Chapter 10

Inventory of Suspicions

M y hands and legs had quit shaking by the time the police arrived, but my stomach still clenched in a nervous knot. I had answered all the hotel security guards' questions and recounted to Catherine Beech why I thought I was the only conference member being targeted. She seemed to feel better after considering my reasoning, yet remained angered that my stalker would cast a shroud of darkness over the Literary Laurels Conference.

I then repeated the same information to the police detective while a tech dusted for fingerprints. Tammy, Beth, and I contributed ours for comparison. The only other person to enter the room was Winter, but I don't recall her touching anything. I gave them her name, anyway.

"You say this began with a threatening text message on Thursday night?" Detective Lance Campbell asked. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and performed his job with professionalism and precision. However, the dark circles under his drooping, acorn eyes attested to the fact he'd rather be home in bed at this hour on a Friday night. It's likely in a city such as New Orleans, for him to be overworked and underpaid, often facing mortal danger. I almost felt guilty for Catherine insisting the police come out after the long day he'd probably already put in.

"Yes, that's right," I answered. "Of course, this person was harassing me for months online before that. She just didn't have my phone number; I never give it out to people. So, I don't know how she got it."

"You'd be surprised how easy it is to obtain a cellphone number," he replied as he jotted down a note. "I need the phone so we can trace the messages back to their source."

"I blocked the sender," I said as I handed him my phone.

"That doesn't matter. And do you have your computer with you?"

"Yes, but—" Surely, he didn't want it too.

"I'll need to take them back to the lab. Our tech guy can quickly discover where the threatening texts are coming from and track down the user going by SapphicLover69."

My eyes widened, and my fingers curled into fists. "You can't take my laptop!" I cried. "My whole life is on there. The phone is bad enough. Can't you get what you need from it? I blocked the user from my social media accounts. It's been months since I heard anything from her."

He gave me a reassuring smile. "We'll get them back to you safe and sound in short order—probably by tomorrow afternoon. Even if this perpetrator isn't a member of the local hate group we're dealing with, you want him or her caught, right?"

"Well, yes," I confessed, as my face pulled into a tight wrinkle of defeat. I was the victim, so why were the police victimizing me all over again? Didn't he understand that all my manuscripts, promotional images and materials, my notes, and pdf "how-tos" were on my laptop?

"Please be careful with it," I pleaded. "Don't delete anything. I need everything stored on there."

"I'll take extra care with it, ma'am. The NOPD isn't in the business of losing or destroying personal property. Now, if all of you can vacate the room so my lab guy can finish his sweep, we should be out of your hair in about an hour and you can get some sleep," Detective Campbell said as he steered me toward the door. "You could sit in the lobby or the lounge, and I'll let you know when we're through."

"She'll wait in our room," Tammy decreed. "Two doors down on the right side."

The detective nodded, and Tammy and Beth escorted me out.

"Is there anything else you need?" Catherine asked. Her fury had dimmed to fretful concern as she wrung her hands in front of her. I liked Catherine. She was both protective and pragmatic, inquisitive and inclusive, and an excellent president of the prestigious literary society. Being asked by her to present months ago left me stunned, but her response to my present situation warmed my heart. She had stayed after hotel security left, making phone calls and sending messages, ensuring everyone else attending her conference was safe and sound.

"You have been wonderful," I answered in honest appreciation. "I'm so sorry, Catherine. I didn't know my stalker would follow me here and cause trouble."

She waved an exquisite hand at me and tutted. "It's certainly not your fault, Aspen. It used to be outsiders—religious leaders and conservative columnists, men who wanted to keep us down, and women who were jealous of our success—who attacked us. Now we must contend with harassment from within our ranks, or at least someone who pretends to be. Who knows? This antagonist you've acquired could be anyone. The police will sort it out."

Catherine patted my shoulder and forced a smile. "You get some rest tonight. I've asked hotel security to have someone stationed on the 23 rd floor all day while the panels and classes are going on, and the evening shift will keep a watch over our lounge karaoke. Hopefully, the culprit will be in custody by then."

"Thank you." I returned her smile and added, "You get some rest too."

Once in her and Tammy's room, Beth wheeled into a bathroom as luxurious as mine to get ready for bed while Tammy and I collapsed in their sitting area. "I can't believe this is happening," I moaned. "I'm not even a big deal."

