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*After the festival, of course.

The festival did end earlier on Sunday than on the first two days—6:00 p.m. instead of ten, but that didn’t mean she could leave at six. The takedown process would require quite a bit of work on her part, and she wasn’t sure how late it would be by the time she made it back to Kincaid.

I’ll have to pack up and load my car before I’m free.

I can help

Her finger hovered over the screen. Should she accept the offer? No doubt she’d be more than exhausted by that point, and she had no idea how long a session with a forensic artist would take. No matter how much she might prefer space from Eric right now, she’d be foolish to refuse his help.

She sent him a simpleOkay, then reached for her insulated mug of iced tea. But she misjudged the distance. The container tipped, and in her attempt to right it, she dropped her phone. It tumbled to the ground and bounced under the table and out of reach.

Someone from the opposite side of the booth stooped to pick it up. “Whoops.” The man rose, her phone in hand, and offered it to her. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” She hit the power button to black the screen and set it aside. “Good to see you, Thomas. Enjoying the festival?”

“Always.” The reporter flashed her a toothy grin and held up his camera. “Mind if I take some photos?”

“Of course not.” She’d gladly take the free publicity if he chose to include a photo of her booth in the paper. She smiled for a wide-angle shot, then scooted her chair back to give him extra room as he focused in on her collection of offerings.

Once he’d taken several shots, Thomas let the camera rest against his chest as he looked more closely at her postcards. He picked up one featuring the outside of the historic newspaper office. “You really have an eye for this stuff, Allye.”

“Thank you.” She felt herself blush.

“I mean it. These are good. If you ever want to freelance for the paper, let me know.” He selected a few more and paid for them. “I’ll see you around. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks,” she said again as he continued to the next booth.

37

Allye pulled into the drivewayof her duplex and tried to summon the energy to go inside. She shouldn’t be this tired at 11:00 p.m., even after such a busy day. She’d always been a night owl. At least until developing whatever illness this was. But over the last couple of months, she’d found herself slipping into bed exhausted at eight or nine and still managing to sleep until nine in the morning. Of course, since the craziness of the last week started, she hadn’t had that luxury, and she was feeling it now.

Better get moving or you’ll end up sleeping here.

She blew out a breath and grabbed her purse and everything bag. She thought about locking the Jetta’s door and decided not to bother. Maybe it was lazy, but it would save her a step in the morning. No one seemed interested in her things anyway—unless it was to send her a message. If they wanted to use her car to do that, they’d just bash out a window or something, right?

The glow of a nearby streetlamp assured her no one lurked too close to her house, but it also left her feeling exposed as she stood on the porch trying to fit her key into the new dead bolt. Something rustled in the yard, and she spun, palming her keys to use as a weapon if need be. Nothing. She was being paranoid. Therecent incidents and threats had spooked her. She forced herself to turn back around and slow down. The key slid easily into place.

She pushed inside and nearly slammed the door shut behind her. She threw the dead bolt, then leaned her back against the door while she caught her breath.

Her vision started to blur, and she squeezed her eyes shut before dizziness could hit. After a moment, she opened them a fraction to test her vision. A little better. She needed to get off her feet. Now.

She made it to her recliner and collapsed into it, letting her bags slide to the floor. After engaging the footrest, she toed off her flats and grabbed her cell.

While she’d gotten intermittent texts throughout the day, her phone had started dinging in earnest once she crossed back into an area with good reception. She should probably check those now. She turned her screen to the lowest possible brightness before checking the half dozen messages and squinting through blurriness to respond to the ones from family. Begrudgingly, she did the same with the message from Eric. He was only making sure she’d made it home safely. She could give him that peace of mind. But as soon as that was sent, she set her phone aside and tried to do the same with thoughts of the detective.

She blinked away the blur. It had been a long day. The festival had been as enjoyable as ever, and her symptoms had been manageable overall. Her head still hurt, but it wasn’t anywhere near migraine level.

Sales had been decent too. And with tomorrow beginning the true weekend, chances were good they’d be even better going forward. She reached for her purse and pulled her sales log from it.

She’d sold very few of the big items, but the fingerless gloves had been quite popular. The postcards had been the real showstopper though. She looked at the bundled tick marks indicating the number sold.Five, ten, fifteen ...Her vision started to bluragain. She placed a finger on the page and squinted, determined to finish her calculations.

Forty-seven. She’d sold forty-seven postcards. Not bad at all. If tomorrow went this well, she might sell out of them before Sunday. She hoped her family arrived in time to see her booth before it looked too picked over.

Would Eric come to the festival tomorrow too? After the amount of time they’d spent together this week, it felt odd to go a day without seeing him. But he was probably busy with the investigation, and, really, did she want to see him anyway? She wasn’t sure.

And she didn’t want to think about that tonight, she reminded herself. She replaced the sales log in her purse so she wouldn’t forget it tomorrow, then allowed her eyes the relief of closing. She really should go to bed. Every bit of rest she got could only help her make it through the weekend.

Problem was, her brain felt like it was stuck on a spinning wheel. The commotion of the festival had allowed her to keep her mind off her troubles for much of the day, but now that she was in the quiet of home, everything was vying for her attention. She might as well try to get something done. But what?