Dead Shot
Page 28
“Gillian, we have something to tell you.” She faltered. Looked at Chip.
“About your father,” Chip said gravely.
“My father?” Gillian looked from her grandparents to Ray. There was something in the room. Something huge and burdensome pressing down on everyone. “You were talking about my father?”
Genevra took a quavery breath. “He’s—”
“—Dead,” Gillian said.
Chip stepped forward. “No, Gillian, he’s—”
“A doornail.”
“You should let them tell you what they have to say,” Ray said.
“They don’t have to,” Gillian said.
“Yes, they do.”
“No.” She shook her head. Went to her grandmother’s side and clasped the older woman’s hands in hers. “They don’t.”
And there was this tiny moment between them. A moment of understanding and compassion. Did Gillian know the truth after all? Or didn’t it matter?
“He’s dead,” she said quietly. “Let’s keep him that way.”
After that, there was nothing left to do but take Gillian’s single bag out to the truck and say good-bye. Ray shook hands with Chip, nodded to Genevra, then stood back and let Gillian make her own farewells.
The drive to the airport took fifteen minutes, and they didn’t say much on the way. When they got there, he pulled up to the departure curb, got her bag from the truck bed, and put it on the curb. Absently, she toed it with her foot, then squinted up at him.
“Look, I could make a big speech. Say thank you and all that crap.”
“You could.”
“Here’s the thing.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and tapped it against one hand as if debating what to do with it. Abruptly, she shoved it at him. “I’d rather do it somewhere else.”
He unfolded it. Saw the flight itinerary. Ray Pearce. Nashville to New York.
“If you’re not busy,” she said.
He looked at her. Heard everything neither of them was saying. “Guy’s gotta work, short stack.”
She nodded sagely. “Plenty of jobs elsewhere for an enterprising young man such as yourself. I believe there is a police department in New York.”
He tried hard not to smile. Reached into his jacket and pulled out a similar sheet of paper. Gave it to her.
She looked at it, grinned smugly. Picked up her bag and walked toward the entrance. He called after her.
“So, who gets the refund?”
She held up a hand, waved his question away, and kept on walking.
He got back in the truck and drove away. He had a ton of packing to do. Calls to make. Another job to quit.
He was finally leaving town.
About the Author
A native New Yorker, Annie Solomon has been dreaming up stories since she was ten. After a twelve-year career in advertising, where she rose to Vice President and Head Writer at a midsize agency, she abandoned the air conditioners, heat pumps, and furnaces of her professional life for her first love—romance. Dead Shot is her sixth novel of romantic suspense. To learn more, visit her Web site at www.anniesolomon.com.
THE DISH
Where authors give you the inside scoop!
From the desk of Annie Solomon
Dear Reader,
One of the fun things about writing my latest romantic suspense novel, DEAD SHOT (on sale now), is that it’s my first Nashville-set book, and I enjoyed using real locations around town. My heroine, Gillian Gray, is an art photographer who comes from a wealthy family. Their estate is in Belle Meade, which is where old Nashville money lives. The original wealth in that part of town came from racing horses on the Belle Meade Plantation, a historic site that is popular with visitors. There really is a statue of prancing horses at the beginning of Belle Meade Boulevard.
Out on Highway 100, just past the Loveless Café (best fried chicken and biscuits in town), you can see the house where Gillian lived when she was seven and found her mother’s murdered body. Or rather, the house I based my imaginary one on. The murderer was never caught, and Gillian’s been obsessed with death ever since.
The Gray Visual Arts Center is similar to the art museum in Nashville, in that it’s new (the real museum is several years older) and the arts community worked a long time to fund it. The real museum has never been picketed, but I can’t help wondering what would happen if it did exhibit Gillian’s macabre self-portraits—the dead shots of the title—which inspire several murders in the book.
When Gillian is attacked over her controversial photographs and someone starts recreating them for real, her family hires a bodyguard, Ray Pearce. Ray lives in Sylvan Park, another actual location. As in the book, the streets are all named after states, and Nebraska, Ray’s street, actually exists. I pass by it on the way to Bobby’s Dairy Dip for their signature chocolate-dipped cones. Yum.
I know most people think of country music when they think of Nashville. But in DEAD SHOT, it’s murder and mayhem. So for a whole different take on my hometown—plus more real locations—check out my latest, DEAD SHOT. And next time you visit, you can check out the other side of Nashville, too.
www.anniesolomon.com
From the desk of Lori Wilde
Dear Reader,
When I first got the idea to write a series of bride-to be stories centered on a magical, wish-granting wedding veil, I knew I had to do a little research. Google and I became fast friends as I scoured the Internet for bridal myths and legends. And then I discovered the coolest thing: There are only about eighty people left in the world who make handmade rose point lace, and they’re all in Belgium.
I unearthed so many romantic stories about lace and wedding veils, it was mind-boggling. There was even one about a mysterious woman who supposedly made veils so beautiful, they cast a spell over anyone who wore them. Those fables were the jumping-off place for my imagination as I envisioned the most exquisite wedding veil ever made that also possessed the power to grant the wearer’s most heartfelt wish.
Then I thought, what if the women passed this wedding veil along from friend to friend as they each found their happily ever afters? What fun!
The Wedding Veil Wishes series starts with THERE GOES THE BRIDE (on sale now) and my heroine, Delaney Cartwright. Poor Delaney. As a kid she was the proverbial ugly duckling, and she still can’t believe she’s grown into a beautiful swan. She’s got a snobby, blue-blood Mama she’s afraid to buck and in her sleep, she talks to the ghost of her dead sister. She’s been keeping all that bottled up inside for far too long!
Until the day the veil comes into her life and changes everything. Bravely, she wishes on the wedding veil, desperate to find a way out of her impending marriage to her childhood sweetheart. That’s when she meets sexy Houston P.D. Detective Nick Vinetti and everything starts to go completely wrong. . . .
I hope you enjoy the book!
http://www.loriwilde.com