On the way to the sheriff’s station, I had to shout over the wind blowing in my face to tell Gemma about the man in the wolf mask at the cottage. When I was finished, Gemma cranked up the heater a few more notches, but the warm air went straight out my broken window.
“Do you think it was the mask from your car?” Gemma asked, her teeth chattering.
“I don’t know. It looked like the exact same one. But was there time for the man to break into my car, steal the mask back, and then get ahead of us on the trail? It seems unlikely. And it’s not like that mask was unique. At least now we know where it came from.” I used my sleeve to mop raindrops from my face. Pointless, as rain just kept spraying through the window. “I feel like I’m following a trail of bread crumbs someone purposely left for me.”
“A lot of people know you’re in town, and they know why you’re here. Maybe someone is trying to tell you something.”
“Or maybe they’re just fucking with me.”
“The mask was in my car. If they’re fucking with you, they’re fucking with me, too.”
I glanced over at her. “Who knows you’re in Stone’s Throw besides Desiree?”
She paused to think. “Not many people. My agent. My personal assistant. A few producers and directors I made plans to meet during the festival.”
“Jonas Kron?” I asked. Gemma didn’t know about my connection to Kron, and I didn’t intend to disclose it. I trusted Gemma more today than I had yesterday, but that wasn’t saying much, considering that yesterday I hadn’t trusted her at all.
She nodded. “He’s the main reason I’m here. I mean…you, too.”
“But mostly him.”
“Liv…don’t be like that.”
“It’s fine, Gemma. I know where your priorities lie.”
She reached over and put a hand on my arm. “You’re my top priority right now,” she said so earnestly that it was hard not to believe her. The backs of my eyes stung with a hot flood of emotion. Was I this starved for sisterly affection?
I cleared my swelling throat, and Gemma removed her hand.
“Anyway,” I said, “it sounds like plenty of people know you’re in Stone’s Throw, and who knows how many people those people have told?”
“Do you think whoever broke into your car wanted the mask?” Gemma asked.
“I think whoever broke into my car wanted it back.”
“You should tell the sheriff. About all of it, I mean. The mask. The email. The man in the woods. Even if it is just to mess with you—with us—whoever’s behind it might be dangerous.”
“I’ll think about,” I said, but I knew Gemma was right. That bothered me almost as much as the idea of waking up tomorrow morning to another emailed video of me sleeping. I didn’t want her to be right. I didn’t want her to be helpful. I didn’t want to want her back in my life.
“You really didn’t hear me shouting for you when we got separated?” I asked, watching Gemma from the corner of my eye.
She sighed. “Liv, I know we have our issues, but come on. Why would I pretend not to hear you?”
I shrugged, but I was thinking about a common tell I’d learned back when I was playing a teen detective on The Hills Have PIs, how responding to a question with a question was a good indication that someone was lying.