by A. C. Dillon
"I took a fall," Autumn replied evasively. "It's fine. The doctors assure me I'll feel much better in a few days." Scanning the menu, she settled quickly on grilled calamari and a Caesar salad. "Now, what was so urgent?"
"You have to ask?" Jeremy flipped through a series of pages in a file folder, tapping his forefinger viciously. "Oh, yes: young ingénue goes missing the day you tell the country you'd like a certain starlet to star in a film adaptation of your book. Next day, instead of networking with prospective stars for the movie adaptation, a chemical burn mishap scars a rival actress—similar to a certain event in your yet-to-be-released debut novel."
"Speaking of that, were we able to find anything about the bloggers on that list?" she asked Andrew.
"Nada. Everyone checks out. Most of them are well-established. Several aren't even in the country. Only three are in the New York area, and all three have alibis." Andrew scrolled through an email, reading on. "They're still working on fully verifying the whereabouts of two of them, but they're both from southern states."
Autumn frowned. "Could the stalker be a relative or friend of a blogger?"
"Needles, very large haystacks."
"Which means we can conclude that Veronica's ARC was indeed stolen, leaving us with no leads," Autumn grumbled.
Jeremy gulped his water, setting the glass down abruptly. "You're not actually trying to play detective, are you? This is a serious matter. Police are involved." Looking to Andrew, he flailed, to Autumn's amusement. "Some support here?"
Andrew smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I don't tell her what to do. My fiancée is her own woman."
Fiancée. She really loved the sound of that.
Unimpressed, Jeremy flipped through a series of pages, presenting her with a copy of a press release. "Courtney and I are going to release this on your behalf in the next few hours. This should at least distance the connection between your book and the criminal behaviour."
Autumn perused the statement, unsure whether she even cared about the publicity. Hell, if she had her way, she'd be inclined to shelve it forever. Un-write it, if she could. While brief, the statement condemned the actions of Amanda Lafleur's assailant and asked for privacy as she and her loved ones "dealt with a difficult personal matter."
"Fine, do what you need to do." She passed the page to Andrew, disinterested. "Kill the book for all I care."
"Hey, don't say that," Andrew chided her. "You're just upset right now."
"Kill the book? After nearly a year of work? Forked Creek won't do it, I can tell you that much." Jeremy was clearly upset at her suggestion—downright indignant, really. "Delay? Quite possibly. But there are a lot of people who have given their time and passion to making Dissected a reality. If anything, the real life echo makes for a more riveting story."
"I'm not profiting off my best friend's misery!" Autumn snapped. "So if that's your great plan, you can turn right around and get the hell out of my sight."
Jeremy, caught off-guard, was a sputtering mess of apologies. Andrew leaned closer, squeezing her shoulder.
"Cut him a break," he urged quietly. "Poor guy's clearly terrified of blowing this job."
"I don't care." She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, cursing the pain in her ribs. "Right now, I care about stopping this guy."
"Ms. Brody, I don't want to minimize what your friend is going through. I'm not heartless. Look, see... Here!" He pointed to a bullet point on a list in his folder. "This might help to stymie him. Shake up his plans."
Reaching gingerly for the paper, Autumn scanned the list. While some of the items on Jeremy's to-do list seemed more self-serving for her publisher, he did raise a clever option: have Veronica cut all ties with the Dissected project.
If she publicly announces she's no longer interested, maybe he'll lose interest in creating a real-life version of my book, she mused. And maybe then, he returns to letters and shoes.
Autumn handed back the list. "Some of these seem more directed at Veronica than me."
"Regardless of the fact you're our author, Veronica's situation is connected to the project now. Everything we do from here has to consider her safety and yours, as well as the future livelihood of Dissected. I know the book isn't your priority right now, but it's my job to market books. I can't help that."
"Well, I can't be arsed to promote a book that's become a how-to manual for murder," Autumn countered. "I'm not even in any physical shape to do so."
"I'm going to have to be firm on that one," Andrew interjected. "Autumn needs as much rest as possible for the next three days. Doctor's orders."
