Page 66 of Postmarked December

“You didn’t do this,” Marion said. “You had no part in it.”

“The release of this book feels like a freight train that I can’t stop. Toby always said there wasn’t enough security in our building. Will people want to verify the details in this book? Will they know where I live and try to come find me for comment? My mind is going crazy with the possibilities.”

“You could always ask at the bookstore. Maybe they’d let you get an early copy, and you could start a defamation case before it comes out.”

“Even if I found something, would they be able to pull them off every shelf nationwide in two days? I don’t think so.”

The coffeemaker beeped. Still considering ideas, she poured a cup of coffee and added milk and sugar.

Then her doorbell rang.

“Hey, there’s someone at the door. Let me get that. I’ll call you back.”

“Okay. Be careful!”

“I will.”

Through the peephole, a delivery person stood on the other side. When she opened the door, he held out a large bouquet of red roses, accented with fresh evergreen stems of pine and fir, along with red berries and sprigs of baby’s breath. “Heather Hart?”

“Yes.”

“These are for you.”

She took the bouquet. “Thank you.”

Balancing the large arrangement in one arm, she shut the door and took in the bouquet’s clean, wintery scent as she carried it to the table. She plucked the card from the holder and read:

I miss you already. Unblock me. I’ll explain.

Nick

So he did know where she lived. Of course he did. He’d been the one who’d mailed her first letter from Toby. Abandoning her coffee and the roses, she went over to her desk and took the envelopes out of her journal. Gently, she took out the notes and reread the messages.

Some of the notes had little bits she was certain would be quite difficult for anyone else to know. She opened her browser and typed the question: How do authors of unauthorized biographies gather information? The answer that came up was typical—public records and third-party interviews—but the last line struck her: They avoid making false claims, invading privacy through the use of private facts, or implying endorsement of any kind.

Private facts? What were all these notes? They certainly were private.

She dialed Marion.

“Can you ask Anthony a legal question for me?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“Nick admitted to writing the notes from Toby, right?” Heather said, thinking aloud.

“Yeah.”

“If those notes have private facts about Toby and me, and he could’ve known them for some time and used them in the book, could we get him on having those private facts?”

“Let me ask.” Marion’s distant voice came through the phone as she called Anthony over and filled him in. She put him on speaker.

“Hey,” Anthony said. “So you’re asking if it’s legal to have obtained private information that’s not in the public domain, right?”

“Yes.” She hung on his silence.

“Possibly,” he said. “If the letters aren’t public knowledge and were obtained without your consent, then he might have violated privacy laws. But without him offering that information to anyone but you, and with no blackmail or coercion, unless it’s actually written in the book, I don’t think you’d have much of a case. You could file a police report and maybe request a restraining order if you’re worried about stalking or harassment.”

She peered at the beautiful bouquet of roses. “He hasn’t really done anything that would be clearly stalking or harassment.”