by B. J Daniels
“Who is that man?” TJ asked on a ragged breath before the truck disappeared down the street.
Her sisters turned to look.
“I saw him in the gift shop.” Chloe shook her head. “I have never seen him before that,” she said with a shrug.
TJ had expected Annabelle to say the same thing and was surprised when her sister said, “The mountain man?”
“You know him?” TJ asked as the pickup continued down the street. The truck, she saw with surprise, had a local license plate on it. How was that possible? It was the same man she’d seen in New York City earlier today. But how could that be? She was losing her mind.
“His name is Silas Walker. He moved here about six months ago,” Annabelle was saying. He’d moved here six months ago? That was about the time TJ started getting the letters from True Fan. “He keeps to himself. Has a place in the Little Rockies.”
“You can bet he’s running from something,” Chloe said. “Probably has a rap sheet as long as his muscled arm.”
“Do you always have to be so suspicious?” Annabelle said with a sigh.
“Seriously, he’s either a criminal or an ex-cop.”
“One extreme or the other?” Annabelle grumbled. “Sweetie,” she said, turning back to TJ. “You’re shivering. Let’s get you into the coffee shop.”
It wasn’t until they were seated, cups of hot coffee in their hands, that her sisters asked what was going on.
She wished she knew. Fearing that she was letting her paranoia get to her, she didn’t know what to say.
“TJ?” Chloe prompted.
“She’s finally getting some color back into her face,” Annabelle said. “Just give her a minute.”
She took a sip of the hot coffee. It burned all the way down, but began to warm her ice-cold center.
“Tell us what’s going on,” Chloe said. “Tessa Jane, you looked like you saw a ghost back there. Do you know that man?”
Looking up at them, she knew she couldn’t keep it from them any longer.
It all came pouring out about the fan that at first was so complimentary but soon became more critical, making suggestions that when she didn’t take them became angry.
“Who do you think it is? Probably some aspiring writer with too many rejections who’s angry at you because you got published and she didn’t?” Annabelle asked.
“Or maybe another writer who’s jealous of your success?” Chloe added.
TJ shook her head. “That’s just it. I have no idea. It could be just a reader who doesn’t like the direction my books have taken. I’m not even sure if it is a man or a woman. I’m not the first writer to run into this problem. Readers bond with an author. They have expectations when they pick up one of your books. If you don’t meet those expectations...”
“What? They threaten to kill you?” Chloe cried. “Have you gone to the police?”
She told them what had happened. “The officer was right. My entire life is out there in the cloud. When I was starting out, I hadn’t realized that everything I said to the press or online would be available online forever. At first I was just so excited to be published. I never dreamed...” She shook her head.
“I can’t believe the police blame you,” Chloe said.
Annabelle agreed. “Though I have to admit, it goes with the business. I ran into this with modeling. Once you’re out there, you become public property.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Chloe said.
“Don’t tell me that you haven’t run into this as a reporter,” TJ said.
“People storming in angry about something I’ve written? Of course,” Chloe said. “It’s part of the job. You can’t please everyone. But if you’re being threatened...”
“What are you going to do?” Annabelle asked.
She shook her head. “The police officer I talked to said I should ride it out. That the fan would get tired of harassing me. But I’m worried with this new book that True Fan isn’t going to like it at all. After seeing that man...”
“You think it’s him, your True Fan,” Chloe said. “The one who looks like a mountain man?”
TJ sighed and told them what had happened only that morning on the street in front of her apartment. “He saved me, but did he? I felt someone push me in front of that truck. If he hadn’t grabbed me...” She saw her sisters exchange a doubtful look. “I know it doesn’t seem likely that they are the same person, but...” She halted for a moment. “I swear it’s the same man. I...feel it.”
“Okay, it’s a stretch,” Chloe said. “But I suppose it’s possible. You were in New York this morning and now you’re here. Why couldn’t it be the same for him?”
“He could have even been on the same flight,” Annabelle said. “You flew first class, right? He probably flew coach. And since you didn’t have any luggage to claim...”
“Okay, it’s not that much of a coincidence if he is the same man,” Chloe said. “It doesn’t make him True Fan though.”
“Right, it isn’t like he followed you here,” Annabelle said. “He’s been living here for the past six months.”
“Six months,” TJ said in a whisper. “That’s how long I’ve been getting the letters from True Fan.”
* * *
SILAS DROVE TOWARD the Little Rockies, anxious to get to his cabin. As he drove, he contemplated what had happened back at the gift shop. It didn’t make a lot of sense and he was a man who prided himself on making sense out of situations.
At least he’d been right about one thing. TJ St. Clair had been headed home for the holidays. When he’d realized that, he’d been looking forward to meeting her. But after what had happened back there...
She’d run out of the shop in tears. Because of him? Or someone else she saw in the store? Odd behavior. He considered that it might have something to do with what had happened this morning in New York. A scare like that would make anyone jumpy. He frowned to himself, wondering again about her near accident this morning.
