DRIP DROP DEAD (Emma Frost Book 12) Read online

  Oh, great. Now she's gonna get all chatty and talk about the book that no one will publish.

  "Oh, really? A new book is coming out soon, I presume?" Christina said, clasping her hands together in excitement.

  Maya exhaled. She almost rolled her eyes at her friend but wanted to remain polite.

  Presume? You never use words like that.

  Christina was just trying to impress Maya's mother. Maya knew she was and most other kids might have found it fun that their friends adored their mother so much, but not Maya. She didn't want to have to wonder if they were friends with her because of her famous mother or because they liked her.

  Maya's mom thought it over for a few seconds before answering.

  Please don't give her the whole speech about the publishing house being idiots and having no balls. Please, don't.

  "Well, yes. I am working on getting it published soon, I think."

  "Really?" Christina was almost shrieking when she spoke. "Well, let me know when it comes out. I want to be the first to read it."

  "Will do," her mom said. "I just need to…"

  "Okay, I think it’s time for us to get some breakfast," Maya said and signaled her mom to stop. She could tell she was about to start talking about her troubles of getting the book published. She had that look in her eyes.

  "I’m starving and so is Christina. We should really get something to eat."

  "Oh, okay," her mom said. "Sure. As I said, there's bread on the table and butter and cheese in the fridge."

  "We'll probably just grab some yogurt and fruit," Maya said.

  "Really?" her mom said. "The bread is really good, though. I put sunflower seeds in it this time."

  "Sounds delicious," Christina said. "I think I would like some of that."

  "Well, help yourselves to whatever you want," Maya's mom said. "I have work to do."

  "Break a leg," Christina yelled after her as she was about to leave.

  Maya grimaced.

  Break a leg?

  Maya's mom paused, then smiled politely. "Thank you…I guess."

  8

  I had an idea. A plan almost. I didn't know if it was going to work, but I wanted to try at least. I wasn't going to just sit there in my house and mope over the fact that my publishing house wasn't going to take on my book. Nope. It wasn't my style. I wasn't going to send it to another publishing house either. I was sick of publishers and editors and of them telling me what to do and especially what not to do.

  It was easier than I had thought it would be. I had asked a friend of mine, who was a graphic designer, to create a cover for me, then opened the webpage. I uploaded my manuscript to it, then set a price and pressed PUBLISH. The webpage told me the book was now in review and that it would take twenty-four hours before it would be available in the store.

  Just like that.

  All my other books were already available as e-books in the same online store, so after I formatted it, I didn't really have to do anything else, not even create an author profile. I stared at the screen, wondering if anyone would ever realize it was out there.

  I had to take advantage of the fact that I was already a household name. If I wanted this book to be seen and read, there were ways of doing that. I knew people in the media business all over the country, so I wrote emails to all of them, sending them a copy of my book. I explained that I had decided to self-publish it since no one dared to publish it because it was controversial and that I hoped they might do a little feature or write a note about it in their paper.

  I closed my computer, feeling pretty good about myself, found my box of macadamia nut cookies in the drawer, and started to eat. The cookies were like a week old and tasted stale, but I still ate them. Morten had been on my case lately, trying to get me to lose weight. He was monitoring what I ate and trying to “help” me by asking me if I “really wanted to eat that.” My mom soon chimed in, and that meant I could hardly eat anything without one of them—or sometimes both of them—watching me and commenting on my choices. It was very annoying, to be honest.

  It was all Dr. Williamsen's fault for telling me I had high blood pressure. And my own for telling my family about it when coming home from my check-up. And my mom's fault. Yes, it was definitely mostly her. She was the one who had told me I should start doing yearly check-ups. But after this experience, I wasn't going to go again next year, that was for sure. I would agree to do decadal checkups if there was such a thing. But not every freakin' year. Nope. Wasn't doing it.

