She thought she saw a flicker of confusion in those deep eyes but it disappeared instantly. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he told her slowly. “If you’re not the one with the problem, why are you here and not your friend?”

Sheila sighed, a mixture of resignation and frustration. “To be honest, Elgin’s very good at ignoring anything she doesn’t want to deal with.”

“Well if she doesn’t feel there’s a problem…”

“Please, Mr. Harm,” her voice took on a note of pleading, “at least hear me out. I’ll pay for your time, only please, just listen.”

“Perhaps you had better explain.” His tone was less than a demand but more than a request.

“Well, it actually started a couple of months ago,” she began, determined now to match his businesslike demeanor and not be viewed as a hysterical female. “I own Fantasy Publishing. We’re a small press, catering to women’s fiction.”

Instantly, she saw his mouth twitch downward and a look of disapproval like storm clouds gathering in the depths of his eyes.

“Fantasy Publishing,” he growled. “I think I’ve heard of them.”

“Perhaps you have,” she replied, straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin slightly. “We’ve been very successful in our little niche the past few years.”

“You publish women’s porn,” he stated coldly.

“Mr. Harm,” she told him, her voice as cold as his, “Fantasy Publishing produces women’s fiction of every genre including science fiction, paranormal, comedy, horror and contemporary romance. Our authors have won major awards and our readership stretches from New York to New Delhi and is growing by leaps and bounds every month. That growth attests to the fact that many women…indeed, a great many women, enjoy reading sex, the steamier the better. And now that I’ve explained my business to you, I would like to continue with the relevant portion of this story.”

Sheila took a deep breath and picked up her thread as he eyed her silently.

“Elgin Collier is our most popular author. She writes under the pen name Gillian Shelby. She’s written six books with another one due out this summer.”

She watched as he scribbled on the paper in front of him, barely taking his eyes off her as he wrote.

“Anyway, one morning about two months ago, we were sitting in her living room discussing her latest novel.”

“Where does Ms. Collier live?” he interrupted.

“The Whittier Towers,” Sheila replied. “She has a large condo overlooking the park.”

He paused and waited for her to continue.

“The doorbell rang and Martha…Martha Jackson her secretary/companion answered it. Turned out to be a box of three-dozen long stemmed carnations. What they call ‘variegated.’ Red and white like the old milk cans. They’re Elgin’s favorite flowers. As a child, her father used to grow them in their garden. These are special though, because they’re field grown, not raised in hot houses so they have this wonderful cinnamony smell. There’s only one florist in the state who stocks them.”

“Was there a card?”

Nodding, Sheila reached into her bag and produced a small white envelope, which she handed to him.

“To my Gillian,” he read. “That’s Ms. Collier’s pen name?”

“Uh-huh. Gillian Shelby.”

“Doesn’t sound particularly ominous. More like a fan.”

“Elgin keeps Gillian completely separate from her ‘real’ life.”

“So?”

“So how did this ‘fan’ know that red and white carnations were Elgin’s favorite flowers? Or her home address to have them delivered?” That pesky note of panic reappeared and Sheila had to fight it back.

“Maybe one of her friends played a prank,” he offered vaguely.

“About six weeks ago, she began getting candy. Now Elgin has a metabolic disorder; her body doesn’t handle carbohydrates in the normal way and she has to be pretty careful about what she eats, especially candy which she happens to love. She searched high and low and finally found some places that sell low-carb candy. Chocolates from a place in California, jelly beans from Texas, peanut brittle from Kentucky, and salt water taffy from New Jersey.”

“All of which were delivered to Ms. Collier?”

“Every day for a week.”

“Did you check with the stores?”

“Of course we did. They all said the same thing. A postal money order and the name and delivery address came in the mail. With no return address, they threw out the envelopes. Since they’re all small outfits, they recognized her name and address and didn’t think anything about it.”

“Any cards?”

Sheila shook her head. “No. Just the candy. Elgin tried to pretend it was all some kind of joke but I know it spooked her because she had Martha put all of it…every single bit…down the garbage disposal.

“Go on.”

“Well, time went by and nothing else happened and Elgin got wrapped up in finishing the book and we all kind of forgot about the whole thing.”

“Until?”

“Two weeks ago she got a package delivered at home from one of those…those on-line adult toy stores. Their ‘honeymoon special.’ You know; a little leather whip, handcuffs, edible lotion. That kind of thing.”

Harm nodded and his pen moved quickly across the paper.

“There was also this skimpy little bra and panty thing. Black. Sort of a string thong and pasties. It really shook Elgin up.”

“Completely understandable,” he agreed without enthusiasm. “Even as a joke of some kind, it wasn’t in very good taste.”

“The toys themselves were bad enough,” Sheila continued, “but worse still, the bra and panty were her size, exactly.”

“No card?”

“No.”

“What did the store say?”

“That their customer records were confidential and that if the lady didn’t like gift, she could return it and the original purchaser would get a credit but that they couldn’t and wouldn’t give out any customer information. I got so mad I threatened to sic my pit bull lawyer on them. Miserable twerp just laughed, told me to go ahead because they had a barracuda lawyer who ate pit bulls for lunch and hung up.”

“Ms. Forbes, I really don’t see anything here to be particularly alarmed about. There’ve been no threats, no overt actions of any kind that would suggest anything but ardent, if misplaced affection.”

“You haven’t heard the whole story,” Sheila told him acidly. “Since I’m paying for this time, I’d at least appreciate the courtesy of your attention before you pat me reassuringly on the head and send me on my way.”

Anger prickled lightly down his spine. He wasn’t used to being talked to like this, especially in his own office. Especially, not by a client. And, most especially, by a woman. But she was indeed paying (and handsomely he consoled himself) for his time so he could afford to tolerate her a little longer.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “please continue.”

“Thank you. As I said, we’d sort of let the whole thing drop. Two days ago, Elgin came to my office in the Riverview Plaza to bring me the finished manuscript of her book and just generally chew over the state of the world. She stayed…oh, maybe forty-five minutes to an hour and left about noon. Later, she told me the elevator was packed when she got on and she got crammed to the center of the car. Just after the car started down again, she said she felt something brush her ass. Chalking it up to just too many people in too small a space, she tried readjusting her body a bit. The next thing she knew, she felt a hand definitely resting on her ass.”

“Could have been purely accidental.”

“Mr. Harm, I assure you that grown women can tell the difference between an innocent accident and a grope.”

She took another deep breath to calm herself and went on.

“Elgin was just about to turn around and clock this pervert when the elevator reached the lobby, the doors opened and people poured out, pushing her with them. Outside the elevator she looked around but didn’t see anyone suspicious-looking so she shrugged it off and went on outside.