Yet a Stranger (The First Quarto #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,150

author at all.”

“And just because I feel like my life won’t be complete until I hear this: what is a romance author supposed to look like?”

“Well, you know.” Shaw gestured vaguely. “A corset. Fishnet stockings. Stiletto heels. Would it kill her to wear a bustier?”

“I don’t—”

“Or one of those vinyl bodysuits. And maybe a whip!”

“I think you’re thinking of a prostitute—”

“Sex worker.”

“—or dominatrix.” North pointed to the screen. “This lady just looks like she has too much time on her hands, and maybe she likes playing dress-up.”

“Says the man who just ordered an adult Naruto costume—” Shaw cut off at the noise North was making. “I mean, right, yes, whatever you were saying.”

A knock came at the door, and a moment later, it opened.

“Ms. Maldonado is here to see you,” Pari said, all sweetness and light with a prospective client standing behind her.

“Thank you, Pari.”

“And Truck asked me to tell you that hir job is taking hir to East St. Louis.”

North nodded; he was obviously trying not to make a face. “Please remind hir that we only reimburse legitimate expenses.”

“Ze knows,” Pari said, her smile turning brittle.

“That means—”

“Ze knows. We all know.”

“All right,” Shaw said. “Great. Thank you, Pari. Thanks so much. Ms. Maldonado?”

A soft voice answered, “Yasmin,” and then the woman and Pari traded places, and Yasmin Maldonado moved into the office. She had a skunk stripe of gray roots where her hair was parted, and she looked thinner than she had in the picture. She wore a MICHIGAN IS FOR LOVER’S sweatshirt, snow pants that crinkled every time she took a step, and ratty Reeboks. The only thing consistent with the picture was the smell of cigarette smoke that moved with her.

They took a few minutes getting her settled, exchanging introductions, and her eyes roved around the office before settling on the LP with its slice of birthday cake. With what looked like a great deal of effort, she dragged her gaze up to look at North and Shaw.

“I know you’re going to think I’m fangirling, but I just can’t believe you’re willing to take this case. The gay detectives! This is so exciting!”

“Well,” North said with a sidelong glance at Shaw, “there might have been a miscommunication. I’m interested in hearing about the job you want us to do, but I have to be honest and tell you we’re very—”

“Very interested,” Shaw said. “Very excited about a chance to do some work with the LGBTQ community.”

Yasmin nodded. Then her mouth widened into an O. “You mean us! Oh, right. Yes, that would be great. I mean, you’re gay! It would be fantastic.”

“Right,” North said with another of those sidelong looks. “We’re definitely gay.”

“And you’re boyfriends,” Yasmin said, clasping her hands.

Another of those sidelong looks. Shaw discreetly rolled his chair back a few inches and kicked North in the ankle. “Why don’t you tell us,” Shaw said, ignoring North’s murderous glare, “what’s going on? You mentioned death threats. Against you, in particular? What’s been happening?”

“Well, I don’t care what anyone says: we can’t cancel the con. We can’t. I won’t. I’m not going to let some pathetic nobody terrorize us into ruining a wonderful time for hundreds of people.”

“You’re talking about the…” Shaw checked his notes, which he now saw were written on the back of a Jack in the Box receipt. “Queer Expectations Convention? Is that right?”

“Yes. The premiere gay romance literature convention in the world.”

“The only,” North coughed into his fist.

But Yasmin had heard him, and she shook her head. “Oh no, there’s another. Gay Romance Literature. Very…hoity toity. Noses in the air. Not like us; we just want to have fun.”

“And this con, Queer Expectations, it’s being held in St. Louis this year?”

“That’s right.” Yasmin squirmed to the edge of her seat, snow pants crinkling. “A few weeks ago, I started getting emails. ‘I’m going to get my revenge.’ ‘You’re all going to pay.’ That kind of thing. Then the physical letters started showing up. They had the words cut out of magazines, you know. They said the same kind of things. I brought them, in case you want to see them.” She gestured to a folder on her lap. “And I checked in at the hotel Monday; Tuesday morning, I had another one. Someone had slipped it under the door while I was asleep. It’s crazy. The whole business is insane. And of course, someone leaked it, and our guests are going wild. We already have a lot of people who suffer from anxiety,