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TWENTY

Alex is still rattled when she goes into the Bluebird on Friday morning. She hasn’t slept well since the start of the week. Her eyes feel bloodshot and heavy.

“Looking rough, kid,” Raymond says.

“Thanks, Raymond,” Alex answers sarcastically, pulling a coffee toward her and taking a large gulp.

“They’ve got you working too hard up there,” he says, munching on some toast.

“I don’t know. I feel like I actually might not be working hard enough. I haven’t come up with my column yet and it’s due today.” As she says it, her stomach turns.

“Cutting it close.” Raymond whistles.

“Oh God, Ray. You really know how to make someone feel better, don’t you?” Janice says, disgusted, dropping off their breakfasts. “You’ll be great, Alex. Don’t listen.”

“I don’t know. I just keep thinking I’m going to choose the wrong one and everyone will hate it.”

“You just have to believe in yourself. What other option do you have?” Janice says. Alex smiles weakly, wishing that it were all so simple.

“Oh, but look. I wanted to show you both what I found.” She pulls out a small sample of Francis’s handwriting that she found in the kitchen cupboard—a Post-it, clinging to a box of expired peppermint tea: Francis’s! Please ask if you want one, you lovely thieves.

Raymond pushes his plate away and runs his napkin over the counter. “Let me see the other one, the note.” Alex retrieves the little notecard from her purse and hands it to him. He places the two paper squares on the counter next to one another and takes out his reading glasses.

“See how this one is more loopy? And this one is shorter, the w is more angular.” It is already clear to Alex that they were not written by the same person, but she nods politely, listening to Raymond’s impressions.

“Oh yeah, those are totally different,” Janice says, barely pausing to glance as she passes with a tray full of omelets. “Doesn’t take a detective to see it.” Raymond glares up at her as Alex pulls the notes back, tucking them into her bag.

“So that rules out Francis as the one who wrote the note to herself,” Alex says.

“Yes, I believe it does,” Raymond agrees. Alex takes a sip of coffee. “Like I told you before, I would treat it as a threat.”

“I didn’t want to worry you, Ray, but I got something a little off in the mail bin.”

“Show it to me.”

Alex pulls out the typewritten letter, cringing as he bends over to look at it. His face goes slack with worry. She already knows what he’ll say.

“This is not good, Alexis. Not good at all. Could it be from before, something written to someone else before you got the job?”

“I’m not sure. I didn’t even think of that,” Alex says, feeling stupid.

“What’s the postmark say?” Janice reaches across the counter and picks up the envelope, holding it up to her face to see the details of the stamp on the corner.

“This was only mailed a week ago, from New York looks like,” Janice says. “Sorry, lady, but this is for you.”

Alex’s heart sinks. She’d been hoping these two would help ease her mind, but they care for her. They’re not going to lie.

“You are not safe until we know who is writing these,” Raymond says emphatically. “You have to be vigilant up there. Pay attention to everyone around you. Nobody is innocent until we catch this guy. You hear me?”

“Yes, Raymond.” Alex rolls her eyes and stands to leave, regretting sharing this new information with them. How can she be vigilant in an office building? The idea is absurd. How can she protect herself from a piece of paper?