We reached the address Erik had given me without further argument, largely because we didn’t talk. The house was an older rambler set on a huge yard that would have held an entire subdivision back in Seattle. Lawn ornaments—a deer and a gnome, to name a few—cluttered the grass, and wind chimes dangled on the porch.

We knocked on the door, and several moments later, a woman in her late forties or early fifties answered. She had hair dyed an unnatural shade of red that put me in mind of Tawny’s current hue. Her tight-fitting top pressed a lot of cleavage into her scoop neckline and was also not that far off from something Tawny might wear, albeit a little less tacky. The look the woman gave us wasn’t unfriendly so much as curious.

“Yes?”

“Hi,” I said. “Are you Mary Wilt—”

“Oh my God!” she squealed. She had just done a double-take on Seth. “You’re Seth Mortensen!”

Seth stiffened and exchanged looks with me. “Well, yeah . . .”

Her blue-shadowed eyes bugged as she practically drooled over him. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it! Seth Mortensen’s on my porch! I recognize you from your website. I look at it every day. Every day. Oh my God. Oh my God! I’m your biggest fan. Come in!”

Seth looked like he wanted to bolt then and there, but I nudged him forward. This turn of events was a bit unexpected—and creepy—but could possibly work to our advantage.

We stepped through the doorway. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the inside of her house. The décor was more modern than the outside suggested, all done in neutral shades. There was a bit of normal lived-in clutter and far more figurines than I found tasteful, but overall, it was a nice place. Some of the figurines were carved out of crystal, which I took as a good sign.

“Come in, come in,” Mary gushed, beckoning toward the living room. “Sit, sit! Can I get you anything? Iced tea? Coffee? Tequila?”

“Er, no. I’m fine,” said Seth, who was clearly becoming more and more uncomfortable with all of this. “Thank you.”

He and I sat down on the couch, and Mary sat in an armchair across from us, leaning forward in a way that afforded an ample view of her breasts. “What can I do for you?” she asked. “Are you here to buy something? I’d do anything for you. Anything.” She grinned at Seth, making her “anything” intentions obvious. “You’re so much cuter than I expected. Will you sign my books while you’re here? I own all of them.”