“The money is spent,” I say. “Yes, I got an okay amount, more than I ever thought I’d get for a book, but I also owed a lot of people. I had a student loan from graduate school. When I got my PhD, I was married, and Jake was a kid. We had to borrow so we could eat. And since Emily died, I’d let things go on the house. She always kept an eye on those things. I neglected everything. The roof had a leak. The car was dying. Like an idiot, we didn’t have life insurance, which really would have helped. Look.” I point to the other room. “Just last year, Grendel had a tumor on his kidney. He needed surgery. Three thousand bucks. I had to do it. I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t be alone. The money . . . it’s pretty much spent.”

“Don’t bullshit me, Connor. I won’t be lied to. Not again.”

“I haven’t lied to you. And I’m not lying now. If I had the money, I’d give it to you. It’s rightly yours. I didn’t publish the book to get money. I told you why I did it.”

Madeline’s jaw sets hard. Muscles twitch in her neck, and short, sharp breaths come out of her nostrils. She remains silent. She may not have anticipated this obstacle.

“Madeline,” I say, “there might be royalties. Later. And it’s a two-book deal, so there’s more money when . . . if I write another book. And you can have all of that. They’re hoping there might be movie or TV interest. Or the book could get translated into another language. If any of those things happen, you can have it all. I promise.”

She turns to the bourbon. It looks like she’s going to pour more for herself, but she doesn’t. She makes a fist and knocks against the countertop once and then twice. A gentle knock while she thinks, and then turns back to face me.

“Or,” she says, “I could go up to campus tomorrow. I could meet with the dean or the provost or whoever cares about things like this. And if I tell them you plagiarized this book and used it to get tenure, what will they think? What would your publisher do?”

“I’d lose my job,” I say. “I’d have to give back the money. It would all be over.”

CHAPTER TEN

“Look, Madeline,” I say. “It’s hard to put my hands on that much money. How much are you asking for exactly?”

“Whatever I’m owed.”

Her response makes me sigh. “Okay. I can try, but you’re acting like I have a pile of cash sitting around. Like the publisher just sent me a bag of gold coins. I can try to get my hands on some money for you, but it’s going to take a little time.”