Chapter Text
Anthony should have seen the warning signs, even for him he cannot fathom how he did not recognize them. One would think that after being in the thrall of five murder mysteries and having drafted and published three of them, hence far, he would have been able to see that being in cahoots with Dandelion Productions was a mistake. One that Jill had pointed out all too easily.
And yet, Anthony had been none the wiser. He was in the snowball barreling down the mountains at mock speed with the hiccups and bumps on its slopes. The first and foremost thing that had set off was the chain of events that would once again begin with his agent Hilda eighteen months previously.
Anthony and Hawthorne had not been in touch since the events of their last case. One of which ended with yet again more questions than answers and Anthony stumbling through a door that had firmly slammed shut behind him, no key to turn back. The case was one of Hawthorne's past where his partner John Dudley had done the unthinkable of pushing a murderer off a balcony in his hotel room which ultimately left Hawthorne and Dudley at opposite sides of a ravine with no bridge to return to what was.
After the wrap up of that case, both men left to their own devices, Anthony more often than he would have liked, thought about to the extent of what Hawthorne did for work at the security firm. With the intimidating presence of a Dr. Morton, Hawthorne's employer who was the one who is providing Hawthorne his accommodation and salary, Anthony can say for certain he never wishes to interact with Dr. Morton again. It was quite the displeasure the first and only time Anthony stepped into the man’s office. The man’s demeanor was like a bear trap, and Anthony had narrowly avoided doing whatever he did to mitigate the very clear and direct threat Dr. Morton made to his online security.
Whatever that entailed, the threat had done its job and on top of that, Anthony had to finish drafting multiple manuscripts for the books he promised to write. Even if during the late hours of the night he would love nothing more than to stop staring at clues upon clues to Hawthorne’s mysterious past he keeps close to his chest. Especially so since Jill often tells him to stop obsessing over his manuscripts, saying she knows that they will be a success like they always are.
Except for the fact that it isn’t just the manuscripts, but the mysterious man within said manuscripts that keeps Anthony up longer than he would like. Of course, Anthony keeps that to himself.
So, a couple months pass and no inkling of a Dandelion Productions once crosses Anthony’s mind, especially for the first installment of his murder mystery series The Word is Murder which will be referred to as such and not what both Hilda and Hawthorne have been trying to convince Anthony to reconsider and rename it to be Hawthorne Investigates. Anthony is the one writing the books so why would he not reserve the rights to call the books however he wanted? Hawthorne will still be getting fifty percent—the deal that Hilda once despised but now with the success of the books seems a little too thrilled about handing Hawthorne more royalties.
In any case, Anthony became privy to the infamous Dandelion Productions (though he was unaware of how infamous the production company and the actors were until much, much later. Though saying that it was infamous might be giving them a great disservice and instead of being infamous it was better known for as a hot befuddling mess) with Hilda giving Anthony a call and strongarming him to agree to at least meet the directors.
The call was a rocky start and to Anthony, it had felt as if Hilda through her snappish tone was trying to keep Anthony from doing any background research of the production company. Though he did not, he was too busy asking questions that Hilda found rather stupid and him defending his apparent skepticism to do much else.
He even found himself pacing around his home office with his phone mashed between his ear and shoulder utterly confounded.
“I just don’t understand why they would be doing an adaptation of the book! I don’t have any Welsh characters in them and—”
“Do you have something against the Welsh? Perhaps this would be an opportunity to expand your horizons if you’re on board with—”
“I haven’t agreed to anything! And no, I don’t have something against the Welsh,” Anthony says exasperated. “But do they even want to? Did they say so?”
Hilda sighs, as if Anthony is being the unreasonable one. “Weren’t you even listening? I said good news!”
“That could have meant anything!”
“That was the first thing I asked. Teresa, the CEO, said she has been looking for something to be more commercial. And she’s read your books.”
“Well…that’s great. So, they want me to adapt it?”
“They don’t.”
“What?”
“You’re far too busy.” Hilda says curtly.
“Says who?”
“I did!”
Anthony as he was pacing his office, now pacing around his flat, gesticulating to no one but his furniture feels a headache spurring. It would be amusing if it weren’t extremely annoying that in recent years, Hilda has been making moves without giving Anthony proper notice and Hawthorne all the notice. Perhaps this time, Hilda was relaying this information to Anthony first as it would make the most sense. Hawthorne wasn’t a writer of any kind and though him and Anthony first met on a set for a move long ago, Anthony doubts that Hawthorne will Hilda's first go to move to inform him of a movie adaptation. It wouldn’t make much sense in Anthony’s opinion.
