Emilie left the rest of the doughnuts in the staff room for whoever wanted a sweet treat. Her own appetite had evaporated to the point the yeasty aroma left her feeling sick.
She found Taylor waiting outside her office. Emilie flopped into her chair. “Can I see the Hunter PO?”
“Sorry I couldn’t reach her yesterday. After you left, Rhoda had an emergency for me, so I could only call once.”
“That’s okay.” Emilie handed Taylor the file Shannon had given her. “Here’s Shannon’s file. See if there’s anything useable in it. We might as well add it while I talk Nadine into filing.”
Taylor took the Hunter folder, then slipped another envelope across the desk toward her.
“This came for you this morning. It’s marked personal.”
“Thanks.” It was all Emilie could do to force out the word. “Let me know when the PO’s ready.”
As Taylor left the room, Emilie stared at the familiar handwriting. Her stalker hadn’t forgotten her. As if the notes slipped into her purse and briefcase weren’t enough, he had decided to mail her a letter.
She opened the envelope and read the words, written as usual in block letters:
YOU ARE MORE MYSELF THAN I AM. WHATEVER OUR SOULS ARE MADE OF, YOURS AND MINE ARE THE SAME.
Emilie read it again. The message sounded old-fashioned and almost poetic even as it disturbed her. Was it a quotation? She typed the words into Google . . . Wuthering Heights? Whoever was stalking her read the classics?
Who was this person, and what did he want from her? The quote was more than weird, it was frightening.
She picked up the phone and placed another call to Detective Gaines. Maybe he could help her connect with an officer who’d take these threats seriously. As she left a voicemail, she didn’t feel much hope. She slid the letter into a folder and tried to work, but when she’d read a statute four times without the words making sense, she gave up. Maybe moving would help. She stood up, twisted a few times, then plopped back down. She pulled up a different file and tried to focus on where this client was in the process. Soon the morning had disappeared, followed by lunch. She settled back to work, but fifteen minutes later she was still staring into space, so she pulled up the draft of her article. The very rough draft that was more white space than words.
What she’d bragged was her superpower now seemed dimmed by some form of kryptonite, one that left her paralyzed.
The right words eluded her.
She was writing with the sophistication of a second grader. Her editor would spew the article back at her in an instant if she submitted it.
Would her words disappear in the courtroom as well as at her computer?
It had been false bravado to promise Reid this was who she was, because right now her gift had all but abandoned her, leaving her stripped and empty. She groaned and leaned against her chair, grateful Rhoda had told her she could work on her writing when she had no pressing items at the Haven.
Who was she without words?
Could she afford to learn the truth?
Her phone jolted to life on the desk, and Emilie scrabbled to grab it as it danced across the clear surface.
“This is Emilie.”
“Hi.” The voice was young and hesitant. “I’m Alaina Jotter. You messaged me.”
Emilie lurched forward in her chair and then reached in a drawer for a pen and pad of paper. “Thank you so much for calling me. This won’t take long, but I really need your help. More important, Kinley Adams needs your help.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice was small, like an unsure little girl.
“I need information on Kaydence.”
“You and everyone else. She’s dead, and now everyone wants to know how wonderful she was. What good does it do?”
Was it bitterness or grief Emilie heard in the girl’s voice?
She took a breath. “What I’m wondering, Alaina, is how things were at Kaydence’s home. Really were, not some perfect social media version.”
“Why?” There was a quiet caution in the teen’s voice.
“Because I need to decide what to do for Kinley. I worked for Kaydence’s mom, and she asked me to help the girls if anything happened to her.”
“Then she shouldn’t have murdered her own daughter!” The words were sharp and brittle.
“I don’t think she did. Not the Kaylene I knew.”
“Maybe none of us knew her.” The girl’s voice broke. “I keep waiting to wake up and find out this was a bad dream.”
“Me too, Alaina.” More than this girl could know.
“I always thought Kaydence had a great relationship with her mom. She was always nice when we were over, but Kaydence wouldn’t let us come unless her dad was out of town.”
