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“Thanks for sharing, but now let me get back to work.”
“Hey.” Laurie stepped back toward the door before Holly could close it. She placed a manicured hand over her chest. “As your publicist, I’m in no spot to complain about you working so hard—and I know you’re on a tight deadline.” Laurie met Holly’sgaze, the usual spark in the publicist’s eyes dimming to a quiet intensity. “But as your friend, just remember, you need to go out once in a while. You’re thirty-one years old, beautiful, with no responsibilities of motherhood or marriage holding you back.” Laurie dipped her head. “I worry about you sometimes, always cooped up with morbid crime scene photos. I probably shouldn’t say this, but…trust me.” Laurie lifted her gaze to lock eyes with Holly. “There’s more to life than work. Meg would’ve wanted that for you. To move on, have a life, maybe even a family one day.”
Holly opened her mouth to tell Laurie that her workwasher life, but Laurie held up a hand again.
“I know you’re on a deadline,” Laurie added. “But once you’re done, you should go on a vacation.”
“I’ll think about it.”
In the glow of the front porch lights, Laurie flashed Holly a knowing side glance. “No, you won’t. I’ve seen that look before. But when you’re old and alone, wishing you had someone to spend your lonely days with, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Unless I’m dead, I’ll still be writing books.” Holly smiled. “Plus, I have you.”
Laurie pursed her lips and started down the concrete porch steps. “That’s depressing.”
“Is it? I think it sounds wonderful.”
“You’re weird,” Laurie called when she reached her minivan. “Oh,” she added after opening the driver’s side door. “I picked up your fan mail from your PO Box this morning like you asked. It’s in the kitchen.”
Holly knew she should be thankful—the letters were proof that her books mattered to someone—but the thought of that stack of envelopes on the kitchen counter sent a sharp pang of anxiety through her chest. Years ago, she’d promised herself to respond to every letter she got from her readers unless it was hate mail,which she’d gotten her share of too. But right now, fan mail was one more demand when she had no time to spare. “Thanks, Laur.”
After locking the deadbolt behind her, Holly leaned against the door. Being alone forever didn’t scare her. She’d already lost the most important person in her life. Whatdidscare her was Meg’s killer walking free forever.
Holly trudged into the kitchen and immediately spotted the unopened envelopes on the counter. Seeing the stack wasn’t as high as she’d feared, her shoulders relaxed. She sifted through them. There were only eight.
I’ll open half tonight and half tomorrow. Then I’ll respond after I mail in my manuscript.Sometimes, getting an encouraging note from a reader helped her get out of a writing slump—something she could use tonight.
She tore open the top envelope, noting her name and address were typed instead of handwritten. There was no return address in sight. She unfolded the paper inside, letting it fall to the counter after she read the short, typed poem.
Roses are red and violets are blue,
Your stories are thrilling, but I’m watching you.
Chapter 19
HOLLY
An hour later, Holly pushed her cart of bagged groceries toward the Albertson’s exit. She’d called Laurie and told her about the poem as soon as Laurie had gotten home. Unlike Holly, her publicist wasn’t convinced it was Jared, reminding Holly that she’d gotten weird hate mail before. Laurie’s words echoed in Holly’s mind.Not everything is a mystery waiting to be solved.
Holly didn’t consider herself ‘famous,’ but the letter could’ve been sent by some crazy fan like inMisery,theStephen King novel that was being made into a movie. But in her gut, she knew it wasn’t a fan. She hoped Jared only wanted to scare her, not finish what he started.
After hanging up with Laurie, she’d been too disturbed by the poem to write. To fill the time, she’d run out to get groceries at a store less than two miles away, hoping the errand would clear her mind to work on her novel when she got back.
She exited the grocery store through automatic doors, passing a twentysomething blond woman on her way in. Their eyes locked momentarily as the young woman pulled back the rain-soaked hood of her jacket. A cool drizzle hit Holly’s cheeks as she pushed her nearly full grocery cart out into the parking lot.
Too bad you can’t have groceries delivered,she thought, pushing the cart through a puddle to get to her Civic near the back of the parking lot. She glanced at the bags of food, reminded of her mother’s words:You should never go shopping when you’re hungry.At least it was mostly healthy, aside from the bag of Cheetos she’d seen on the end of an aisle and couldn’t resist.
In the time she’d been in the store, the parking lot had thinned out. Holly spotted her Honda. The cars that had been parked around it when Holly had gotten to the store were now gone. She shivered from the damp air and the raindrops bleeding through her thin sweater, wishing she’d thought to bring her rain jacket when she dashed out of the house. She quickened her pace, eager to get back to work.
After unloading the bags into the trunk, Holly looked around the dimly lit lot for where to return her cart. She strained to see in the dark. She’d tried to find a spot under a streetlamp, but those spaces had all been taken when she’d arrived. She closed the trunk, spotting a cart return a few spaces up.
Headlights rolled down the row as Holly pushed the cart. She stepped aside, giving the car room to move past as she walked back to her car. But the vehicle didn’t accelerate. It crept behind her, illuminating her from behind with its bright beams.
Holly turned, squinting from the light. It looked to be a car, not a truck, but it was too dark for her to make out much beyond that. She walked faster, acutely aware of the engine’s hum behind her. When she reached her car, she hurried to the driver’s side.
She dug a hand into her purse for her keys, glancing up at the headlights, willing the vehicle to keep moving. Instead, it stopped, idling behind her Civic, blocking her path out of theparking spot. The figure behind the wheel looked male, but the darkness made it impossible for her to be sure.Could it be Jared?She wasn’t going to linger long enough to find out.
She frantically felt for her keys, cursing herself for having so many lipsticks. The driver’s door of the idling car opened as Holly’s fingers closed around her key chain. Holly thought about screaming for help as the figure stepped out, but there was no one in the nearly empty parking lot to hear her.