The rest of the phone call had gone as well as Anthony expected. When Hilda finally rang off, he went back into his office and began doing preliminary research on Dandelion Productions and he found quickly that Hilda had spoken over him in her argumentative fashion about this new venture as the results Anthony found in one Google search didn’t look promising.
And later that evening when Jill returned back home from her own day of production, Anthony had told her about his call and about Dandelion. To say she was unimpressed would be an understatement.
She was in the kitchen pulling dinner out of the oven while Anthony poured two glasses of red wine. She sighed as she set the tray on top of the oven.
“You do realize I still am not understanding why you would so willingly hand over the rights of your book to a nobody production company.”
Anthony cringed because the feeling was mutual. “I haven’t agreed to anything, and no I won’t be giving them the option.”
“You know if you were serious about turning that first book into a movie, I’m sure I can work something out.”
Anthony shakes his head, handing her one of the glasses of wine. “I am not even sure about this one. I’m not sure my books could translate well into a script.”
“Well, you managed to do that with Moonflower Murders,” Jill muses as Anthony begins plating their food. “I thought PBS did a rather good job.”
“That was a TV series—I don’t think that one of the books about Hawthorne will translate into a movie.” He sighs.
Jill nods and as they move their conversation from kitchen to the dining area, eating and sipping their wine she frowns slightly.
“If this does somehow, miraculously manages to leave the script drafts—Hawthorne won’t be getting fifty-fifty like all the other times, will he?”
“What? Absolutely not!”
“Ah, so he’s getting more than you?”
Anthony glared at her. “Nothing hasn’t been confirmed—but that isn’t going to happen.”
“You know, you have worked with this Hawthorne for so long, I was wondering when I might be able to officially meet him?”
“He’s quite busy.” Not technically a lie Anthony thinks.
“It must be like that for private detectives, no?” Jill asks, finishing her meal.
“Yes.”
“Well, I’d certainly like to meet the man who more often than not lands my own husband in the hospital.” She concludes as she clears both of their empty plates.
Jill didn’t approve of Hawthorne and somehow, Anthony wishes he could share the sentiment. Jill loved the books as she is an avid murder mystery fan (especially her husband’s murder mysteries) however she has made it clear she’d rather the murder mysteries that Anthony writes to remain on ink and computer screen than bodily harm and hospital visits. It makes perfect sense as to why this mysterious Hawthorne, a private detective and has created such a negative impression on her even though the two have never (and if Anthony can help it) meet. Throughout the years of Anthony accompanying Hawthorne on his cases, Jill would ask if they could all have dinner at some point or even drinks.
And whenever she brought up meeting Hawthorne, Anthony wasn’t sure why he felt defensive about keeping the detective and his wife separate from one another. It’s a question of the ages as to why Anthony keeps lying to her that Hawthorne is too busy to have dinner with them. Sometimes he would say that Hawthorne was on another case in or outside of London and sometimes he would say that Hawthorne was too busy to answer his “calls”.
Anthony never called Hawthorne.
He pretended to ring him to satisfy Jill’s curiosity and to dampen her resolve in meeting him. He still doesn’t understand fully why he is lying to her about Hawthorne of all things but maybe this was the point in their marriage where little lies pop up now and then about inconsequential things? He’s seen many television series where the husband fits that specific trope, but Anthony can’t seem to think that he aligns with those characters. He wasn’t spouting lies that could harm his lovely marriage with Jill and he certainly wasn’t cheating on her with another women. He can’t even imagine attempting to do that and even if he did, he knows Jill would figure it out right away so there isn’t a conclusive point as to why he would cheat on her.
Unfortunately, as Anthony lays in bed that night with Jill softly snoring next to him, he cannot help but think that the conundrum he created for himself is vaguely amusing. It’s funny the lies we tell when we’re married. It was almost as if he was having a secret relationship, not with another woman but with a man who was doing his absolute best to drive Anthony utterly insane.
As Anthony finally drifts to sleep, he dreams of an infuriating man, smoking a cigarette and staring at Anthony as if he knows the secrets to Anthony’s subconscious. With those intelligent brown eyes.
So, to say he completely forgot about the kerfuffle with Hilda's’ proposal to work with Dandelion Productions would be an understatement. Anthony was more or less a workaholic with far too much caffeine in his system during those eighteen months of blissful ignorance, to the events during the production of The Word is Murder. Even Jill, who is notorious for being a workaholic, found herself leaving Anthony with his own devices. The only extended period of time they spent together was when they went to bed, both exhausted in their own rights.