  I was probably just agitated when he took my blood pressure, I decided. I did feel a little wound up because I was nervous and all. Check-ups were scary. I was terrified he would come back out and tell me I had three months to live because of some lump I had failed to discover on my own.

  It was so my mother's fault, I thought to myself while chewing my cookie. I had hidden chocolate and snacks all over the house and was eating in secret now, which made it less fun. It made me feel like a child.

  It was only when Sophia dropped by that I could eat with no guilt because she ate along with me. She wasn't big like me though, and she didn't have high blood pressure, which I now envied her tremendously. I guessed that having six kids kept her on her toes constantly and that was why she was so fit. I didn't envy her that part. Having Skye in the house had made my life easier, but I wasn't going to have any more children. I was done with that part, thank you very much. My babies were my books now, and I had just sent one of them into the world to see if it would fly. It was ridiculous how I felt a lot more nervous about this one than the many others I had written.

  9

  "I'm sorry I’m late."

  Morten leaned down and kissed my cheek. I was sitting at the dinner table with my parents and all three children when he walked in. Morten's seat had remained empty all throughout the meal.

  "The phone has been invented," my mother said.

  I gave her a look to quiet her. She was right, though; Morten should have called and told me he would be late, but if anyone was going to say anything, it had to be me and not her. Not that I was going to. It wasn't like we were married or even lived together. He had told me he would stop by for dinner, but I knew he could get held up at work. It happened.

  "Let me heat up a pork chop and some mashed potatoes for you," I said and went into the kitchen. I filled his plate with food, then nuked it before I returned. Morten gave me a tired smile.

  "Thanks, sweetie."

  I sat down, then grabbed a cold pork chop and ate it while Morten shoveled down his food. Now it was my mother's turn to give me a look.

  "What? I can't let the poor man eat alone," I said. "I’m just being polite and trying to make him feel comfortable."

  "You don't have to," Morten said, chewing a mouthful. "I don't mind eating alone."

  "You really shouldn't…" my mom started, but my dad put a hand on top of hers to make her stop. She looked at him. "She's got high blood pressure for cryin' out loud. She should lose weight."

  I rolled my eyes at her, then gulped down another bite, feeling like a rebellious teenager. Maya gave me a look, then sighed like I was the most embarrassing person in the world, which I admit I probably was. Luckily, her friend had returned to her own house after the sleepover. I liked Christina, especially since she was such a good friend to Maya, but I couldn't stand how she was constantly all over me. I knew Maya hated it too. It had to be annoying for her.

  "So, tell us, Morten, why are you late?" my dad asked, trying to change the subject. He was my accomplice in all this, my only helper whenever Morten and my mom ganged up on me.

  Morten hooked a piece of pork on his fork, then ate it. "We had to respond to a death."

  "What?" I asked, quickly turning my head.

  "Yeah, it's quite disturbing actually," Morten said with a sigh. "You remember the Mortensens from Granvej? Brian and Ann? We met them last year at a dinner party. He worked for that shipping company on the mainland, and she worked for that research lab, the one out
of town?"

  "Omicon? Yeah, I remember them. Nice couple. Did something happen to them?" I asked.

  "She's dead," he said, nodding.

  "What? How?"

  "We don't know that yet," Morten said. "But according to Brian, he came home in the middle of the night and found her in the bed. Dead."

  "Was she…killed?"

  Morten shook his head. "We don't think so, no. It looked like she just died in her sleep. Probably a heart attack. The autopsy will let us know later this week, hopefully."

  I clasped my mouth. "Oh, dear God. Poor Brian."

  Morten nodded. "I know."

  "Yeah, maybe now you'll understand why it’s important to keep your heart healthy," my mom chirped.

  "I have a little high blood pressure," I said angrily. "Half of the population has high blood pressure. It's not like I’m going to die."

  "And cholesterol," my mom added. "Don't forget about that. Besides, I bet that Ann-character said the same and look what happened to her."

  "Would you let it go already?" I snapped.

