Libby nodded. “As sure as anything in my life. He’s the one. And he can’t wait to be a dad.”
They’d all known about Libby’s baby-by-contract scheme, and while each of them might have had their doubts, they’d tried to support their friend. Jenna was relieved things seemed to be working out so well, and she was sure Kat and Char felt the same, but still…Cooper was a stranger. Like Shane.
“We want to keep the ceremony simple. Coop says the faster we do this, the easier it will be to keep the press out of our hair. So, don’t mention it to anyone, okay?”
“Who are you inviting?” Jenna asked.
“Just a few friends. You guys, of course, and Mac and Megan. Cooper’s best friend, Shane. That’s another reason to do it so quickly. Because Shane is already here. The only other person Cooper wants to invite is his neighbor, but he’s not sure the guy can travel this far. He’s Cal’s age.”
While the others talked wedding details, Jenna served tea and pie. She took the talking stick from Libby and pulled up a leather ottoman. “I have news, too. Not as interesting, but…” She made a face. “The Mystery Spot was broken into this morning.”
“Oh, no,” Kat cried. “Was there any damage?”
“A broken window and the hinge on one of the cabinets is screwed up. The deputy who came out figured it was probably a kid looking for something to steal. The damage might have been worse if Cooper’s friend hadn’t been there.”
“What was he doing there?” Char asked, smacking her lips from the tangy flavor of the pie.
“I think he was scouting locations,” Jenna said to avoid mentioning anything about college. “Anyway, the inspection went through without a hitch,” she said, trying to work up the enthusiasm she knew she should be feeling. “We’ll be open for business this weekend.”
“What about the broken window?” Libby asked.
“Orton’s Lumber had to order the glass, but they said they’d install it for free if they could post a sign in front of the Mystery Spot.”
Libby smiled. “Everybody’s jumping on the free publicity bandwagon, I see.”
“Works for me,” Jenna said. “I’m cash poor at the moment, although my other good news is Walt Gruen’s daughter is back home and doing great, so he not only went out to the Spot this afternoon to backfill the trenches, but also volunteered to tack a piece of plywood over the broken window for me. Nice, huh?”
“The beauty of a small town where people care about each other,” Libby said. “I wonder if the writers who work on the show will be able to get that across in their story lines. That’s my only fear, you know. That they’ll somehow turn us into a stereotype that isn’t anything like the real Sentinel Pass.”
Jenna hadn’t thought of that. “Hmm,” she said. “I’ve been so wrapped up in Mystery Spot problems that never crossed my mind. Maybe I shouldn’t have turned him down.”
“Turned who down?” Kat asked.
“Coop’s friend. The Bernese—I mean, Shane Reynard. I told you he gave me a ride home, and while he was here talking to Mom, he asked if I might be interested in helping him write the script for the pilot.”
“Oh, my gosh,” Kat exclaimed, nearly dropping her pie plate in her excitement. “That’s fantastic. What a wonderful opportunity. When do you start?”
Jenna felt her cheeks heat up. “I told him I couldn’t do it.”
“Why?” Char croaked. “You’re a talented writer. I read your poetry book.”
“Poetry isn’t dialogue. What do I know about scriptwriting?”
Libby sighed. “Cooper told me he’d put that bug in Shane’s ear, so to speak. I got the impression you’d be more of an advisor than the actual writer, Jen. That’s Shane’s strong suit. According to Coop.”
“Oh.” Jenna set the talking stick aside. She felt foolish and embarrassed. She should have known she wasn’t being asked to write. Her secret dream was just what her father called it—a waste of time.
“You’re wrong, Libby,” her mother’s voice said from the staircase. “Hi, ladies. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the smell of chokecherry pie was too hard to resist. I bet Char brought it, didn’t you, dear?”
Char jumped up to get Jenna’s mother a piece as Bess strolled toward the group. “I’ll take it upstairs with me. I know a lot of people were put off by Deadwood’s language, but the dialogue and character development is fantastic. Not contemporary, of course, but, oh my, the writers must have had fun working on that show.”