Which is why when Hilda emailed him about meeting the CEO and directors for Dandelion Productions—it was a much-needed break from his screens and notebooks filled with words upon words. Drafts and drafts that sometimes-made perfect sense and sometimes Anthony wonders how he ended up being a New York Times bestselling author.
When he left his flat to head to the address Hilda provided, the wind chilling his cheeks. He passed down snow covered streets until he turned down Macklin Street, the home of different companies responsible for film production and talent acquisition. He walked past some of the dormant gardens and found the building to which Dandelion Productions is located.
Having located said office inside of a red bricked building that smelled of age and must was much harder than anticipated. Anthony peered down many hallways and took the risk of utilizing the sketchy elevator to the third floor. He is finally successful in his endeavor as he passes a forgotten and dusty fire extinguisher to a door with an equally dusty and decrypted sign with the words Dandelion Productions logo faded and worn. Anthony would have thought that the inside would be much of the same and any high hopes had plummeted, but when he entered, he was pleasantly surprised.
The room was spacious and bright with multiple windows at the back wall. There were expensive leather couches in the center facing each other. Anthony quickly noticed that and felt some of his hope return that there were posters and articles both of previous Dandelion films (all two of them) as well as many of Anthony's own work.
However, what surprised him the most was that Hilda and Hawthorne were already there—in seemingly amicable conversation with a smartly dressed women sitting opposite from them. No one had told Anthony, well that’s it. No one told Anthony that
Hawthorne would be coming and on top of that, when Hawthorne threw Anthony a glance, he actually smiled at him.
“Tony! We were just talking about you.”
Anthony walks over, thoroughly disarmed by any previous expectations and before he can formulate a thought, the smartly dressed woman stands up to greet him. Yet another surprise as she kissed him on both cheeks and shook his hand emphatically.
“I am so glad you make it,” she smiles at him. “I’m Teresa de Leon and it’s a pleasure for you to be here!”
Anthony smiles slightly and she continues, and gestures to one of the free spots on one of the couches. “Did you find the office okay? I know that it’s located in a funny spot.”
“Ah, yes I found it alright, thanks.” He said as he sat down.
She walked over to the desk and after a few more pleasantries and Teresa briefly talking about her company’s past work and Anthony barely keeping up with how fast she speaks as well as how many times she jumps from one point to another.
And throughout the pleasantries with everyone, Anthony couldn’t help but note because it seems impossible to ignore—was the fact that Hawthorne was being…friendly and weirdly chatty. It threw Anthony for another loop when Hawthorne had so casually mentioned that he had seen The Point of It All with his son. It was so natural in fact that Anthony hadn’t noticed until the conversation was already moving on—both Hawthorne and Hilda taking the reins and leaving Anthony in the dust. He was the one who even wrote the books in the first place so why are the speaking as if he isn’t even here!
Anthony had to admit as he would occasionally be graced with someone, mainly Teresa, for remembering his presence, he feels exceedingly drawn to this version of Hawthorne. This is the charismatic version of him that Anthony only has seen a few times. The difference being that there is no crime solving necessity at the moment and Hawthorne wasn’t being charismatic to dig and pull information out of someone. He watched Hawthorne as subtlety as he could in curious awe.
And for the fact that Hawthorne for this entire conversation so far has not pulled out a cigarette or two. Or three or four. Truly a miracle Hawthorne hasn’t yet fumigated the office. Even the plants that took up space on the desk, in the corners and some hanging from the ceiling in terracotta pots couldn’t mask the smell of tobacco.
As Anthony was trying to rationalize who this person is and what he did to the old Hawthorne, his thoughts as well as his thoughts are interrupted by a door slamming open and close behind them and then Teresa cringing slightly before introducing the woman who strides in to join them.
“And this is Shanika,” Teresa explains and gestures to both Anthony and the woman, now Shanika. “Shanika, this is Anthony, the author of The Word is Murder. That is Hilda Starke, his Agent and this is Mr. Hawthorne of course.”
Shanika right off the bat was eccentric and almost pretentious. She waved off the assistant that Anthony hadn’t realized was even here as they seemed to have blended in with the brown furniture with their own brown attire. Shanika said she loathed the taste of coffee and didn’t say much else. She hadn’t read any of Anthony’s books, which made him frown.
Why does no one he ever meets read his books it feels? Especially in the capacity where they really ought to.
