I hope you don’t mind me contacting you. I read your new book and I just had to reach out. It just blew me away! You are the best author I’ve ever read and I hope you’ll write more.
J.J. Reads

Camille Rodgers smiled as she read the note. She’d known her book was doing well, but it was especially nice to hear from readers. She dashed off a quick ‘thank you’ to the writer and then showed her screen to her husband.
‘Look, Dean, isn’t this sweet?’
‘Looks like you have a fan.’ Dean smiled at his wife.
‘And it’s my debut novel, too. I didn’t think it would get this much attention.’

But it did. Sales of the book skyrocketed, and Camille got requests for online live interviews. Two days after the second one, she got another message.

I saw your interview. You were brilliant. I had no idea you were such a gifted speaker. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Your book is so good, too! As soon as I finished it, I read it again. One of these days I would love to meet you in person. I’m your biggest fan and it would be a dream come true to meet you. I hope it’s soon.
J.J. Reads 

‘Hon, what do you think of this?’ Camille passed her phone to Dean and pointed at the message.
‘That’s pretty intense,’ he said.
‘I think it’s a little creepy.’
‘Yeah, it is.’
‘You think I should tell the police or something?’
‘I don’t know if they could do anything. I mean, this guy hasn’t threatened you or anything.’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ Camille admitted. ‘But I’m creeped out. I want him to stop.’
‘You should tell him.’

‘It’s not that simple.’ Camille didn’t want to alienate a fan. And anyway, a lot of people aren’t comfortable about writing. Maybe this guy was just awkward. So, she thanked him for the kind words about the book, keeping the note as short and professional as she could.

For a week, J.J. Reads left Camille alone. In the meantime, she was invited to do some book signings and personal appearances, so she busied herself getting ready for those. There was enough to do that it almost kept her mind off J.J. Then the day after her appearance at a book fair, she got another note.

You were brilliant at the book fair! You were so pleasant and friendly, and even more beautiful in person than you are online. That’s such a pretty aqua dress you wore. I loved your answers to the questions you were asked, too. You and I should work on your second book together. We ‘re already friends and I know we’d be good partners. Think about it, OK?

J.J. Reads

‘OK, this definitely crosses the line into creepy,’ Dean said when Camille showed him the message. ‘But he still hasn’t done anything.’
‘He must have been at the signing to know about my dress. I didn’t post any pictures of myself that day – just the books and the table. I mean, he was stalking me.’
Dean was quiet for a minute. ‘Not technically,’ he finally said. ‘Nobody followed you around, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Did people talk to you?’
‘Well, they did say some things, but nothing stalker-ish.’
‘Then I don’t see what we can do. But I know it’s upsetting to you. Is there some way I can help?’
Now it was Camille’s turn to be quiet. She shook her head slowly. ‘No, not really. Maybe just stay near me at the next signing, so if that nutcase comes, he’ll see I’m taken.’
‘That I can do.’

Camille’s next signing was at a big chain bookshop. Dean stayed with her the whole time, even helping to greet some of the customers and straighten up the copies of books. It felt safe to have him there, and Camille hoped the whole thing would blow over.

It didn’t. The day after the signing, she got a new message.

Why didn’t you answer my last note? I thought you cared about me. Oh, well, maybe you were just busy. You’re so popular and I’m sure a lot of people want to meet you. I saw your husband with you. You didn’t need to bring him along, you know. Don’t you think it’s kind of rubbing it in my face? Next time don’t. And next time, wear that yellow dress you had on the other day. It suits you. I want us to talk about our book, too. Write back this time.

J.J. Reads

‘Now I’m scared,’ Camille told Dean. ‘This guy is a stalker. And I don’t even know who he is or what he looks like. He comes to signings and so on, but he doesn’t introduce himself. What if he knows where we live? What if he comes here?’
“He’ll have me to deal with,’ Dean promised her.
‘Fair enough and thank you. But I think we should tell the police.’
This time Dean agreed.

The next morning, they went to the police station with printed-out copies of the notes from J.J. Read. The police agreed to look into it but couldn’t promise anything. Not without a direct threat and not without knowing who the person was. Still, Camille felt better just for having told them.

Three days later, the news shows were full of the tragic murder of rising star Camille Rodgers, knifed behind a bookshop an hour before she was to do another signing. Dean had to stop himself from smiling as he thought of all that unexpected royalty money. And that would be even more now that Camille was dead. People were ghouls. He hurried to complete the last message he’d send from that burner phone he’d been using.

You’ve ignored me, and now you’ll pay. I’m going to get you.

Camille hadn’t known where the messages came from. And now with that juicy lead, there was no way the cops would think to investigate him.