We still had to go down to Izzy's room and pack everything up, so we put away the papers and log book and got our bags ready to go. I went with Sabrina to her sister's room. She didn't need the help, but I think she appreciated the support. We threw all of her toiletries in the trash and her clothes in the suitcase. Sabrina put the $200 from the safe in her purse.

"If we go by a Goodwill store, I'll just donate the whole thing; money, suitcase and all," she said.

"We need to decide what to do with her room at the Residence Inn," I said. "She had almost nothing there, but if we don't go back, will they keep charging you? I'm just worried that the place might be under surveillance."

"I think we should chance it," she replied. "I'd feel better cleaning up after her."

We checked out, and they brought the car around. We got to the Residence Inn around 10:30. We were in and out in record time, and on the road to Fairfield, Iowa.

*****

It was a better part of a five-hour trip from Chicago to Fairfield. We spent a little while rehashing what we had read in the log and the notes, but eventually we realized that most of it was going to hinge on what we found in Fairfield. After that, I had Sabrina tell me what it was like to be famous.

"You have to understand," she said. "All this fame stuff is new to me. It's all been within the last year. Before that, I was a complete unknown. If Ellen—she's my editor—hadn't liked one of my first two books, I'd still be toiling away in obscurity. Besides, it's not like I'm a movie star or anything. I'm a writer. People know my books, not me. The fact that a few people have recognized me over the past couple of days is pretty rare."

"Or a sign of things to come," I argued. "Look at Stephen King. I bet he can't go anywhere without being recognized."

"In all honesty, I don't want that. Despite what you might think, I'm really a very private person."

"But as your books become more popular, so will you. Your face will start appearing on the cover of writing magazines, then more mainstream magazines like People. Like it or not, you will start to be recognized. Maybe not Stephen King recognizable, but you will have to start wearing sunglasses and big floppy hats."

She laughed at that, but I also knew she was thinking about what I had said.

"I'm sorry," I added. "I hope that didn't depress you."

"No, not really. My agent was warning me about that a few weeks ago, but I guess I wasn't listening, because it really hadn't happened yet."

"On the other hand," I offered, "I'm sure I could pass most of my favorite authors in the street and not recognize them. Most likely, you will interact with people who will walk away thinking, 'Boy, she looks familiar. I wonder where I've seen her.'"