Emilie jotted a quick note. “Why do you think that was?”
“Kaydence never said, but he was really strict with her. He liked to tell her what to do. But my dad makes me feel that way sometimes.”
“Most dads do. Did she say anything to you that made you think there was more going on?”
“Not really.”
“Would you think about it and call again if anything comes to you?”
“I guess.”
“This is important, Alaina. I’m trying to figure out what happened.”
“Why?”
“Because a judge will need to know. Because I need to understand how I could have missed this.”
Alaina was quiet a moment. “I Googled you.”
Emilie laughed, though she shouldn’t have been surprised. “What did you find out?”
“You’re a reporter, but you’re also an attorney. Which one are you right now?”
“I’m Kaylene’s friend trying to figure out what happened and how to best help Kinley.”
“I’ll think about it.”
That was all Emilie could ask. “Thank you.”
After the girl hung up, Emilie sat writing notes about the call. She sensed that Alaina knew more than she was saying, but the girl had to decide whether she trusted Emilie. This was one of those times when wearing two hats didn’t necessarily help.
Maybe Katie, Kaydence’s other friend, would contact her as well. Between the two, Emilie might form a real picture of what Kaydence had thought about her family.
She went back to work, and after a few hours she realized she’d accomplished as much as she could, and the office had quieted. When she glanced at the time on her computer, she realized why. It was after six. Time to head home if she wanted to beat Reid to her door.
As she stepped out of the office, the sun peeked from a cloud long enough to slice across her eyes. The brick town house was a warren inside, but it had a peaceful, nonchalant exterior. Cheerful red geraniums drooped in the end-of-day heat from the flower boxes hanging from the windows. The large planters on either side of the front steps were filled with pansies that could use an extra drink too. The colors were a little faded, as if the August days had taken their toll on the heels of a July that had experienced record highs. Emilie felt as wilted as the flowers.
She took the time to pour water on each grouping before tucking the watering can back behind a planter and heading to her car.
As she walked she felt a presence. The kind that made her stop, turn a slow circle, and question her judgment. She saw nothing.
But she felt it.
Was someone watching her in the slowly forming shadows leaning from a row house? Or was her mind still preoccupied by the lingering fear she’d been unable to shake since receiving the letter?
Her mind wouldn’t accept that the crash along the Rock Creek Parkway had been the result of a hunter not paying enough attention. There was nothing simple about shooting a car and causing the driver to crash. Her shoulder was still sore, and all the recovery and physical therapy hadn’t been enough to get her back to normal.
Her physical therapist told her to accept a new normal.
That was something she didn’t want to suffer easily.
There had to be a way to get back to one hundred percent physically and without constantly looking over her good shoulder. She squinted, trying to see through the shadows and under the bushes and ornamental trees that framed the front steps up and down the block.
There was no one there, nothing to see, just the ghosts in her mind.
She tightened her grip on her computer bag and pulled her keys from her pocket. Then she stepped onto the sidewalk and around the building to the parking lot. It wasn’t large, but it also didn’t have much overhead lighting. Maybe she should ask Rhoda to expand the motion-sensing light so that it gave more protection. Not just for her—it wasn’t unusual for clients to come in for meetings at all hours from early morning until eight or nine in the evening. The women they served had to slip away when they could, when it was safe to disappear. At least she was leaving tonight before the sun disappeared behind the surrounding buildings.
Emilie clicked the lock button on her key fob, and the lights flashed on and off, accompanied by the annoying horn beep. She’d traded in her Mazda for a sporty MINI Cooper, deciding she needed something new that didn’t have crash memories associated with it. While the Coop didn’t disappear into a crowd, it also wasn’t as eye-catching as the red Mustang convertible she’d had her eye on. But it got her around and allowed her to park in any slot the DC area could throw her way.
She opened the door and slipped into the car. After one more scan, she shifted into reverse and slid from the lot. But the feeling that someone was watching chased her from the parking lot all the way home.