"Maybe not yet," Tammy qualified, "but you are well on your way to becoming one. Maybe it's because of hot, steamy romance novels that set women's pants on fire, or maybe you've caught this deviant's eye because of how young and attractive you are."

I shook my head and gestured to myself. "This isn't me. This is a front I wear, a persona I made up because the real me is too boring and ordinary for anyone to notice."

"Is that what you think?" she smirked. "We'll deal with your obvious delusions later; right now, we need to figure out who's behind all this. It must be someone attending the conference, either an author or a reader. What do you know for certain?"

I let out a sigh and shifted in the cushioned armchair. "It isn't you or Beth since you were both sitting at the table with me when the first text message came through. Winter had gone to the bathroom, but I can't imagine it could be her. She's too …" I flailed my hand, searching for the right word. "Wholesome. Can you fathom her ever using the word ‘fuck?'"

Tammy ran a hand down her face and her shoulder muscles rippled. "I've been working with her for about a year, helping teach her the ropes like I did for you. I've never had a reason to suspect that she's anything other than the nerdy girl next door. If Winter is SapphicLover69, she established a very convincing alter ego long before your stalker went psycho online. I would find her a most incredible suspect."

"Plus, she was with us all night tonight," I added. "She couldn't have trashed my room even if a service delivered the roses. And Elaine was with us too."

"I've known Elaine Parker for at least ten years," Tammy said. "She's never been other than a ray of sunshine. However, her partner of fifteen years died about six months ago in a tragic motorcycle accident. They were as tight as Beth and me, so it had to tear her up. Still, it would be totally out of character for her to do something like this."

"I get a strong, positive vibe from her," I mentioned. "The ray of sunshine aura like you said, but, man, how awful. I had no idea she'd lost her partner."

"Aspen, do you have someone in your personal life who could use this as a ruse to get back at you?" Tammy inquired. "An ex, someone who's jealous or bitter toward you for something?"

"My ex and I are good," I said. "She's moved on monumentally and gotten married to the love of her life. I've dated a few other women, but nothing serious and no raging breakups. Mostly, I keep a low profile. People who know me in Gulfport haven't a clue I write sapphic romances, and most don't even know I like women. No, I doubt it's anyone I know offline. So, I guess we can cross the three fan girls off the list too since they were on the tour with us tonight."

"Wait now, not so fast." Tammy propped her elbows on her knees, leaning closer to me. Her intense gaze caught mine. "Any of them could have broken in here while we were at dinner—even left the flowers then."

"But how would they get in, and how did anyone get my private cellphone number?"

"Oh, hey, maid?" I twisted a curious expression to Beth, returning from the bathroom with her face washed and her pajamas on. The clean face, sure—but I was amazed she could completely change her clothes without assistance. Impressive and admirable, though I would never say so. I understood the importance of personal independence, especially for those with special needs.

"I'm here for the Literary Laurels Convention and, darn it—silly me—I accidentally locked myself out of my room. Could you please open the door for me?" She presented us with a helpless, pleading expression and batted her lashes. "Then, once inside, she walks over to the table, slips her own keycard out of her pocket pretending she'd just picked it up, and flashes both it and a grin at the maid standing at the door. ‘Thank you so much!' And that's probably how it happened."

"No wonder Tammy is such a successful author with you running her business," I commented. "Do you engage in ploys like that often?"

Beth laughed, and Tammy beamed at her in appreciation.

"My sweetheart doesn't need subterfuge to be successful. She's a fabulous writer," Beth replied.

"Aspen's right, honey. I'd be nothing without you." The love vibes were suddenly so powerful in the air that I wished I could retreat and give them the room. Instead, Beth joined us, and Tammy took her hand. "Back to the suspects."

"Yeah, all three hundred twenty-one of them." I rolled my eyes. "Minus the three of us, Catherine—oh, the look on her face! I hope the police find the perpetrator before she does. And I'm going to cross off Winter and Elaine, because really?"

"I'm with you," Beth concurred. "We're looking for someone who devolved after she felt you spurned her advances."

"Unless that's merely an excuse," Tammy ventured. "If it is a jealous competitor, the motive is to gaslight you, drive you crazy, so you'll stop writing sapphic romances which take readers and recognition away from her."

