Secret Window Page #2

Other than Jack Daniel's?

I know that part, Amy,

hence the question.

I don't know.

You got weird on that one.

You'd write it mostly at night, I think.

- What do you mean, "influenced"?

- I don't know.

Like, by another story?

Look, forget it.

Mort, you swore the one time

was the only time.

Forget it, please.

Please, just forget it. Come on.

How's Ted?

He's fine.

I was thinking that he and I should get

together sometime, have a drink...

...because we've been to a lot

of the same places.

- You know what? I gotta go.

- So do I.

Okay.

- Is he there?

- No.

We're not together.

Wow, well...

...I'd be lying if I said I wasn't on

the verge of doing Snoopy dances.

No, Mort.

What I meant was we're

not together at the moment.

He's coming over later. He hardly ever

comes here. I usually go to his house.

There's a useful detail.

Thanks for that.

Don't ask, then.

It was working just fine that way.

I think you should have him

over to the house more.

Such a nice house. I like it.

I mean, I love it. That's why I bought it.

Goodbye, Mort.

Goodbye, Amy.

Sh*t. Sh*t. Sh*t.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

- You read it?

- I did.

I imagine it rang a bell, didn't it?

Oh, it certainly did.

When did you write it?

I thought you'd ask that.

That's the whole point.

Two writers have the same story,

it's all about who wrote the words first.

- Wouldn't you say that's true?

- I suppose so.

I suppose that's why I came

all the way up here from Mississippi.

I wrote it seven years ago, 1997.

How'd you get it?

That's what I really want to know.

How in the hell did a big

money-scribbling a**hole like you...

...get down to a little shitsplat town

in Mississippi...

...and steal my goddamn story?

- Drop it.

- Drop it?

Drop it. What in the hell

do you mean, drop it?

You said you wrote your story in 1997.

I wrote mine in late '94.

It was published for the first time

in June 1995 in a magazine.

Nice try, Mr. Shooter,

but I beat you by two years.

If anybody's got a b*tch about

plagiarism, it's me.

You lie!

- No, I don't!

- Prove it!

I don't have to prove a thing to you.

Go look for yourself. Ellery Queen's

Mystery Magazine, June 1995.

- And how am I supposed to find that?

- That's not my problem.

Am I supposed to drive down to your

house in Riverdale, New York...

...and ask your wife, Amy, for it?

I read it on your book jacket.

That's not my house. That's hers.

What the hell does that mean?

What do you think, you ignorant hick?

I'm in the middle of a divorce.

D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Divorce.

You strike me as the kind of guy...

...who's on the lookout for a head

he can knock off with a shovel.

But what you don't understand is,

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