  I had regretted so many times telling her what Dr. Williamsen had said. It was so stupid of me, but back then, I hadn't thought she would turn this into a big deal and be on my case all the time. I was a little surprised myself and just wanted to get it off my chest. Now she insisted on stuffing it back in over and over again, filling me with guilt.

  "Please…Ulla," my dad said. "Can't we just have a nice family dinner for once?"

  My mom rose to her feet, her plate between her hands. "I am just concerned for my daughter's well being. Is that a crime now?"

  "No, Mom, that is not a crime, but…" I sighed and rubbed my forehead while my mom snorted and left for the kitchen without waiting for me to finish my sentence. My dad got up and followed her. He kissed me on the forehead.

  "We'll probably head home, sweetie. Mom is tired."

  "Thanks for coming over, Dad," I said while he blew finger kisses at the children. Maya had already left the table, her face probably red in embarrassment, while Victor and Skye were sitting eerily quiet, staring into each other's eyes, probably sharing all kinds of secrets between them. I couldn't quite figure out if their relationship was healthy or not. In the beginning, I had believed Skye had gotten Victor out of his shell a little, but as the days passed, it seemed like she was dragging him more and more into her world, a world none of us could enter, while Victor became more and more distant to me. Was it just him growing up? Or was it unhealthy for him?

  I heard the front door slam as my parents left, then looked at Morten, who had grabbed a beer from the kitchen.

  "Can you believe her?" I said. "How inappropriate of her. To use Ann Mortensen's tragedy like that for her little vendetta against me? Like that had anything to do with me."

  Morten didn't say anything. He drank from his beer.

  "You agree with her, don't you?" I said.

  He looked at me, tired. "Why won't you listen to what the doctor says?"

  "Great. Take her side. That's perfect, Morten," I said, grabbed the pan in front of me, and walked out to the kitchen with it. Morten didn't follow me but stayed in the dining room drinking his beer.

  10

  Next morning, I sent off Victor with the minibus taking him to Fishy Pines while Maya took care of getting herself to the high school on her own. It had snowed heavily all night, so she couldn't ride her bike, but the school was so close that she decided to walk instead.

  I tried to kiss her before she left, but she brushed me off and rushed out the door. I stood in the kitchen and looked after her, my favorite cup between my hands. On the side it read I DON'T NEED TO DEAL WITH REALITY. I AM A WRITER. Maya had bought it for me on my birthday, and I loved it. I stared at Maya fighting her way through the snow, then thought about myself when I was her age. Gosh, I had hated my mother. I guessed I should count myself lucky that Maya at least tolerated me. And every now and then, we actually had a good and nice conversation with no rolling of eyes or deep sighs. But those days were rarer now than they used to be.

  I walked upstairs to my office and sat down by my computer when suddenly my phone started to ring. Praying it wasn't Victor's school telling me something had happened, I picked it up. It wasn't Fishy Pines. It was my publisher.

  "What have you done?"

  "Well, hello to you too, Inger," I said.

  "Quit it. I’m being serious here, Emma. What the heck have you done? Why would you do such a thing?"

  "I’m guessing that you’re referring to my book and the fact that I have self-published it?" I asked, sipping my coffee. I was quite surprised that Inger was already reacting to this. I had just put it up the day before and hadn't even seen if it was out yet. But apparently, it was.

  "Why would you do this to yourself? To your brand?" Inger asked.

  To my brand. Yes, of course, that's how they saw me. As a brand, a product.

  "Listen, Inger. I know you guys didn't wasn’t to publish it, so I decided to do this instead. At least I didn't take it to another publishing house. You should be happy I didn't do that."

  Inger exhaled. "Emma, I am talking to you as a friend here, not your publisher. Do you have any idea what you have done to yourself? To your books? To you as an author?"

  Now it was my turn to exhale. "No, Inger, I don't. And, frankly, I don't care. This book is my heart. I have to get it out to my readers."

  "Readers who have always seen you as a true crime writer, as someone who wrote wonderful mysteries based on real events. Now, what are they supposed to believe?"