"And we can work with that." Jeremy ran a hand through his shaggy locks, kowtowed by Andrew’s glare. "Most of the PR is going to be handled by representatives like me. No interviews. No direct interaction. In fact, I'd prefer you stop speaking to the police. We've provided ample information for their investigation. The less you're seen with them right now, the lesser the association between your novel and the attacks."
As their server approached with their food, Autumn relented. "Fine. That makes sense. Frankly, I'm over staring at crime scene photos for the moment."
Between bites of food, Jeremy outlined the rest of his publicity plan. First on his list: statements released by Autumn and Veronica, severing the ties to the film and effectively requesting privacy as the police continued their investigation. Next: Jeremy wanted to coach Veronica explicitly on how to handle any inquiries about the book by paparazzi. Other items didn't concern Autumn—changes to approvals on ARC releases and delayed timelines—but the final to-do was a strategy for handling future publicity, once Autumn felt ready.
"When did you want to talk to Veronica?" Andrew asked.
"As soon as possible. Courtney's taking care of Canadian press outlets who may have caught wind of the story."
Autumn thought for a moment, struggling to estimate time. Everything, it seemed, was a little foggy today. It was irritating. Andrew had run interference with her parents, but they'd likely soon hear of her accident and demand to talk directly to her. One quick conversation and her father would hear how out of it she was.
"Veronica's show ends at... four?" At Andrew's nod, she continued. "So let's make it five. We'll bring food to Veronica's and discuss things there. Food always softens her up."
Andrew chuckled. "Seriously, I've never met a woman so easily swayed by a good pizza."
"Bribery by carbs: my favourite method for handling sticky situations with V."
Relieved, Jeremy closed up his folder. "I'll bring the carbs. There's an Italian eatery down the road from my place. Mom and Pop joint, authentic food. Pick you both up here?"
"Sounds good. Make it four-thirty. Veronica's not far from here, but with the traffic..."
Jeremy groaned. "Don't remind me. Driving in this city makes me nostalgic for the poorly maintained roads in Nowhere, Michigan."
With farewells exchanged, Autumn and Andrew remained at the table, picking over the last of their meals. Beside Andrew was a copy of Jeremy's master plan for saving her book, as if she cared. Sensing her frustration, Andrew reached across the table for her hand.
"I know this is a bad situation, but you worked so damn hard on your book. Don't let him take it from you."
Frowning, Autumn speared a forkful of romaine. "I would give it all up—the book deal, the advance, everything—for Veronica to be safe and those women to be alive and well."
"I know you would. And that heart of yours is why you deserve success. We have, what, six months before the release date? Let's worry about it later."
"I guess..."
Stealing a mouthful of her salad, Andrew added, "You can always consult with an advocacy group for domestic violence on how to turn this shitstorm into a positive influence for other survivors."
Moments like these, where Andrew seemed to understand her better than she understood herself—or anticipated her needs before she could articulate them clearly—were why she trusted him with her heart. Leaning over sligh
tly, she was pleased he spared her the strain and met her in the middle for a kiss.
"Thank you."
"I aim to please. Now, may I propose a plan for our afternoon?"
Autumn shrugged. "I'm all ears."
"I wouldn't say that. You have an excellent pair of hips, soft lips, and perfectly round—"
"Andrew!"
"Eyes. God, why do you have to make everything about sex?" he teased.
"Your plans?" she prodded.
"Lazy Sunday: cupcakes from that stand over there," he said, pointing across the dining room. "TV, internet surfing... mindless amusements only. No heavy thinking."
"So we can watch UFC?"
With a feigned look of disgust, he flagged their server. "If we must. Dig through the archives online, perhaps search by awkward or amusing nicknames. I hear they have a fighter nicknamed Cuddly Bear."
"Cuddly Bear?" Autumn snickered quietly as Andrew requested two cupcakes for their room. "Oh, God. That might even beat out Sexyama. Bring it on."
"No cheerleader movies. Not even ones featuring Eliza Dushku," Andrew replied firmly, helping her to her feet.
