No—it opens.
I’m inside, just in time. I wait a few minutes, then peer through a crack in the blinds, and immediately suppress a scream.
He’s there. Standing by my car. Staring right at me.
I jump back from the blinds and then sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the door. A few minutes go by, then I hear my phone buzz. There’s a new message from an unknown number.
I know I shouldn’t read it, but I can’t help myself.
You’ll pay for what you did, Brie-like-the-cheese!
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
“It was Jesse.”
I’m sitting across from Neil at a cafe in the city near his work. An espresso machine rumbles in the background, and it sounds like a steam train is passing through the kitchen.
After the text from Jesse, I messaged Neil. He offered to come to my motel, and only after some frustrated back-and-forth did he agree to talk to his contacts at the police.
“About that,” he says, but stops himself as a cappuccino arrives on the table before me.
“You ordered for me?”
“I know what you like.”
“No,” I say, looking down at the drink. The barista has shaped the foam into a love heart. “You don’t.”
“Whatever. The man from last night.”
“Jesse!”
“Jesse Youngman. Yes, I know you think that it was him. But I talked to the police last night, and it’s not what they think.” He pauses, as if choosing his words. “And I agree with them.”
“You think I made it up! Neil, he threatened me!”
“I believe you. But you didn’t see the man yesterday. You just saw someone in a hood. And Jesse has a pretty good alibi. He was in New York.”
“Have they heard of planes?”
“Have you heard of airport security? You can’t travel anonymously these days. He wasn’t even in the same time zone. It was probably just a random man. Maybe a fan of Grace’s that found out who you are.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out, OK? If there’s any evidence that the cops shared information about the investigation, I’ll end their careers. That’s a promise. But it’s a stretch.”
“What about the text message?”
“A coincidence. Think about it. If that man in the hood was Jesse and he wanted to hurt you, why didn’t he just do it?”
“To drag it out. To make me suffer.”
“This isn’t a movie, Brie. Bad guys don’t do that in real life. When they want to hurt someone, they hurt them,” Neil says, before lowering his voice. “By the way. I did some more digging last night. The police are moving fast. They’re sending a diving team into the river.”
“Diving team?”
“Off the Memorial Bridge outside of the city. And I think they found something.”
When he tells me this, I’m about to sip my cappuccino. In the half-second it takes for me to understand what he’s saying, my hands open wide. The cup crashes to the table, and the coffee spreads across it like a chemical spill.