  "I put it in as fiction, okay? Supernatural fiction."

  "But that’s not what your audience is expecting from you, Emma."

  "So, it's something new," I said, not really understanding what the fuss was about. It was just a book. "They might love it."

  "So, I’m taking it you haven't read the newspapers this morning?" Inger asked.

  "I haven't, no," I said, feeling a little nervous now.

  "Maybe you should. Then let's talk about how to do some damage control for your brand."

  11

  They hated it. They all hated my book. I couldn't believe my own eyes as I read through the many reviews posted in all the national newspapers in the country. I had sent them a copy of the book, yes, but I had never in my wildest imagination thought they would actually read it. I guess I had underestimated my own status or brand or whatever you want to call it. Apparently, me deciding to self-publish a book was headline news. But not the good kind. It was the kind where they told me I wasn't doing myself any favors by not listening to my publisher and that there was a reason the publishing house rejected the book. It was simply not worth the reader's time.

  They really didn't like it?

  I didn't understand. I was never one to receive applause or awards for my writing, but the last couple of books I had written had received decent reviews, and I was beginning to consider myself to be quite good. But now this? Was Inger really right about the book?

  Feeling sorry for myself, I walked back down to the kitchen and poured myself another cup of coffee, then found my secret stash of chocolate chip cookies behind the cereal boxes in the cabinet and dug in while looking at the falling snow outside my window. It was pretty but merciless.

  As I lost myself in my thoughts, I suddenly spotted Sophia fighting her way through the thick curtain of snowflakes toward my house. I hurried to the door and opened it for her, so she could get in.

  "Thanks," she said and stomped her feet to let the snow fall off on my floor where it soon melted and became a puddle. "It's nasty out."

  "Tell me about it," I said and helped her get her jacket off, then put it on a hanger where it could dry off. Sophia had snow in her hair and brushed it off. Realizing someone was here (as always, way too late), Kenneth came storming out, barking aggressively at her.

  "Easy Kenneth II," I said. "It’s just Sophia, even though she does look like a yeti."

  "Brrr," Sophia said and swung her
arms to get warmer. "You got the fireplace going?"

  "Not yet, but now I will," I said and walked into the living room, while Kenneth threw himself at Sophia's shoes and, realizing this, Sophia grabbed them, and they started a fight of tug-of-war till the dog finally let go. I put wood in the fireplace and lit it, then looked at Sophia.

  "How about some hot chocolate?" I asked.

  "Sounds great."

  I warmed it up for us and put whipped cream on top of it along with a giant marshmallow, then walked back to Sophia with the cups between my hands. When Sophia saw it, she gave me a look.

  "Marshmallow, huh? What's going on? Are you and Morten fighting? Or is it Maya? Or Victor? Something's up with Victor at the school? Don't tell me they’ve thrown him out too?"

  "No, that's not it."

  "Phew, because I wouldn't know where you'd put him after that. Fishy Pines is the last resort if you know what I mean."

  I ignored her remark. I was becoming increasingly happy with Fishy Pines and the work H.P. was doing with Victor. I didn't know if he was actually learning anything, but he didn't seem to get himself into as much trouble as he did in the ordinary school, and they hadn't talked about medicating him at all, much to my surprise.

  "Then, what's up?" Sophia asked and sipped her hot chocolate. When she moved the cup from her mouth, a smear of whipped cream was left on the tip of her nose.

  I grabbed my iPad and showed her an article in a newspaper. My picture was above it. Sophia read:

  "The self-published Waltzing Matilda is undeniably news in the world of books. Unfortunately, it is bad news. There are two equally serious reasons why this book isn't worth any reader's attention. The first is that it is dull. Dull in a pretentious, florid, and archly fatuous fashion. The second is that it is repulsive…"

  Sophia stopped herself and put the iPad down. "Oh."

  "I know." I sipped my own hot chocolate while staring into the fire.