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“Ethan Montgomery,” the guy says, grinning my way. “She’s just so easy to rile up.”
“Come on,” Sloane says, rising from her chair. “I need coffee. I’ve finally figured out how to use the new machine.”
I follow her into the break room where she sets to making two coffees. She makes mine like she makes hers, which is presumptuous, but after a sip, I decide I definitely like the way she makes it. She gestures for us to sit at one of the tables.
“What’s up? Dempsey okay?”
“Yeah, of course. You see him more than I do nowadays.”
Her smile is dopey and nothing like the bitchy cop expression she had on when I first arrived. “I guess I do.”
We both take a moment to sip our coffees and then she speaks again.
“What can I help you with? I can see the worry in your eyes.”
I set my paper cup down and inspect my nails. Last night, while on FaceTime with Two, I did a cool effect on my nails using some of the extra Hemingford Hall wallpaper clippings I’d stuffed into my purse. The Victorian look is pretty cool. Two thought it was awesome.
“I think I have a stalker.”
She sits up. “You think or you know?”
“I know.” I meet her gaze. “It started off with strange messages online, but it’s progressed to letters left on my vehicle. The person has been following me and knows about…things.”
“Things?”
“Personal stuff,” I say quickly, not eager to tell her about Two since I can barely explain it myself. “This morning there was a text from them.”
I dig around in my purse and hand over the notes I’d collected. She rises from her chair and fetches a Ziplock bag for me to put them into. Once it’s sealed, she sits again.
“What does the text say?”
“Personal stuff.”
Sloane’s blond eyebrow arches up in a questioning way that makes me squirm. “Gem, sweetie, you’re not telling me something. I can’t help you if you leave parts of the story out.”
I puff out a heavy breath. “It’s embarrassing.”
“It’s between us. I won’t tell your brother or mom or Ethan in there. Spill.”
“I got caught making out with my, er, boyfriend last night. Without my shirt.” I wince at saying those words, waiting for some sort of disgusted reaction from her. I get nothing aside from the expectant look on her face as she waits for me to continue. “A cop discovered us and gave us a tongue lashing. But then, this morning, well, here.”
I swipe open my phone, locate the text, and thrust it at her.
She reads it and then uses her own phone to take a picture of it. “I’ll run the number, but more than likely it’s a burner. However, since they have your number and know where you always are, it has to be someone who knows you. Run into any weirdos at school who might have a crush on you?”
Literally ran into one, but I have a crush on him back.
“No.” I shrug, glancing down at my coffee. “My parents don’t know I’m seeing someone. You know how protective they are.”
“I do,” she says gently.
“The person doing this is probably just trying to scare me, right? They’re probably harmless.”
I wait for my sister-in-law-to-be and newly appointed detective to assure me I’m overreacting. Of course she’s a no-bullshit kind of gal.
“It’s worrying.” She reads the text again. “I’ll do some investigating on my end. You let me know immediately if anything new happens and try not to touch the note. I’ll come to you. These are probably riddled with your fingerprints.”
“I just don’t know of anyone who could be doing this. If I did, I could confront them.”
