Page 15 of Postmarked December

She got up and padded across the room, clicking on a lamp. A low, buttery warmth flooded through the gray light that filtered in through her gauzy curtains. She plucked the plane ticket notification off her dresser. Departure at 2 p.m. tomorrow. So the person setting this up knew she’d get the wine and then go immediately to the tree farm to follow the bread crumbs. Otherwise, the ticket would’ve been for later. She went to the window and, with one finger, barely pulled the curtains to see if anyone suspicious was out there. Was someone watching her?

The thing was, all the messages had to do with Toby and wonderful memories she had with him. They weren’t about his fame or his music at all. The whole idea freaked her out. She collected the red-and-white envelopes and her new journal from her dresser and took a pen from her nightstand. Flopping on her bed, she opened to a clean page and wrote her next message to Toby.

Toby,

I miss you. Over the last few days, I’ve been inundated with memories of us—wonderful memories. You might know this already—who knows—but sitting on my kitchen counter right now is a bottle of the same Tennessee blackberry wine we got that Christmas. It was given to me after receiving notes referencing some pretty personal stories. I’m nervous. I know you wouldn’t have divulged any of this to anyone, so it doesn’t make sense. And as heartbreaking as it is to relive the memories, another part of me feels closer to you when I get them. Was this your doing? I’m supposed to go to Greenville, and I’m worried it isn’t safe to do it, but everything in my body wants to go just in case I get another message from you. I know that’s irrational thinking, but I miss you so much it hurts. What am I supposed to do?

She stared at the page, as if waiting for an answer from him, but nothing came.

No closer to understanding what was going on, she slipped the envelopes into the journal and closed it. She read over the email receipt for the plane ticket again. Someone had to have bought it, and the address was deliberately cut off. She grabbed her phone, searched the number for the airline, and tapped call. After a few minutes spent selecting options, and an incredible wait, an attendant finally answered.

“Hi there,” Heather said. “I was gifted a plane ticket, and I’d like to know the name of the person who bought it for me.”

“I’m sorry,” the attendant said, “we can’t disclose the purchaser’s name or payment information, due to privacy regulations.”

Heather slumped and chewed her lip, thinking. “Is there any way I can determine the purchaser on my end? Say, the ticket number?”

“No, again, I’m sorry. We’re bound by strict policies that prevent us from sharing personal data, including the purchaser’s details, even to the traveler themselves, unless under court order or for law enforcement purposes.”

“Okay, thanks. Oh, and what personal information would this person have had to know to book my ticket?”

“They’d need your full legal name, date of birth, gender, email address, and phone number. I do apologize. I wish I could be of more help.”

“No problem. Thanks.”

“Happy holidays.”

Heather hung up. If she called the authorities about this, perhaps they could figure out who’d bought the ticket. But if the ticket wasn’t something sinister, they surely wouldn’t find out who’d bought it in time for her to use it. Getting a detective to begin paperwork, her making a statement, and eventually the calls to the airlines could take days, and she didn’t have that kind of time to figure out whether to go.

This person had to know her birthday, email address, and phone number. All of that was private information and under her legal name. How would this man have known that about her? Could a family member have given this information to someone? She decided to call her mom.

“Hi, honey,” her mom said.

“Hey, Mom.” Heather rolled over on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

“Whatcha doing?”

She told her mom what had happened since getting the first letter in the mail. “You or Dad haven’t given any of my information to anyone, have you?”

“Goodness, no,” her mom said. “With Toby in the spotlight like he was, we would never give anything to anyone. Could it be Marion or one of your other friends doing a nice surprise for you?”

Heather replayed the events in her head. “I don’t think so. Marion doesn’t lie very well, and she was pretty shocked. Also, there’s the white SUV. I don’t know anyone with a white SUV, and I’ve never seen one in connection with Marion.”

“I don’t want to throw caution to the wind, but it seems awfully kind to be something ominous,” her mom said. “But you can’t be too careful these days. Satan masquerades as an angel of light.”

“Well, if you hear of anything, let me know.”

“You aren’t going to get on that plane, are you?” her mom asked.

“I’m not going to do anything that I think might put me in harm’s way.”

“Okay, hon. Call me if you need me.”

With no other possible ideas, she got off the phone and got ready for the day. She hadn’t checked her mailbox. Maybe there was another envelope that would give her more information. She slipped on her shoes, locked up her apartment, and headed down the hallway to the elevator.

In the lobby, a few people passed her. Heather studied their faces, paying attention to their movements to see if they were suspicious or not. When they got into the elevator she put the small key in the lockbox and turned it, opening the little door. She pulled out a few pieces of mail and flipped through them. The door to the lobby opened and a man walked in. She couldn’t help but notice his dark hair and tall build. Could that have been who the mail lady had seen? He opened a mailbox, grabbed a fistful of mail, locked the door, and then hit the button for the elevator. When he stepped in, he made eye contact with Heather before the doors closed, giving her a shiver.

She hadn’t realized, until now, how many strangers lived among her. She’d never thought about it before, but in such a large building, she didn’t know half these people. Because of Toby, some of them knew who she was. Whenever he was with her, it was common for bystanders to steal glances at them or whisper among themselves.