As the door slides open, I step inside, only to see that a typewritten note has been taped over the gold control panel.
It reads, "Did you enjoy my visit? It won't be my last."
SIXTEEN
Ifall silent, unwilling to touch the sheet of printer paper. It might have fingerprints on it—those of the person who's been coming and going from this house whenever they want.
Hope reads it aloud, then says, "Who's this from? It sounds threatening." When I don't answer, she gives my shoulder a light touch. "Alex, are you okay?"
I find my voice. "I have a stalker. I don't know how, but they've managed to get inside. Probably more than once."
Her eyes fill with concern. "That's awful! Do the police know?"
"Micah said he was going to tell the sheriff. I'm not sure if he's gotten a chance to do that."
She glares at the paper. "This isn't right. Do you have a chain lock on your door?" Without waiting for my answer, she says, "I'll have Barry bring one over and install it. Maybe some previous renter kept a copy of the keycode, although that would've been years ago and I would've thought Micah would've had the sense to change it periodically. Still, he's not out here often. Do you want me to go ahead and call Roger? He could pick this note up and check it for prints. He's my husband's cousin."
A smile tugs at my lips as Hope's words tumble out in a steadying stream. She reminds me of Emily—protective and conscientious of how much this situation has disturbed me. "Sure, if you could call Roger, I'd appreciate it," I say. "But maybe let him know I'll be at the signing tonight, so I won't be around this evening."
She nods, carefully slipping her finger under the paper to press the elevator door button. She hoists the grocery bags over her wrist as the door slides open. "Here's an idea. I think we'd better just walk upstairs this time."
Once we reach the kitchen, she offers to help me put groceries away. After we're done with that chore, she first calls her husband, then Roger. She uses an urgent tone that would galvanize anyone into action. When she slides her phone back into her pocket, she says, "Barry will come over in a couple of hours to install the lock. He'll bring Roger with him to get the note. That'll give you some time before your signing to eat and collect your thoughts."
"You're very kind. Thank you." I ease onto a kitchen stool so I can feel something solid beneath me. I'm sick of having my world upended.
She leans over the counter, her eyes as troubled as my own must be. "You just concentrate on your readers tonight. We have a flyer up in our store, and several people have already told me they're planning to come."
I raise an eyebrow. "You made flyers?"
"No, Quincy dropped one off. He's been handing them out in town."
I have to hand it to the man—for better or worse, he's determined to let everyone know I'm in Cedar Gap. I really shouldn't find his behavior offensive. If I weren't in such a strange undercover situation, my publicist would be all over this opportunity to forge bonds with a small bookstore.
Anyway, it's one last-minute signing that will last maybe two hours, tops. The likelihood of any stalker finding out about it and then showing up at Page Turner is practically zero.
Hope observes me in silence, then gives me a brisk nod. "Right. I'm sure you would appreciate some time to prepare for tonight, so I'll head out. But please be sure to lock your doors after me. Barry has a green SUV, and like I said, he'll be over in a couple hours with the sheriff."
"I can't thank you enough for helping me out," I say.
She gives me a baffled look. "That's just what we do in Cedar Gap. While you're here, you're like family."
As she walks down the stairs, I consider my own family and how they would treat me in this situation. My mom would likely tell me I was making a mountain out of a molehill, and that I should just suck it up and get my book written. Emily, like Hope, would step into the trenches with me, ready to do battle on my behalf.
I can hear Emily's voice in my head, telling me I should think through the options of who might be breaking into my house. Renard seems the most likely culprit, since I've spotted his jacket and smelled his cologne. But Mariah is another very real—and vindictive—possibility.
If she's staying in town, surely someone would know about it—most likely her agent. On a whim, I pull up her website. Her author photo is front and center, and she's giving a coy look to the photographer. Her long dark hair spills over her shoulders, and her makeup is professionally done. I scroll around until I find a contact page. Her agent's name isn't listed, so I wonder if messages go to Mariah herself.
After composing a note in my head, I type it into the box: "Hi, Mariah. I was surprised to see you in West Virginia. I'm sorry I was unable to greet you the other day. If you are still interested in getting in touch, please email me." I type in my email address and click send.
With my stomach churning after finding the note in the elevator, I decide to skip lunch. Instead, I head down the hallway to get a shower before the men get here. At least I'll be clean to attend this author event I never asked for.
When Barry and Roger finally arrive, I jump up from the couch, where I've been sitting and staring out the front window for the past forty minutes. I jog downstairs, opening the door before they can even reach it.
"Hi, there." Barry gives me a hearty greeting, pumping my hand like we're old friends. He's gripping a beat-up metal took kit in his other hand. Gesturing to the heavier-set man who's struggling out of his SUV, he says, "That's Roger. He's here to collect that weird note you got in the elevator."
Once I've greeted Roger with a smile that probably comes off like a grimace, I let both men inside. As Barry sets to work installing the chain lock, I lead the sheriff to the elevator and open the door.
"I didn't touch the note," I say, as it slides open.
Roger nods, slipping an evidence bag from a leather satchel and snapping gloves over his hands.
I hold the door open so he can step inside. My gaze falls to the exposed control panel at the same moment he says, "And where would that note be, Miss Dubois?"
The note has disappeared, and with it, any shred of my remaining calm.
"It was right there." As I point, my finger shakes. "Hope and I both saw it."
The sheriff rubs his chin and glances around. "That's odd. Maybe Hope picked it up as she left and forgot to tell me?"
I give a violent shake of my head. "No, that's impossible. She walked downstairs with me, then I closed the door behind her. It locks automatically, so no one could've come in after that."
Roger gives me a long, probing look. "You're sure about that?"
Is he questioning my truthfulness? Or worse, suggesting that I might've taken it myself?
I can hardly conceal my frustration. "The note was there. And it said they would visit me again. I guess they did." I gesture wildly at the control panel. "You could dust that for prints."