Jenna looked apologetically at her friends, but no one seemed bothered by the intrusion.
“What did you mean when you said I wrong, Bess?” Libby asked.
“Will you join us?” Kat offered, scooting over on the couch to make room for her.
“I can’t, dear. I have my show on Pause and don’t want it to start up without me. But thank you.” She smiled sweetly then looked at Libby. “While Jenna was on the phone with the plumber, I continued conversing with the handsome Bernese mountain dog.” Jenna softly groaned. Her mother ignored her. “Shane told me that he felt Jenna’s poetry was emblematic of her writing ability and he very much wanted to collaborate with her.”
Before anyone could respond, Bess accepted Char’s offering with a regal “Thank you so much,” then turned and walked upstairs, like the classy professional she was.
Libby was the first to speak. “You have to take him up on the offer, Jenna. Not just for your sake but to safeguard Sentinel Pass’s reputation.”
“What reputation? Nobody’s even heard of us.”
“They will soon enough,” Char said. “Especially after news of Cooper and Libby’s wedding gets out. You know how people go gaga over that kind of stuff. The paparazzi used helicopters to crash Tom Cruise’s wedding.”
Libby blanched, but Jenna knew Char was right. “Mom actually volunteered to work mornings at the Mystery Spot,” she said softly. Her friends were familiar enough with Bess’s story to know what that meant.
“Wow,” Kat cried. “This might be just the thing to get Bess involved in life again. Screw the town, Jenna, you need to do this for your mom.”
Libby stood and walked to the phone. Since it wasn’t a portable, she had to motion for Jenna to come to her. “Call Shane and tell him you accept. He and Coop are at Mrs. Smith’s at the moment…wait…did Bess just call Shane a Burmese Mou—”
“Bernese mountain dog,” Jenna corrected, rubbing her left temple in hopes of forgoing a headache. “It has to do with her idea for a character in the show. And, no, I’ve never seen one so I don’t know if he resembles the breed or not.”
Libby looked toward the stairs and smiled. “I’m going to do an Internet search when I get home. Does she have a breed in mind for Coop?”
“Golden retriever.”
“Ohh,” she said with a wistful sigh. “She nailed that one. He retrieved me from the depths of despair.” Her eyes were misty when she looked at each of them, then she glanced at her watch again. “I have to go. I’ll call you all tomorrow with the details of the wedding. No gifts. Coop is catering everything.”
She grabbed Jenna’s hand and put the receiver in it. “Call him. Cooper is going to have his hands full this week with the wedding, and I know Shane is under some time constraints. That could be your wedding present to me, my friend.”
Jenna wanted things to work out for Libby. Truly, she did. But the thought of working closely with Shane Reynard made her nervous. He knew about her past and he made her remember things she’d worked damn hard to forget. He was offering a chance to explore an aspect of her life she’d done her best to ignore. She knew what her father would have said about trying to make a living from her creative talents.
But Libby was proof that sometimes taking risks paid off.
“Okay. I will, but I need you to do something for me in return.”
Libby hesitated. “What?”
“Tell me when we’re going shopping to buy you a wedding dress, you goose. What were you planning to wear? Your pos
tal shirt and jeans?”
Everyone laughed and the discussion shifted away from Jenna’s situation. She would call Shane after her friends left, but she wasn’t about to put the future of the Mystery Spot on the line. She might try working with Shane, but only if she could find someone to hold down the fort when she wasn’t there. Luckily, she had just the person in mind, if she was still available.
“SO…WHAT’S A PREMISE again?”
Shane linked his fingers together and pushed them outward in a stretching mode to keep from wrapping them around his best friend’s neck. Most people thought of Shane as a patient man, but working with Cooper Lindstrom would try Mother Theresa’s saintlike qualities. “It’s the underlying motivation that drives the story and makes viewers tune in each week to see what happens next. Desperate Housewives is about over-the-top dysfunction between families and friends in one campy neighborhood.”
“I’d like our show to be more real.”