She also stated very bluntly that she wasn’t a fan of any sort of mystery or thriller books. “There is so much hurt in the world already. I just can’t see what all the fuss is about. I suppose I did read that first mystery book of yours, but it was just so horrible I couldn’t finish it!”
“Maybe you shouldn’t write the script if you—”
“No, no you see I did think about that, but I’ve worked with Teresa for some time now and she gets that I did enjoy it. I like stories about real people—especially ones who have such a strong hatred for one another and—”
Anthony frowned. Even in the extreme cases of Cara Grunshaw, the police officer who barged into his flat, threated him and almost sent him to prison if it weren’t for Hawthorne—Anthony didn’t hate her. “I don’t hate anyone.”
Shanika scrunches her nose. “There was a lot of arguments in that book of yours.”
“It’s bantering—”
“Well, whatever it is—it’s very masculine and one dimensional.”
“I thought it funny,” Teresa interjects offering Anthony a sympathetic look. “And I think there are a lot of good undertones to your guy’s relationship we can expand upon—”
“—There's nothing to expand upon,” Shanika waves her hand, effectively cutting off poor Teresa. “And in any case the movie won’t be about the innerworkings of two men who clearly have nothing in common. It’s a murder mystery not a second chance romance.”
Anthony gives her an unimpressed look, vaguely wishing Hawthorne would say something at the very least. “I see.”
That was clearly the wrong thing to say because for nearly the next half an hour, Shanika went on a long rant and tangent about her ideas of how to change Anthony’s book for the screen and how she intends to rectify what Anthony did poorly.
Anthony isn’t really listening; his pleasantness feels as if it got sucked through a vacuum cleaner and disposed of and clearly Hawthorne must feel the same sentiment because any lightness in his expression when he greeted Anthony before vanished. Hilda looks the same as ever. Anthony has no doubt she’s crunching numbers in her head about the deal.
Eventually Shanika concludes her long rant with a pleased sigh. “And in the end, the whole thing is fiction. Do you expect me to believe that a real-world private detective can look at some papers and know definitively who murdered who? Those coffee chats will be excluded.”
Anthony says defensively “It happens all the time in Conan Doyle's books—"
“Ms. De Leon has been to Mexico,” Hawthorne announces suddenly. The group of them turns to him and though he isn’t showing anything on his face, Anthony can tell he’s just as annoyed as the rest of them.
Teresa gapes. “Pardon—”
“—Quite recently actually because her father is ill. She’s worried about it and clearly, whatever her father has been getting worse because her normal assistant isn’t here and her replacement is some kid who looks like he took an edible before he clocked in.”
Hawthorne leans forward in his seat, and Anthony cannot help but feel some weird sort of pride as Hawthorne narrows in on Shanika.
“It sounds like you’re a talented writer, exceptionally so but that’s not all is there? You’re committed to the environment, and you’ve made it your entire personality. There was an event at the Mayfair and based on how you have finished that water of yours and the clothes you’re wearing you must’ve biked here but usually you take the tube. I’d bet twenty quid you’re either vegan or vegetarian based on how you look like skin and bones.”
Teresa's mouth is still hanging open.
“How?”
“You told him about me?” Shanika demands from Teresa, to which she shakes her head.
“I didn’t tell him anything,” she turns back to Hawthorne and asks. “How did you know”
“Excuse me?”
“How did you know all of that!”
Hawthorne still looks annoyed and he says slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Well, if my explanation can help you with the script…”
“It would!”
“Well, for starters, I have eyes.”
Anthony couldn’t help but snort as Shanika shot him a glare. “Alright, is that it?”
“No. I also used ratiocination.”
Silence. Even the assistant in the background looked up from their computer screen.
Eventually Hawthorne relents, graces the room with an explanation and Anthony watches as both Teresa and Shanika gradually come to understand that the art of deduction and logic is not just in fiction. That isn’t to say that neither is impressed. Hawthorne is doing what he does best and not only is he deducing as to how he knows Shanika has made persevering the environment and limiting her carbon footprint by refusing the assistant offer for coffee but also nitpicking any potential flaw he can find in a person. Anthony sits back and watches the scene collapse in a dumpster fire. Hilda somehow looks sterner the longer Hawthorne drawls on about the connection between Shanika’s eco-personality to her narrative she is trying to spin onto the adaptation of Tonys book.
Again, with the use of Tony. Not Anthony.
Teresa is also caught in Hawthorne's whirlwind of deduction and somehow manages to drag the poor assistant into this and needlessly saying repeatedly that it appears that the stand in for Teresa's previous assistant can’t tell right between left or has bothered to take care of the potted plants on Teresa's desk.