"Too bad I took a tumble. I was so looking forward to showing you my spirit fingers," she demurred.
"We've got time for that."
Pausing before the elevator, she smiled. "Yes. Yes, we do..."
Neither of them noticed a flicker of light dancing along the mirrored walls behind them.
* * *
The key to Veronica's heart: gnocchi. Lesson of the day, as duly noted by Autumn.
As promised, Jeremy had come bearing gifts of pasta and tiramisu, waving off any offers to contribute to the costs. "Company card," he'd explained. "This is a business dinner, after all."
Seated in a sundry of sofas and chairs, the group of six dug into the proffered feast. All discussion of business was put aside, by mutual agreement, until dessert. Although it had taken some coaxing, even Kevin had relented and joined them. Judging from the way he was polishing off the lasagna on his plate, Autumn figured it had been some time since Veronica's chief protection guru had dined on decent fare.
"Mr. Dixon, you are my favourite person of the day!" Veronica enthused. "I could eat ten bowls of this gnocchi."
Evan smirked, nudging Andrew's arm. "Wait for it..."
"Om nomm nomm!" Veronica danced around the coffee table, in search of more pasta and another can of Coke.
"I've never known a woman so happy about food," Evan stated, twirling spaghetti on his fork. "It's so attractive."
"Grow up with my mother and you either dread eating or spitefully become a foodie. Anyone else need anything?"
"Tortellini!" Autumn called out. "And all of the Parmesan."
"On it."
Fidgeting with his empty plate, Jeremy reluctantly spoke up. "As much as I'm thrilled to see my great taste in Italian cuisine shared, we do have some business to attend to."
The four friends collectively groaned, resigned to the inevitable serious matters at hand, but hesitant to break the casual happiness of their meal. What was meant to be a vacation had become anything but relaxing. The last forty minutes were the closest thing they'd had in days to a friendly gathering.
"I agree." Kevin sat aside his empty plate and reached for his tablet. "I've got the finalized reports you asked for, Mr. Dixon."
"Just Jeremy is fine. Did we find anything of value?"
Kevin scrolled through a document, humming to himself. "I'm aware that you've been briefed on the general data we've compiled. We've effectively ruled out any of the book bloggers in possession of Autumn's novel. From a general security standpoint, three of those individuals have had minor scrapes with the law involving theft or fraud, and two of them are possibly not the owners of the blogs they solicit for. However, they may simply be assisting the true writer by handling solicitation of materials."
"That's my Kevin!" Veronica teased. "Serious and thorough. Always has the things that I need..."
Kevin glanced sideways, fighting back a smirk. "Are we going there again?"
"I will always...go there," Veronica replied, throwing up her hands. "Okay, Whitney impression done. For now."
"Have you had a chance to review the press release I sent you?" Jeremy asked, gently steering them back on topic.
Veronica nodded, chewing quickly. "Yep. My agent has it in hand and will release it shortly. Do you really think this guy will stop making me live a horror flick?"
Autumn shrugged. "Can't hurt. I'll try anything that might get him to go back to creepy letter town at this point."
"I never thought I'd be nostalgic for pervy love letters, but I couldn't agree more." Shuddering, Veronica leaned against Evan.
The conversation ping-ponged for the next hour: strategies for working with law enforcement; plans to defuse the media coverage of the stalker ("It's stroking his ego," Kevin advised); further ideas to de-escalate the stalker. Autumn had little faith that they could reel the guy in, but she wasn't willing to discount it.
"Should we be warning potential targets?" Evan asked.
Andrew groaned. "Do we even have potential targets? I thought we had no idea how to extrapolate from the characters to people in Veronica's life."
"Well, what comes next?" Kevin asked.
"The car crash," Jeremy replied quickly. "The second-ranked student in Laurel's program crashes his car after a puncture causes his brake fluid to leak. He takes a sharp turn along a back road and hits a tree."
"Who would be ranked above me? If I were the understudy for Johanna, I'd say the person actually playing my role would make sense."
Autumn had spent hours trying to connect dots, but Veronica was right: no one fit the next victim in the book. "Are you an understudy for anyone?"