Was she merely jostled? Had someone purposely pushed her?
He shook his head, reprimanding himself for not leaving his job behind along with the suspicions that went with it. He was in Montana now. He’d bought this place outside of Whitehorse in the Little Rockies so he could get away from his stressful, dangerous, always unpredictable job.
Here, he did so much physical labor that all of that ugliness was forgotten—at least for a while. Here, he’d put that world as far away from him as he could.
And yet you still read thrillers. Not just anyone’s. You read her books.
He laughed as he drove toward the mountains. That’s because she was the reason he’d moved here. After reading TJ’s books, he’d been curious about Montana, curious about the wild prairie, the endless sky, the wide-open places that she talked about in her books. Once he saw the area, he was hooked. She had always mentioned the Little Rockies so of course that’s where he went when he was looking for land. While he loved the prairie, he also wanted a hideaway like the lawless days when Kid Curry and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid roamed this area.
He’d bought into the mystique because of TJ St. Clair and because of her books, but he’d never dreamed he’d get a chance to meet her here in her home state. Which was why he couldn’t miss her book signing tomorrow. He knew even before he turned onto the snow-packed road that led up into the mountains to his cabin that nothing was going to keep him away. He realized that he’d been wanting to meet her for far too long.
* * *
TJ LISTENED TO her sisters chatting, knowing they were trying to get her mind off True Fan and her book signing tomorrow. She smiled and nodded and added a word or two when required as she tried to enjoy her barbecued pulled pork. It was delicious and she was hungry after a long day with little real food.
But she couldn’t keep her mind off the man she’d seen at the gift shop. The mountain
man. Her True Fan?
She thought back to the first letter. It had been so complimentary. The writer had loved the book, sounding surprised as if not a thriller reader. She tried to reconcile that first letter with the more recent bitter, hateful ones she’d been getting. She couldn’t square them anymore than she could the man she’d seen first in New York and now in her local gift shop asking about her book.
The first letter had been like so many of the others that she had hardly noticed it.
“You really need to hire someone to answer these,” her friend Mica had said when she’d seen the stack TJ had been working her way through on that day six months ago.
“I’ve thought about it, but I’d rather not answer them than have someone else do it for me. I know that sounds crazy.”
“No, I get it.” Mica had opened a couple of the letters and begun to read them. “Aww, these are so sweet. They love you. This one is from a woman who is almost ninety. She wants you to write faster.” Her friend had laughed. “Oh and this one is long.” She’d watched Mica skim it. “Good heavens, do people often tell you their entire life histories?”
TJ had nodded. “They want to share their lives with me because they feel they know me from my books. You can see why I try to answer as many of the fan letters as I can. Unfortunately I can’t answer them all. I just hope they understand.”
After her friend left, TJ had answered as many of the letters as she’d had time for since she had a book deadline looming. She always had a deadline looming.
That part she didn’t mind. She loved writing the stories. It was the other things that ate up her time that she hated. There were always art forms that needed to be filled out describing her story, her characters, suggesting scenes for the cover.
Then there were the many edits and proposals that needed to be written. Add to that the blogs and promotion requests. It was a wonder she ever had time to write the books.
She had been thinking about that when she’d picked up one more fan letter to possibly answer. The first thing she had noticed was that there was no return address on the envelope. She hadn’t thought too much about it since often the readers would put their addresses inside their letters.
Slicing open the envelope, she’d pulled out the folded unlined discolored paper. She remembered holding it up to the light, wondering how old it was to have turned this color. The letter had been typed on what appeared to be a manual typewriter. TJ had an old heavy Royal she’d picked up and kept in her office only as decoration. She’d always been impressed that Ernest Hemingway had written on a manual typewriter, since she doubted she would be writing books if it weren’t for the ease of computers.
Dear Ms. St. Clair
I’ve never written an author before. I guess there is a first time for everything.
I recently checked out your first book from the local library. It was quite pleasurable to read. You clearly have talent. I was surprised when I started reading and couldn’t put it down. I definitely enjoyed your descriptions of Montana and the country around your “fictitious” small town.
I’m actually looking forward to your next book,
Your True Fan so far
TJ had laughed. The reader certainly hadn’t thought he or she was going to like it. It had pleased her that her True Fan had been surprised and willing to try another one of her books. Maybe next time the person would purchase one rather than wait to get it at the library.
She had looked to see if there was a name or an address. Apparently the reader didn’t require an answer. She’d tossed the letter in the trash since long ago she’d given up keeping all the fan mail. She’d thought nothing more of it.
That, she realized now, had been her first mistake. There might have been fingerprints on that first letter before things went south.
Chapter Five
“I want to read the letters you got from this so-called fan of yours,” Chloe said once they were back at the house and alone. Their sister had gone to see her fiancé, Dawson Rogers, promising to come back before all the wine was gone. “Something tells me they are much more threatening than what you told Annabelle.”