And somehow within Hawthorne's tangent of deduction, he produced a cigarette that Anthony didn’t notice until Shanika reached over and yanked it out between his index and middle finger, stubbing it out with a more than sour expression.
“You know what, I might not even write this film. You’re a right fucking dickhead.”
Hawthorne wasn’t perturbed by the cigarette being yanked from him because Anthony saw that glimmer in the man’s eyes he’s come to know over their investigations together. And Anthony isn’t quite sure what to make of it that he somehow can read the unreadable. If someone would have told him a few years ago that he would be able to read the mysterious and aloof Hawthorne's face he would brush it off thoroughly confused.
But right now?
Anthony knew that Hawthorne was amused.
But why did Anthony feel prideful in knowing this? He felt it earlier but why? Why has it come back? Floating through his mind as if he has any right to feel this way?
Nothing is obvious of course but that happens to be Hawthorne's specialty. Anthony knows Hawthorne has a weird sense of humor and finds certain things that aren’t supposed to be amusing and vice versa.
He was especially amused because Hawthorne lights another cigarette and this time, blows the smoke in the direction of Shanika—who—makes a dramatic showing of waving the toxic fumes away from her eco warrior person. Anthony glances back over at Hilda who is staring at the scene unfolding, no doubt watching the film sail away into the distance.
And what really broke the camels back was that after Shanika called Hawthorne a fucking dickhead, all he told her was before taking a long drag was:
“I’m well aware love, but at least I’m real.”
“What were you possibly thinking!” Hilda finally seethes out after all three of them leave the Dandelion Productions office. “Throwing out a deal because you decided to be combative?”
It is about time she became angry at someone else, Anthony thinks.
Hawthorne is walking swiftly through the building, opting to take the stairs than the elevator, no doubt, so he wouldn’t be forced to stand next to a belligerent Hilda.
They all patter down the stairs and once all three get to the bottom and Hawthorne surprisingly holds the door open for both of them, Anthony catching a glimpse of that feigned innocence Hawthorne wears when he’s being purposely obtuse and obstreperous.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He replies almost coyly.
“It was going so well too! At least both of them have actually read Anthony's books.”
“You do realize I’m right here.”
“Even he could tell that both of them are full of it, right Tony,” Hawthorne asks, not letting Anthony answer. “Shanika’s narrative is interesting—I’m sure she was trying to softball all of us into becoming 'eco warriors' and smearing green paint everywhere like children.”
“Well, it has the potential to make good money,” Hilda huffs. “Used to have the potential anyways.”
“I’m sure they’ll still accept it.” Hawthorne says with confidence.
“What makes you say that?” Anthony asks and Hawthorne raises a brow at him.
“You were there, mate! They haven’t had anything else going on in two years! And based on that office and what Ms. De Leon was wearing I’m sure they’ll have a decent budget at the very least.”
The three of them were out on the pavement of Macklin Street. With Hawthorne's comment Hilda seemed to simmer down slightly. As she is searching for a Lyft, Hawthorne turns and points to Anthony with his cigarette.
“You were late mate.”
Anthony frowns. “No, I wasn’t, I arrived on time.” What was he getting at?
“You were ten minutes late.” Hawthorne says with a weird look in his eyes.
Anthony gives him a funny look. “You’re seriously trying to say that I was late this one time? Hawthorne, you’re notorious for never showing up on time when I ask you to.”
“This was important business.”
“It could have been an email…” Anthony mutters.
“Is everything going on alright with Jill?” Hawthorne says suddenly.
“Pardon?”
“You’re wife mate? You do realize you’ve got one—”
Anthony glowers at him. “Yes, everything is fine.”
Hawthorne for whatever reason looks skeptical. “Are you sure?”
Anthony wasn’t sure Hawthorne cared at all about Jill. Anthony is still somewhat put off that Hawthorne refers to Anthony’s wife as 'Jill'. Yes, she was Anthony’s wife, a great movie and TV show producer but never before did Hawthorne show any vague interest even with their first meeting. Anthony now knows that Hawthorne had extensively even before officially meeting Anthony in this capacity—even sending his ex(?)-wife to one of Anthony's book talks, only for her to have the audacity to boo him when the interview ended. Anthony still is flabbergasted at that fact. But the point is, why was Hawthorne asking questions about Anthony’s relationship? Anthony knew better than to think this is simple conversation.
