the plan, she was to notify all parties. Immediately.

  “Yes, that was Mr. Matthews,” Kate said, shooting her best friend an “it’s okay” glance. She was determined
to do whatever it took to be absolutely, one-hundred-percent perfect in the future.

  “Does he need me to call him? Has he changed his mind about having the launch?” Trisha asked. “I need Imani on this next call with Leann Bellamy, but if she needs to come with you, I can—”

  “No, he’s still on board, and I’ve got it.” Kate gathered her papers from the small, round table she and Imani used as their workspace in the hotel room, stacking the project plan together and neatly paper-clipping it at the top. “In fact, he called to ask if I’d meet with him, in person, on the new launch plans we emailed him. He’s…eager to get started.”

  “I think that’s because of Kate’s idea to donate the launch event proceeds to his charity.” Imani offered Kate a supportive smile, handing her the keys to the car she’d rented. “His fans will see his altruistic side. And I’ve already worked it into a promotion scheduled for Veteran’s Day, giving us an after-launch boost.”

  “I have to run,” Kate interjected, “but I’ll text, call, and email you both later.” Gathering her tablet and purse, she pumped her fist in a “woo-hoo” gesture to Imani, who mouthed a “call me later.”

  Kate pulled up the GPS on her phone as she hopped in Imani’s rental car. She glanced over at the empty spot at the front of the parking lot where she’d parked Drake’s brother’s car and was happy to see someone had picked it up.

  Drake had seemed so different last night—more introspective and…vulnerable. Maybe it was because he’d been drinking, but she’d felt almost protective of him. She’d loitered by the snack bar, watching to make sure he’d be okay until Jimmy’s Car Service arrived. He’d had his hands in his armpits as he’d jumped and stomped intermittently, trying to keep warm. She hadn’t been able to breathe easy until she’d seen him leaving with Jimmy out of the parking lot and back home, where his brothers were likely waiting to razz him.

  It was refreshing to see that no matter how much you made in life, and how successful you were, family was still family. Recalling her mother’s insistence she come back into the Sweet family surgeon fold, Kate shuddered, putting it out of her mind. She’d call them in a few days when this book launch found more stable footing.

  Her GPS led her to the cemetery’s entrance. She’d been hoping for some sort of office to meet in—maybe an old brick building at the edge of the graveyard where bereaved families picked out plots or conducted whatever business one might conduct at a cemetery. But as she pulled through the arched, wrought-iron gates beneath a sign proclaiming Sacred Heart Cemetery, she saw no such brick building. No buildings at all, in fact. Only grave markers dotted an expansive park-like space. After rounding a few bends, she saw a silver SUV and an old truck, next to what looked like the edge of a forest. She swung her rental car down the single paved path in that direction, slowing to a crawl to avoid the tree roots and potholes as the paved portion ended and a gravel-lined path began. Soon, she’d arrived where the cars were parked, and she pulled up behind a black Chevy truck, admiring the matte paint job. Someone had really spent some time and money on this overhaul. She didn’t know trucks, but from the bulbous nose of it and retro lines, she’d have guessed it was originally manufactured sometime in the 1950s.

  “Cool ride,” she said to herself, putting the sad little economy rental car in park. “Wonder if that’s the Knight of Nightmare’s wheels?”

  Peering out the passenger window, she noticed a small group of people huddled next to an old stone structure. She gathered her bag and laptop—then looked outside at the group who’d all turned as soon as she’d parked—and changed her mind. She dumped her laptop back onto the passenger seat, taking only her purse. She had her phone in there, and a small notepad and pen as well as a printout of the new project plan—the one she’d been up almost all night figuring out once Drake had said she was hired once more.

  She slammed the door shut behind her and beeped the car’s nasal-sounding alarm, then began the trek downhill toward two men and a woman. As she strode deeper into the forested recesses of the old cemetery, Kate cursed her wardrobe choices. Again. This morning, guessing she’d be meeting with Drake at some point, she’d pulled out what she thought of as her most stylish, chic outfit—one that conveyed that Monday’s too-tight black suit was an aberration. This outfit, she hoped, would show Drake he’d done the right thing to keep her onboard with his launch party. She’d worn her favorite, a forest-green Givenchy skirt with a matching, three-quarter-length–sleeved top, nude suede heels, and a sand-colored wool-blend coat thrown over the top.

  Her late mentor, Maya, would have approved. It was a perfect power meeting outfit.

  Unless said power meeting was held among a collection of wet tombstones.

