How dare they think that about Sage? She would never do anything like that, and if that idiot doesn’t know that after talking to her and seeing the fear in her eyes, he isn’t up to the job.
“I don’t think so. Like I said, the staff all rave about how nice she is and that she’s a really good tipper without being showy about it.”
Sage, a bit rattled, was escorted down to the signing. Who would want to hurt her? The idea someone did was a bit unnerving, but she had a job to do—one of the best parts of her job. She straightened her shoulders, tossed her hair back, and entered the signing room.
Seeing her table made her smile. Gail had come down earlier to set it up so Sage would have time to change. Her new stand-up sign made her smile, and the table was well organized, showing her books to their best advantage. There was room behind her and underneath for additional books and swag, giving her space to sign books and talk to readers—both new and old.
The next several hours sped by. Sage was engrossed with readers, selling and signing books, and participating in various giveaways. Gail fluttered around, spending most of her time with Sage but also talking with other authors she wanted to bring over to her publishing house.
“I have a small group of newbie authors I thought we could have a drink with. They’d love to talk with you, and one or two of them I’d like to land as clients,” Gail whispered.
“Then why don’t you…”
“Sage, sweetie, they don’t want to talk to me. They want to talk to you. I could use your help.”
Sage noticed Gail rarely asked, usually told, and never said please, but Gail had been the one to take a chance on her, and they had taken the niche publishing world by storm.
“Okay, but I promised the hotel manager I’d talk to the police before I left.”
“The police? About last night?”
“Partially. Someone managed to get flowers and a somewhat threatening note into my suite.”
“Oh my God, Sage.” Gail squeezed her arm comfortingly. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Nothing happened, other than I was a bit spooked, but the police want to talk to me in light of what happened last night. Let me just make sure they aren’t here. Why don’t you start, and I’ll join you as soon as possible?”
“I’ll get them started, then join you. I don’t want you to have to go through this alone.”
“I’ll be fine…”
“No, I want to be there for you.”
For all her nagging and bossiness, Gail was a good friend and had been there every step of the way. Granted, her business had grown alongside Sage’s, but she often went over and above what Sage felt most publishers would do.
As they left the ballroom, Gail headed toward the bar while Sage was met by the hotel manager.
“Ms. Matthews, the police are in your room and wondered if that would be a convenient place for you to speak to them?”
“That’s fine.”
They entered her room as a group of people, in what looked to be hazmat suits, exited.
“Ms. Matthews, I’m Detective Miller,” a man said, walking forward and extending his hand.
Sage was always surprised when she met real-life detectives, who only occasionally resembled the tall, good-looking men who portrayed them in film and on television. Detective Miller was short, round, and balding. His skin was pale and slack, and she thought he looked as though he was more interested in retirement than what had happened to her.
“Detective Miller, please call me Sage.” She looked back toward the door as the last technician left her room. “Should I be more worried than I am already?”
“Why? Oh, the protective gear? That’s their standard garb to keep from contaminating evidence, not because we think there are hazardous materials.”
“Good, I was a bit worried. I’m not sure what I can tell you, Detective, but I’m happy to cooperate.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Just today, or do you want me to start with last night?”
She wondered why he didn’t seem to be up-to-speed on all that had happened. Didn’t he see everything was connected… or at least it seemed to be.
“Do you think the two incidents are linked to one another?” the detective asked as he looked out the window.
“Don’t you?” Sage asked incredulously. “I’m sorry, Detective, but am I boring you?”
“No, ma’am, but the report I had said everyone agreed it was just kids who got out of hand…”
“Because that’s the way it appeared at the time,” she said, stressing the last three words, “but given that I’ve now received a threatening note, I would think the idea of rowdy teenagers would be in question.”
Sage was trying to quell her rising anger, but the idea that what had happened were separate, isolated incidents was absurd. She wasn’t a trained investigator, but even she could see that.
“The two aren’t necessarily connected,” the detective said defensively.
Sage stared at him. “I think you’re wrong, Detective. What’s more, I think you know it. I think you know you fucked up last night and are more concerned about saving face than ensuring nothing else happens.”
“I don’t appreciate you speaking to me that way…”
“And I don’t appreciate your cavalier attitude. Not to worry, though, Detective, I’m headed home today, so you can wash your hands of me.”
Gail breezed in as Sage and the detective squared off. “Problem?”
Sage shook her head and drew herself up. “None at all. The detective is leaving. I was going to ask the manager if he could have my things packed and taken down to my car. I’ll grab my computer, go down and meet with your authors, and leave immediately afterward.”
Sage turned to leave, but Gail restrained her.
“Detective, as I’m sure you can imagine, Sage has been upset by what happened… artistic temperament. I’m sure you understand. Sage, the detective is just trying to do his job.”
Artistic temperament? Since