"I don't believe it works that way," I professed. "We can all win together. Some of these reading freaks—and, honestly, The Guinness Book of World Records needs to be keeping track of them—can consume a book a day or even two in a day. It boggles my mind! It's like these readers have been starved for so long to have stories about women loving women that they can't grab them up fast enough. And competition just helps us ensure we stay at the top of our game, so our readers can get better novels and short stories. Just because someone buys my book doesn't mean they won't buy yours too."

"Hey, I agree with you," Tammy asserted. "Catherine and I were talking about this just a couple of years ago, how the sapphic fiction market has exploded almost overnight. It used to be only a handful of authors were active in the genre, and now there are hundreds, with some truly excellent ones leading the charge. At the same time, the number of readers buying lesbian and other sapphic fiction has surged. So, yes, we can all succeed together, and nobody's piece of the pie is diminished by the influx of additional up-and-coming authors."

"However." Beth lifted her index finger. "Not everyone is of the same mind as you and my sweetie. Some more established authors could view you as a threat."

"Out of the seventy-one writers in attendance, forty-nine are finalists for an award," Tammy recited. "Another twenty-five authors unable to attend are also finalists, but we'll exclude them from the suspect list."

"Elaine is a finalist for Young Adult Fiction, as it was a smaller category than Fantasy and she thought she'd have a better shot at winning," Beth said. "Winter doesn't have a finalist yet, but she's working up to it. Still, neither would be in direct competition with you."

Tammy wiggled fingers into her back pocket and fished out a tattered, folded copy of the schedule. "Let's see who is," she stated with resolve and unfolded the creased, frayed packet of pages. "You are a finalist in three categories. The others are …"

We looked over the list while Tammy rattled off all the names. Some were legendary, others I had seen on covers and in group chats, and a few names I didn't recognize at all. Any of them could be SapphicLover69 or none of them.

Despite our serious discussion, Winter's fierce protectiveness of me kept resurfacing in my awareness, and it spawned a thought. "What about spouses, partners, and significant others? They might see themselves as fighting off a potential threat to their loved one."

"There are forty-two of those," Beth said, adding, "and sixteen more in the industry, including publishers, editors, consultants, twelve artist types, and five representing marketing agencies."

"I don't see why any of those would be out to get me," I responded. "I don't see why anyone would. What about readers?"

"A hundred and seventy-five avid fans of sapphic fiction signed up to attend and, according to Catherine, only one didn't show," Tammy supplied. "I think we need to be wary of anyone who we spy giving Aspen angry looks or who fawns over her too much. Either could be a sign." Turning to me, she asked, "Have you decided which events you're attending tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I answered weakly. "But I don't want you changing your plans to babysit me."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" Beth laughed. "We've been to so many of these things, no one has anything to say we haven't already heard. But you agreed you wanted to attend the panel on dealing with book pirates because that's a current, pressing issue."

"You bet. I wouldn't miss it. It's just—"

"Enough quibbling," Tammy declared. "And that cute, little Winter will be stuck to you like glue all day tomorrow too, so get used to it."

"Has she talked to you about me?" I asked, purely out of curiosity, certainly not out of personal interest.

Tammy grinned, and Beth blushed.

"What did she say?"

"Oh, the usual," Tammy threw out vaguely. "She admires your writing, loves your imagination, thinks the sun rises and sets simply because you're in the world."

I lowered my head, feeling extremely inadequate. "She's just infatuated with Aspen Wolfe. She doesn't know me; nobody does."

"And whose fault is that?" Beth reached over and took my hand. "Honey, you don't have to reveal anything about yourself that you don't want to. Just don't be sad about folks not knowing the real you. Most of us aren't mind readers, you know."

"I realize Aspen Wolfe is a pseudonym," Tammy admitted, "but you're a real person, sitting right here with us. And you can't write like you do without revealing some of yourself. Winter spent the whole day with you and never once was repulsed. I suspect SapphicLover69 doesn't know the real you at all."

I opened my mouth, ready to tell them my given name and admit an ocean of deficiencies, when a knock sounded at the door.

"Ms. Wolfe, it's Detective Campbell. We're all done in your room."

Saved by the bell, I thought. Perhaps another time.