Page 47 of Rogue's Path

“Hello, Ms. Oliva. How may I make your stay more enjoyable?”

Just about anything would be better at the moment. “Did you deliver flowers to my room?”

“We did. They were delivered yesterday afternoon. Our policy is to call up twice, but if the guest does not answer, we deliver them so that they can enjoy their gifts. Wasn’t that what you wanted? We can send someone up to get them?”

They delivered it. There was no one in my room.

There’s the card. Just like the last one.

My dearest love Dylan,

Are you enjoying your trip to Urbium? I know being away from me must be as painful for you as it is for me. In order to bear our separation, I keep reading your words. They are my only solace. Don’t worry, I’m making preparations for us to be together forever.

Your Only Love

“Could you please send up security and call the police?”

Two Different Worlds

Dylan

The view outside of the cab window changes from city streets to the suburbs with more than the occasional tree.

Why did I even call the police? It’s not like they didn’t want to help. The officers can only do what the law allows.

Without a direct threat, all they can do is take the card as evidence and suggest that I move hotels.

The stalker found me! Like he couldn’t find me at the next hotel?

Going off grid at Cordelia’s house makes it virtually impossible to be found.

While I’m here, I’ll take some time to regroup, figure out how the nut job is finding me, and come up with a plan to make him stop.

Simple.

Then why is your hand still shaking?

It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

You’re a mystery writer. This is the biggest one you’ll ever solve.

Except being the writer means I always know who did it.

If I wanted to solve mysteries, I would have become a cop or an FBI agent. Although hunting down thieves and murderers sounds like fun.

The paperwork does not.

I’ll stick to fake murderers and stalkers, thank you very much.

The cab comes to a stop.

Cordelia’s house, if you can call it a house, could be an old Victorian boarding house with its wrap-around porch and gingerbread trim everywhere. There should be a little old lady outside sipping her tea and doing her needlepoint while she waits for friends to show up to gossip with.

Instead, Cordelia stands up, leaving her swing moving silently behind her. Her dress doesn’t have any sequins on it, but there are definitely pearls around her throat. Is this who she is all the time? Somehow, I expected nothing less of her. She would look odd in a sweatshirt and a pair of leggings.

The cab driver takes my bags out of the trunk and leaves before Cordelia makes it down her drive.

“I’m so glad you came.” She grabs the handle of one of my cases. “This is going to be so much fun. I hope you like the room I picked for you. It overlooks the garden in the back and has an attached sitting room, which I thought would be perfect for you to work. But you’re welcome to pick another room if you like.”