“I didn’t bring them with me,” TJ said. “I didn’t even save the first few.” But she remembered them and often saw them in her sleep, waking in a cold sweat, her heart pounding.
Dear Ms. St. Clair
I was so disappointed with your last book. To think a tree was killed to make the paper that book was printed on... You should be ashamed.
I expect each book to be better than the last. I don’t think that’s unreasonable. In my last letter, I made some suggestions as far as the plot and character development.
Clearly, you dismissed those suggestions. Maybe you think you know more about writing than I do. Since my opinion doesn’t count, you won’t be surprised to hear that I don’t trust you as a narrator.
I’m your only honest fan. If this is the way you treat a true fan, I hate to think how you treat your other readers.
You have really let me down. We might have to do something about that, don’t you think?
Your only True Fan
She’d thought that would be the last time she’d hear from that reader. She didn’t remember a suggestion for a book that True Fan had claimed to have sent her. Readers often thought she should do books about various secondary characters from her novels. One even suggested getting a woman out of the criminally insane ward of a hospital so she could find her true love. What readers didn’t seem to realize was that those decisions weren’t always up to her—even if she was inclined to do a certain character’s story.
She’d thrown True Fan’s letter away—just as she had the first one—and moved on to a letter by a woman who would love a signed book sent to her sister for her birthday. Her sister loved TJ’s books and was laid up after a car wreck. The sister’s name was Rickey. The reader had said that the sister was a huge fan.
TJ had picked up one of her books and signed it: Rickey, Happy Birthday. Hope you’re well soon, Best, TJ St. Clair.
She put it with the letter in the pile to be mailed, only vaguely remembering that it went to a post office box in Laramie, Wyoming.
After that, she’d gone back to writing her book and forgotten both letters.
That had been her second mistake, though she’d had no way of knowing it at the time. It wasn’t until she received the next letter from True Fan:
Dear TJ St. Clair
You really aren’t as bright or as talented as I first thought. Actually, I’m amazed you make any money at this. A person you don’t know from Adam tells you a hard-luck story and you send them a book? You are so gullible. But “Rickey” thanks you. Tee Hee. I’m feeling so much better and I like having a book that you touched.
Unfortunately, your books are getting worse. I didn’t think that was possible. I told you what to do, but you just keep ignoring me. Because you think you’re so much smarter than me, more talented? You keep making this mistake and we’ll see who is smarter.
Your True Fan until The End
“Believe me,” TJ told her sister now. “I’ve read them numerous times. I can’t tell if they are from a man or a woman. They could be from anyone. Anyone who owns an old manual typewriter.”
“Well, they have you running scared, so you must believe the threats are real,” her sister said.
“The last one promised that True Fan would be seeing me soon and unless I apologized for ignoring the advice the person had been giving me, I was going to die like one of the characters in my book,” TJ said. “True Fan said I could pick which character and which death and kill myself because it would be less painful than if a fan had to stop me from writing by killing me.”
Chloe shivered. “That sounds like more than a threat. The police didn’t take that seriously?”
TJ poured herself a glass of wine, her hands shaking. “
Even if True Fan had said he or she was going to kill me, there is no return address. The postmarks have been from all over the country. Where would they begin looking for this person? We don’t know if it’s a man or woman. So until True Fan actually makes good on these threats...” She got to her feet. “I hate talking about this.”
“This man we saw earlier, you realize it’s a long shot that he’s the same one from New York, but I could do some checking. Annabelle said his name is Silas Walker.” She ran upstairs, returned with her laptop and began to tap on the keys.
TJ was thinking how nice it was to have an investigative reporter in the family when Chloe let out a sharp breath and looked up. “What?”
“He was one of New York’s finest, but left a year ago after being caught in some kind of internal sting investigation.”
“What kind of investigation?” TJ asked around the lump in her throat.
Chloe shook her head. “Dirty cops. He apparently was never arrested. All they said was misconduct that betrayed the public’s trust. That could be anything from lying to cheating on overtime or much worse. Here’s the kicker: he was rehired a month later but then quit.” She looked up from her computer. “This guy could be dangerous.”
“What guy could be dangerous?” Annabelle asked as she came through the front door on a gust of winter wind. TJ and Chloe shared a look. “Are you talking about the Mountain Man?”
“He’s an ex-cop who was fired at one point,” Chloe said. “I was saying he could be dangerous.”
“Why was he fired?” their sister asked as she shrugged out of her coat, hung it up and joined them. She poured herself a glass of wine. Her cheeks were already flushed. From the cold? Or from her visit with Dawson Rogers?
“Let’s not talk about this,” TJ said. “Tell us about you and Dawson.”
Annabelle shook her head. “If you really think this man is dangerous then you need to cancel your book signing tomorrow.”
“Bad idea,” Chloe said. “She’ll be perfectly safe at the gift shop with us and half the town there. This is her chance to find out if he’s this True Fan who’s been sending her the threatening letters.”