Coop was straddling a chair at the kitchen table of the house they’d rented. Despite opening every window to let in the warm breeze, the place smelled like somebody’s grandma. Shane much preferred the scents of Jenna’s house. It had reminded him of a library where he’d spent every free minute growing up. His secret place. Not-so-secret, perhaps, but not somewhere his brother enjoyed, so Shane had felt safe there.
“I agree. You’re the hero. Flawed and needy but supposedly successful by most people’s standards. What the world doesn’t see is your broken side. The debt, the whack-job mother, the predatory she-bitch ex-wives…”
Coop made a face. “God, shoot me now. I didn’t realize my life was so bad.”
Shane patted his shoulder in support. “It sucks to be you—the character. We take the problems in your real life and make them a shade more Desperate Housewives, then we set you on a journey to find your truth and redemption.”
“Libby.”
“Sentinel Pass,” Shane corrected. “Libby is the key that opens the door to your new world. Without her, you can’t enter into the place that will ultimately be your salvation, but we can’t make it too easy. Where would the Lord of the Rings be if Frodo got the golden ring in chapter one?”
Coop shrugged. “Point taken.”
“So, although in real life, Libby fell in love with you from your e-mails. Our Libby—or the actor we hire to play her role—has to start out not liking you for very obvious reasons.”
“Like what? What’s not to like?”
Shane picked up his pencil. “You’re shallow. Self-centered. Dependent on the attention of others. You have a group of sycophants who—”
“Sick what?”
“Groupies. Leeches. Your personal trainer. Your young, curvy assistant. Your slightly corrupt attorney. Your—”
“I get it. I get it.”
Shane kept writing. “No. This is good. We can really develop a strong group of second-line characters who regard you as their livelihood. They aren’t going to want you to outgrow your need for them. They’ll fight to keep you in the dark, so to speak.”
“They sound evil.”
“They’re not. They’re human remoras. As long as you do what you do, they survive. Your job provides for them. They will do anything to keep you doing what you do.”
Coop looked disturbed and anxious. “Okay, so we have the California people. What happens when I get to Sentinel Pass?”
“You have to deal with Libby’s contingent.”
“She has remoras, too?”
Shane pictured Jenna, who had appeared ready to stand up and fight for her friend. “Not exactly. These are her friends. Their interests aren’t vested in her business, but they do have strong feelings about who messes with her. And there’s the whole town to consider—fighting to keep its quiet kind of life. The trick is to make both sides human, not stereotypes. So your people will be acting on your behalf…mostly. And Libby’s people will be acting on her behalf…mostly. But both sides want the status quo to remain unchanged. The only people who want change are you and Libby. And neither of you knows—or can admit—what you want to happen.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. That’s part of the backstory. Probably has to do with your mother and Libby’s dead parents or grandmother.”
“Did I tell you Gran remembered me?”
Shane ignored the question. “So once Libby finds out you’re not being straight with her, she has to defend her town from your evil intentions. Here’s the strong conflict that we build on every week. You’re attracted to each other, but you’re bad for each other so—”
“I’m evil, too?”
Shane got up and took two bottles of beer from the refrigerator. He’d stocked up on food and drink at a little market in Johnson Siding after he’d left Jenna’s. To his immense surprise, he’d found organic ginger ale and his favorite brand of snack chip on its shelves. He’d also picked up a package of South Dakota sunflower seeds that he couldn’t wait to try. “In a self-serving, misguided schmuck kind of way,” he said.
“I hate myself already.”
“Good. Now we can start writing the script.”
Coop opened the bottle and took a drink. “Shouldn’t we have a team doing this? I’ve been to meetings on the lot. I’ve seen the rooms where the writers hang out. They have a big table—three or four times the size of this one. And a couple of those white boards with colored marking pens. Do you have any of those?”
“Not with me. But we have paper. And a couple of Sharpies. I bought those just for you.”
Coop looked like a little boy who had just been told he was going to Great-aunt Edna’s funeral instead of the zoo.
