Derrick began with one of Bob’s signature black T-shirts that his mom diverted from the wash to her purse. He put it up for sale, complete with a photo Joanne had surreptitiously taken of Bob wearing it. The same distinctive tomato sauce stain was on the chest in both. Listed at the equivalent of five hundred dollars in Bitcoin, it sold in less than three hours. After that, every few days Derrick posted something else his mom had brought home. A toothbrush. A pillowcase. Even Bob’s hair clippings.

He switched to auction-type sales. The money was better, and people tended to get competitive, especially for one-of-a-kind items.

Selling bits and pieces of Bob’s ordinary, boring life hadn’t slaked Derrick’s desire to meet the great man himself. And finally his mom had asked to let Derrick come to the house.

The night before, Derrick had been unable to sleep. Perhaps he could share some of the ideas he’d come up with while working on the plot committee for Mysts of Cascadia. Maybe Haldon would even offer a sneak peek at Eyes of the Forest.

The next day, he trembled as he stepped into Haldon’s magnificent office. Derrick was thankful he’d thought to set his phone to record and put it in his shirt pocket, because it was impossible to take everything in. His mom had complained about how hard it was to dust, but her words hadn’t conveyed the wonder of it all. One wall was crowded with framed awards, antique illustrated maps, and wicked-looking swords. The other wall was dedicated to hundreds of shelves holding two-inch-high figurines.

In the back right corner stood a full suit of armor that Derrick was pretty certain was actually from the Middle Ages. In the back left corner was a giant boxy silver robot, like from a 1950s sci-fi movie. Draped around its shoulders was a purple velvet cloak.

Sandwiched between the armor and the robot was a huge battered wooden desk the size of a twin bed. Every inch of the desktop was covered. Derrick’s eyes skittered over a crystal ball, a feather quill, a stuffed raven, a jade figure of a dragon, and a two-foot-tall black rock cut in half to reveal purple and white crystals within.

Dominating them all was a huge Mac desktop with a bigger display than their TV at home. On it was not a page of Eyes of the Forest, but a frozen image he recognized from a Jim Carrey movie. Not one of the good ones, either.

And sitting in a leather overstuffed chair was the man himself. He looked just like the thousand pictures Derrick had seen. Black T-shirt, light jeans, old-school Nikes too broken down to be cool. And wrapped around his neck was his trademark violet scarf.

With a movement of his chin, he indicated Derrick should approach.

Closer to, Haldon’s face was flushed. Crumbs speckled the scarf and T-shirt.