The Girl From Summer Hill (Summer Hill 1)

“I’ll go look for her,” Casey said, but just then Emmie, in head-to-foot pink, stepped into the room. “She’s here.”

Nina let out a sigh. “Tell Tate to fix this. I’ll come and get her in about an hour.” She clicked off.

Tate was frowning at his niece, who was standing with her head down, as though in apology. “Just so you know,” he said, “when I find out what you did, I’m going to be furious.”

“Tate!” Casey said in horror. “She—”

But Emmie knew her uncle well, knew his acting voice from his real one. He wasn’t angry and wasn’t going to be. She made a leap and launched herself onto him. He caught her to snuggle against his chest and smoothed the hair out of her eyes. “What’s this about?”

“I put it online. On the cloud.”

“What is ‘it’? The play?”

Casey went to the door, meaning to go downstairs to start breakfast, but Emmie’s iPad was leaning against the wall, and she picked it up. “Does this have anything to do with it?” She sat down on the bed and handed it to Emmie.

“Show me what you’ve done,” Tate said.

She pushed the button, swiped the screen, and up came the video of Tate in Casey’s bedroom, chasing the peacock.

“You posted that silly thing?”

Emmie solemnly nodded, looking as though she’d done something awful. “And the one about Mr. Collins.”

“What are you talking about?” Tate asked.

“I saw Gizzy with the phone,” Casey answered, looking at Emmie. “You mean when we were at the picnic, don’t you? When Uncle Tate played Mr. Collins.”

Emmie nodded, still seeming worried.

Tate was finally understanding. “I think you know too much about technology.” He tossed the iPad aside and began tickling his niece.

Casey picked up the tablet. “Those two videos have nearly a million hits. Look at the comments. People are saying they had no idea you could be so funny. I wonder if this ‘Ron Howard’ is the director?”

Tate quit tickling his niece, took the tablet from Casey, and quickly scrolled down the comments. There were several names he recognized. “This couldn’t be real.” He grabbed his phone and checked the emails. There were ninety-one of them. Wide-eyed, he handed the phone to Casey.

She read the addresses of the senders. “Joel Coen sounds familiar.”

Tate fell back against the headboard. “The Coen brothers,” he whispered, his voice sounding reverent.

Casey looked at Emmie. “I take it this is good?”

“Oh, yeah,” the child said. “Uncle Tate loves them.”

They heard the downstairs door slam, and Jack yelled, “Landers!” He was running up the stairs. “Your agent called me. She wanted to know where the—” He stopped when he saw Emmie. “She wants to know why in the world you don’t answer your phone.” Gizzy was behind him.

Tate seemed unable to speak.

“He has it set so only Emmie and Nina’s calls come through,” Casey said. “What does his agent want?”

“That video with that stupid bird and the one I sent Emmie have gone viral. Some big shots want you to do something in a movie besides smolder. Harvey called.”

Tate gasped.

“Harvey who?” Casey asked.

“Weinstein.”

Even she had heard that name. Leaning over, she kissed Tate’s cheek, and again she started for the stairs. But this time Nina blocked her. She had a piece of paper in her hands and she thrust it at her brother. She looked too astonished to speak.