"No, not at all. Camilla has her own understudy from the ensemble, as do I. My understudy doesn't drive, so she can't possibly wreck a car."
Ideas were tossed around: Broadway rankings; lists of 'hot actresses'; order of auditions for In the Garden. Nothing seemed to click with the scenario in the novel, which only served to frustrate them further. Jeremy, sensing the growing anxiety, doled out the tiramisu, but it did little to soothe Autumn's frazzled nerves.
The ring of a phone silenced the group. Kevin answered his cell, making noncommittal noises before muttering an affirmative response. "Mirza's here," he explained.
"You mean my other Kevin," Veronica corrected him.
"Right, of course. And Ray is the Gay Kevin. How could I forget?"
Kevin's half-smile was the best Autumn assumed anyone would elicit from the man while he was on the clock. Walking towards the door, Kevin paused in the entryway, studying a stack of mail.
"Veronica, did you bring this in?"
"Hmm? Oh, that? It's Friday's mail," she replied, gathering dishes in a stack.
"No. No, it's not right..." Snapping on a glove, the former Army officer picked up what appeared to be a jumbled blend of flyers and bills.
"What's wrong?" Andrew asked. "What do you see?"
"I'm not sure yet..." Thumbing through the stack piece by piece, he froze at a cream-coloured envelope. "Veronica, did you go through this mail when you picked it up?"
"Of course I did!" Rounding the corner from the kitchenette, she approached Kevin. "What is... No. No, that wasn't there!"
Autumn rushed to her feet, whimpering as her chest recoiled at the exertion. "Tell me there's not another one..."
"Kevin, how did he get in here?" Veronica was frantic, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. "How? If you guys are around 24-7, when did he come in here?"
"We weren't here last night," Evan pointed out. "We had barely made it inside when Andrew called, remember? We packed in five minutes."
"And Ray would have been with you," Kevin reminded her. "I don't like this. I know you've resisted the security system, but I don't believe you have a choice."
"Open it," Autumn urged.
Jeremy edged backwards, shaking his head. "Shouldn't we ca
ll the police?"
"No!" Autumn snapped. "If he left it last night, it might contain a clue as to who's next. We don't have time. Open it, Kevin, please."
In the end, Kevin sided with Autumn, carefully slitting the envelope open with a blade in his multi-tool. As Mirza entered the apartment, Kevin waved him over with the envelope. The other guard stiffened immediately, taking a mental inventory of the people in the apartment.
"I'm not certain what this means, but I think you're right: it's a message about the next victim." He passed Veronica a nitrile glove from a small pouch on his belt, gesturing to her hand. "Put that on and read this. He's writing to you. If it'll make sense to anyone..."
Tugging on the glove, Veronica snatched the letter away angrily. "I hate this. He was in my home..." Staring at the page, she began to read, her voice dripping with disdain. "'My Veronica... Stars can be frustrating entities, can't they? So full of beauty and light, they remain millions upon millions of miles away. So seemingly near and yet out of reach. You're no different now than the rest: surrounded by others who dazzle and draw attention, and so untouchable'..." Pausing, Veronica shook her head. "I hate this long-winded bastard... 'How do you make a star fall to the earth? You don't, really; a falling star isn't a star at all. It's just a rock, caught in cosmic orbit and ultimately falling into the earth's atmosphere... I'm...'"
"Veronica?" Evan gently nudged.
Her eyes widening, she read quickly now, the pieces coming together. "'I'm sorry to have to hurt you, but I need to ground you. I need to remind you of the woman you are beneath the notoriety and kiss-ass reviews. I need to bring you back to the beginning, to where you stood staring at a bulletin board, homeless and unsure in a new city. Your story is quite remarkable. At least, that's how it was told to me. The Little Canadian Who Could. Can you still see what's important? Or will it go up in flames, like a shooting star hurtling to earth? Are you just a rock after all?'"
The letter fell to the ground as Veronica sprinted for the door, snatching her keys on the way out. Mirza quickly lunged for her, earning a punch in the side of his jaw.
"No! We have to see!"