Because Hawthorne looks so sure of it too. Anthony wasn’t dense—well okay, maybe when it came to detective work because he wasn’t a detective—even if he wrote a plethora of detective stories, which he thinks are quite clever—but this? It seemed suspiciously that Hawthorne was almost hoping there were issues between Anthony and Jill.
But if that’s the case, what would Hawthorne get out of it? Anthony himself found out from a begrudging Hawthorne that Hawthorne and his own ex(?)-wife were separated, not divorced. A key distinction that he had Anthony remember. Anthony remembers this was also when he was at Hawthorne's flat when amongst some of Hawthorne's Air Fix models, Anthony found some family photos—one of them being Hawthorne's ex(?)-wife when the two of them were younger.
The point being, Anthony can’t wrap his mind around the fact that Hawthorne somehow knew Anthony was stressed by a smidge. And that Anthony was stressed out in his marriage.
And apparently, Anthony was so deep in thought about the why's and how’s, that it took a hand snapping in front of face and then Hawthorne peering up at him with those innocent, not so innocent eyes.
“Eh? You awake in there mate? I just asked you—”
“Yes, yes, I’m aware,” Anthony can’t help but sound annoyed and before he can even ask, Hawthorne tells him that Hilda already got a cab.
“And you were looking at her as she left, and you still didn’t realize,” Hawthorne says with this almost amused sounding voice. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
Anthony sighs and besides the meeting ending in cataclysmic fashion, Hawthorne is giving him a headache. “And why would I answer that?”
“Because you were late—I would have thought you’d jump at this opportunity.” Hawthorne says casually.
Anthony gives him a deadpan look. “Why? Before last year I had no idea who or what Dandelion Productions was. And even still I’m not so sure…”
Hawthorne surprises him by saying, “You’re an author, isn’t your whole spiel is turning things into adaptations?”
“For some yes.” Anthony answers blandly.
“Is Jill against it?”
Anthony gives Hawthorne a withering look. Perhaps it was time to call it a day. Maybe Anthony was in fact turning into a hermit because he missed his laptop and his office and his manuscripts involving the very same infuriating man. At least when Hawthorne is one paper, Anthony can mold the man into a more likeable manner.
“She’s neutral on the matter.”
“That’s basically saying she is against it mate.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“We've both been married—you are married,” Hawthorne says as he takes a long drag of God knows how many cigarettes he has smoked today. It wasn’t even that early. “When women say ‘maybe’ they usually mean no.”
“Well, she hasn’t said no and quite frankly it's none of your concern Hawthorne.” Anthony snaps at him.
Anthony doesn’t know what game Hawthorne is playing at and before Hawthorne can open his mouth again, Anthony turns his back heads back to the station, ignoring Hawthorne's heavy stare on his back.
And as Anthony set foot on the pavement, all he could think about is what Jill told him about this whole thing. That it was a bad idea to get invested with such a small and unknown production company who has never created a mystery film nor adapted a mystery book into a film.
Anthony's mind races. He has long since entered the underground station and entered a relatively empty tube car. He may be dense and ask the wrong questions when he and Hawthorne are out working cases and may have nearly died twice during said cases, but when it came to interpersonal relationships that Hawthorne has no right to question? Anthony isn’t dense. He wasn’t going to rise to whatever rotten bait Hawthorne planned for him there and then.
And even if Anthony did spill the beans, it wasn’t as if he and Jill have had these massive spats in their relationship. Both of them are practical to a fault and know when to let up on the gas. Sure, right now Jill keeps asking about when she is going to meet Hawthorne and Anthony, giving her little white lies because he doesn’t want either of them to meet in person. He isn’t sure why, which he supposes is, in fact, a lie.
The reason why he doesn’t want them to meet or talk is the fact that Anthony likes the idea that Hawthorne is an enigma to Anthony's wife, even if Hawthorne probably knows all the intricacies of both Jill and Anthony from online databases thanks to Hawthorne's employer Dr. Morton and a smart young man named Kevin who is wheelchair bound.
Anthony likes the idea that he and Hawthorne work together, even if the other man tries his absolute best to drive Anthony up a wall.
What Shanika had said earlier during that meeting was clear that Anthony and Hawthorne hated each other’s guts. Maybe Hawthorne thinks that which Anthony hopes he’s mistaken but her statement couldn’t be further from the truth.
Anthony likes the idea that as of right now, Hawthorne only works with Anthony. That Anthony was the only author Hawthorne approached all those years ago.
In a funny way, it’s almost as if Hawthorne chose Anthony. Something that wasn’t just conclusive to just working on cases.
Anthony feels honored.
But it also feels like a bad omen.