  Now, as she carefully picked her way through the partially damp brown, red, and yellow leaves in her pumps, she regretted every wardrobe choice, including the burgundy structured Strathberry tote she’d spent an entire wedding fee on last year. If she had to set it down, her choices were a dirty headstone or the cold, damp ground. She debated on returning to Imani’s rental car and ditching the bag, but that meant retracing her steps. In this wet grass and soft ground, a return trip in heels might tempt the goddess of chaos to notice her once again.

  Thankfully, the dusting of snow had melted, and today’s temperature hovered in the low fifties. She gazed around with interest at the old tombstones. Some were tall, marble obelisks with the family name etched in bold, blocky typeface, but most of what dotted the landscape were the more traditional rectangular gravestones standing upright or canted slightly to the side due to decades of undergrowth. She saw several “Giopolus” markers, “Ingalls” stones, and “Barnett” tombs as she walked, each family clustered together as if seeking warmth in the afterlife.

  There wasn’t anything, however, that looked mildly interesting for a horror novel. In fact, with the old oak and maple trees stretched overhead, most with a riot of tinted leaves that acted as a sound buffer, the whole place had a peaceful, if somewhat neglected, park-like feel. While she’d always heard about the area’s beauty, especially in the fall, she’d never spent any time in Western New York before. Kate now saw she’d been missing out. Although her time here was relatively short, she made a mental note to return. When it wasn’t threatening to snow, this place was a little slice of heaven!

  Suddenly, a question popped into her head, distracting her from the serenity. What type of research was Drake planning to do here today?

  Then she spotted a yellow backhoe in the distance. Her steps faltered. A backhoe? There weren’t many things you did with a backhoe in a graveyard, except maybe use it to bury a corpse.

  Or dig a corpse back up.

  She swallowed. The thought of witnessing an exhumation slowed her steps to a creep.

  She spotted Drake standing to the side of the stone structure, his pen flying across the pages of a yellow legal pad. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a chestnut-brown leather jacket with a navy-blue shirt underneath. On his feet was a pair of rugged hiking boots—as if he might be ready to jump down into a hole with a shovel himself.

  Next to Drake lurked a tall, thin man dressed in denim overalls and a thick, flannel-lined plaid shirt. He held a crowbar in one hand and a pair of long, wickedly sharp bolt cutters in the other.

  At the sight of the man’s tools, Kate’s palms grew slick.

  To his left stood an older woman dressed in a red parka, her blond-gray hair in a helmet-like bob brushing her shoulders. She appeared to be speaking, gesturing with her hands to the old building, pointing out things as Drake scribbled on his legal pad, scowling as he wrote.

  Kate’s mind whirled with various excuses she could use, if the plan was to dig up bodies today. She could say…what? That she had a weak stomach? Admit she was so scared of zombie movies that when she’d seen an episode of The Walking Dead, she hadn’t been able to sleep for a month without the lights on and a baseball bat in her bed?

  No way. The person in charge of a book launch for Drake
Matthews could not show fear.

  Mustering up her courage, Kate approached the trio, catching the end of the woman’s speech.

  “…the building stands about sixteen feet high and is made to look like a small church. The filigreed iron grates at the outside of the stained-glass windows are original, as is the elaborate ironwork cross at the top. The stone is quite old, and it still bears the original name of the family who built this mausoleum after the town was established, around 1898.”

  The woman gestured to the name, GOODRICH, carved in block capital letters into the stone at the top of the mausoleum. While the lettering was still crisp, moss grew in the hollows of the rounded letters and in the crevices of the “H.” Mostly brown and frost-burnt English ivy clung to the sides of the stone structure, trailing vines up to the roof and encroaching on the front, as if determined to swallow the Goodrich family, returning them all to the forest floor.

  “Good morning,” Kate said, approaching the group with a wave and her bravest smile. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Drake smiled. “Not at all. You’re here just in time. Kate Sweet, may I introduce you to Wendy Scanlon and Curtis Clark. He’s the cemetery’s head caretaker, while Wendy is the head of the Wellsville Historical Society. They were about to lock me into the mausoleum to see what I could hear and see if I were, say, interred alive with no way out. I always do my research firsthand, whenever possible. They’ve agreed to break the lock to allow me in while they do their annual check on the integrity of the mausoleum’s roof. It’s been repaired in the past, is that right?”

  Mr. Clark nodded his long, thin head in a slow, deliberate way. “The Goodrich family has no living descendants. The line died out, so we do maintenance only if it’s falling apart.”

  “Isn’t it, um, disrespectful to go into a mausoleum?” Kate asked, thoughts of partially rotted bodies with exposed bones rampaging through her head. She cleared her throat, willing her voice not to crack. “You know, disturbing the dead and all?”