21

Lynn flung open her front door and regarded Rachel through wide eyes. Rachel drooped on the doorstep in the deepening twilight, feeling as if she had recently fought her way through a palmetto bush.

“I expected you hours ago,” Lynn said, looking Rachel up and down as if checking for fresh injuries. “Why haven’t you been answering my texts? I thought the Memento Killer had gotten you!”

Rachel leaned one hand against the door frame and laughed jerkily, shoving the other back through her wild hair. “I think maybe he almost did.”

“What?” Lynn stepped forward, reaching out a hand to draw Rachel forward into the house. “Rachel. Talk sense.”

“Lynn, I love you, and you’re wonderful, but I’m about to fall over. If you don’t let me sit down, I’m going to leave.”

Five minutes later, sitting with her right foot upraised and iced, a cup of hot coffee in front of her, and a serving of leftover eggplant parmesan heating in the microwave, Rachel spilled her story.

“So they just took your statement and that was it?” Lynn asked.

“Well, Detective Smith said that someone from the FBI is going to follow up with me tomorrow, and he said that if they deem it necessary, they’ll come by my place to collect the rest of the evidence.” Rachel rubbed her eyes to clear her blurry contact lenses and cringed as she felt one of them slip out of place and lodge itself halfway up the fold of her eyelid. “You were right about Matt, though.” She reached a delicate finger to work the contact back into place over her eye. She blinked rapidly as both eyes watered. “They never seriously considered him as a suspect and cleared him just to be thorough. The fact that he hit on Elaine from Dr. Singh’s office right before she was killed and then hit on me right when I started receiving a series of anonymous gifts seems to be coincidence.” She swiped at her streaming eyes. “Not irony,” she muttered quietly, swallowing a little half-burble, half-groan bubbling up in her throat.

“Rachel, don’t cry.” Lynn’s voice held such sincere sympathy that Rachel laughed outright.

“I’m not crying. I just can’t see straight. I think my contact lenses are eating my eyeballs. If anything, I’m overjoyed to discover that the man who has most recently hit on me has turned out not to be a psychopathic killer.”

“Well, eat your dinner and then Alex will drive you home so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

“Alex can’t drive me home,” Rachel said. “I need my car to go to work tomorrow.”

“Then you’re staying here.”

“I can’t stay here. What about Ann?”

“She can stay here too. I’m calling her right now.” Lynn placed the call immediately, but there was no answer.

“She’s probably already asleep. Honestly, Lynn, don’t worry about it. Detective Smith said that even if these gifts were from the Memento Killer, he sticks to a very rigid structure, meaning that there will be one more gift before Helen Sopiro is announcing my death on WHQZ.” Rachel attempted a smile that wobbled sideways. “I can’t believe that’s something I’m actually saying out loud,” she marveled. “Again, I ask: why is my life like this?”

Lynn took the leftovers out of the microwave and set them gently in front of Rachel. “Eat up.”

Rachel reached for the fork.

“Your hand’s shaking,” observed Lynn.

“To be fair, that could just be because Detective Smith kept bringing me little paper cups of coffee,” Rachel said around a huge mouthful of eggplant parmesan. “I think I drank like twenty of them.”

Lynn’s eyebrows went up. “I see.” She pulled the mug of coffee away from Rachel and replaced it with a tall glass of water.

“He was really nice.” He really had been. His voice had been low, calm and steadying. Rachel turned her fork sideways to scrape a bit of cheese free from the plate.

“I see.”

“Don’t start.”

“This Detective Smith. Is he cute?”

Rachel choked on her food. “Lynn!”

“I’m just trying to make a mental picture.”

Rachel took a swallow of water and cleared her throat. “He’s all business. And no, he’s not that cute.”

“Describe him.”

“White guy, medium height, regular build, brown hair. Haven’t you seen him interviewed on the news? Helen Sopiro keeps having him on to talk about the case—”

“Eyes?”

“Two of them.”

“I mean what color?”

“I don’t know. Brown? I didn’t really notice. I was a little distracted, what with telling him how I’m possibly being stalked by a serial killer.”

“I see.”

“I don’t know how to describe him. He’s just ordinary, I guess.”

“Hmm.”

Rachel rubbed her tired eyes and watched as Lynn’s kitchen blurred.

Lynn came over and sat down right next to Rachel. She reached an arm across her shoulders, leaning in. Rachel tilted her head sideways and rested it against Lynn’s. “I’m glad you’re my friend,” she said.

Lynn patted her shoulder. “Let me pray with you before you go.”

~*~

It was Alex who followed Rachel back to the carriage house in his town car. He trailed inside and waited while she checked on Ann, who slept the sleep of the just.

“Aren’t you going to wake her up?” Alex asked.

The thought of going through the story one more time made Rachel want to weep.

“Morning’s soon enough,” she told Alex. “Detective Smith said that I shouldn’t worry. He’s going to send patrols by at regular intervals tonight. We’ll be fine.”

Alex walked the perimeter of the carriage house and checked the outbuildings with a flashlight. He made Rachel promise to call 911 immediately if she felt nervous for any reason. After he left, Rachel pulled out her phone to discover a flurry of missed calls and texts from Lynn and Ann, and one lone text from Lee: You’re in trouble. It took a moment for the penny to drop, but she scrolled up on her phone to see the last thing she’d texted him and gave a watery chuckle.

She was in trouble, and for more than just meddling between him and Sharon Day. She might actually be in real trouble this time.

Her eyes fell on the copy of Jane Eyre on the nightstand. She shuddered. Before crawling under the covers, she moved it to the kitchen table.

Much, much later, she fell asleep with the bedside light on and her phone clutched in her hands, 9-1-1 partially dialed.