“Coop, we need to get words on paper. Just three twenty-minute stories. We’ll keep these A-stories. Normally, we’d include a B-story—something like Bess’s dog lady and her relationship with say the guy who makes wooden sex toys—”
“Rufus makes Dream Houses.”
“Not in our Sentinel Pass. You watch Desperate Housewives. Sex sells. And since we don’t plan to let you and the postmaster have sex for at least two seasons, we need to have someone else doing it.”
His friend’s frown intensified. “If Libby and I don’t have sex, how will you explain the baby?”
“No baby. Not right away. Lots of talk about a baby. In fact, at some point we want you to want the baby more than she does. That would be a great way to end season one. You could be standing in a department store looking at baby clothes and cry or something.”
Coop brightened. “Cry? Like one tear, maybe. Nothing over the top. Yeah. I like that. Maybe we could go to the mall in Rapid City tomorrow and check it out.”
“Or maybe…we could write these scripts.”
Shane’s tone must have conveyed his frustration because Coop winced. “I’m not much help, am I?”
“I didn’t expect you to type the scripts in perfect form, Coop. I just need your input storywise. You started this and you’re the heart and soul behind it.”
Cooper didn’t say anything for a minute. “What about Jenna? I thought you were going to ask her to help.”
“I did. She said no…even with her mother pressuring her to do it. I’m not surprised, though, since I also came clean about knowing her in college. That wasn’t a great time in her life, Coop. She’s put it behind her and maybe I serve as a reminder.”
“That sucks.”
Shane agreed. “Plus, summer is her make-or-break time at the Mystery Spot. When I left, she was organizing her staff to reopen on Saturday.”
“But with what we’d pay, she could easily hire someone else to manage the place for her, couldn’t she?”
“We didn’t talk numbers. I got a sense that her writing is a private thing. Artists don’t always get to the point where they’re ready to share their work with the public.”
Coop looked baffled. “But she published a book of poetry.”
“Her mother’s doing, remember?”
Coop frowned. “That’s right. I could se
e my mother doing something like that…if I were a writer. Which I’m not. Are you sure you can’t talk her into working for us? How ’bout if I ask Libby—”
The sound of a phone ringing saved Shane from having to make up some excuse why Libby shouldn’t be enlisted to help persuade her friend to work for him. It was humiliating enough when Jenna turned him down the first time. Plus, after giving the idea some thought, he’d decided their working together was problematic, at best. What would he do if she started asking questions about his brother?
He got up and walked to the wall phone by the back door. What’s with these people? he wondered. Haven’t they heard of portables?
“Reynard here,” he answered.
“Um…hi. It’s Jenna. Murphy.”
His pulse spiked. He looked at Coop and mouthed, “Jenna.”
“Hello. How was your book-club meeting?”
“Good. It just finished. I, um, there’s an extra piece of chokecherry pie left. I wondered if you’d like it. I could bring it over.”
“Chokecherry?”
“It’s a little red berry that grows wild along the riverbanks in certain areas. It’s good. It won’t live up to its name, I promise.”
“I know what it is. My mom used to buy chokecherry jam from a lady in the neighborhood. I just haven’t heard the word in years.” He looked at Coop. “But pie sounds great. If Libby has left, then Coop—” The sound of a chair screeching backward was quickly followed by a loud “Later,” and a door slamming. “Is gone, too.”
Jenna laughed as if picturing what had happened. The musical quality was as light and charming as any sound he’d ever heard and he was suddenly transported to that time in his life when he’d been young and filled with possibilities and he’d fallen in love with a laughing girl with bright red hair and flashing green eyes.
“So,” she said, breaking into his reverie, “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
His hand trembled when he hung up the phone. His armpits tingled slightly, as if he’d had a close call driving his car. He walked back to the table and looked around, wondering what she’d think if she saw this mess. Loose-leaf paper scattered about. Coop’s messy, illegible scribbles accompanied by doodles and arrows only Coop could possibly interpret. Shane’s notes—the few that there were—were squeezed together as if the price of paper was premium.
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