We were just about to round the corner leading to Porter’s house when I glanced in my car’s side-view mirror for the tenth time. For the past several minutes, the car behind us had taken the same turns Finch had. He’d noticed too. I could tell. But he hadn’t said anything. Glancing in the car’s mirror, I didn’t have the best view of the man in the car behind us, but in my own paranoia, I saw my stalker. The truth was, I’d seen him over and over and over again since Clara died. Only, it wasn’t ever him. He was the clerk at the store, the guy at the gym, the onlooker in my live studio audience.
It’s not him, Joss. Pull yourself together. It’s not him.
Finch parked in front of Porter’s house, and the car behind us passed by. The man turned and smiled, then used a garage door opener to open the garage three houses down.
The front door opened before we got to it.
“Where’s Chelsea?” I asked.
Porter stood in the doorway, his arms folded, face all screwed up like he didn’t want to see me. The feeling was mutual.
“Not here.”
Perfect. Exactly what I hoped he would say.
“You received my text earlier when Chelsea stopped by my hotel, right?” I asked.
“I did.”
“And the one about where she was last night?”
He nodded.
“Have you notified the police about the break-in last night?”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? I knew if I didn’t, you would have. It seems you have your hand in every kind of jar there is in this town. Must be nice to use your celebrity to get what you want.”
“You know all about using people to get what you want,” I said.
“What’s your point?”
My point was about to be made clear.
I leaned to the side, looking past him into the house. A few cardboard boxes were stacked in the corner of the living room. “Are you moving out?”
“What does it look like?”
“And Chelsea, she’s staying?”
He turned a hand up. “This is her house now. Not mine. She’s made that clear. If we’re to have any relationship at all, I need to give her what she wants.”
“Aren’t you concerned about her safety after what happened yesterday?”
He laughed. “Would it matter if I was? My daughter informed me that if I’m here, she won’t be. So what would you like me to do, Miss Jax? Camp out in my car in the driveway to ensure her safety? She has a uniformed officer for that. Not to mention a fiancé.”
I stepped into the house. Finch followed.
“As of this moment, I still live here,” Porter said. “And I haven’t invited you in.”
“Where’s Alexandra’s laptop?”
“How should I know? I told you what happened to this place. Look around. First the cops go through it, then it gets burglarized.”
“When did police search the house?”
“Tuesday.”
“I’m assuming they never found a laptop.”
No reply.
“Are you sure you have nothing to say? I may not know who broke in here, but I believe you’re the one who has Alexandra’s laptop.”
He palmed his cell phone like he was going to make a call. “You know something? I’ve had enough.”
Finch eyed Porter’s phone like he was prepared to jack it from his hand as soon as a button was pressed, which may not have been such a bad thing. Still, I had a better idea.
“Before you decide whether or not you’re actually going to make a call, I’d like to show you something.” I reached into my back pocket, pulled out the photo, held it in front of Porter’s face.
“What am I looking at?” he asked.
“Elias Pratt. Don’t you recognize him?”
“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t? Why are you showing his picture to me?”
“I found this photo tucked away inside Alexandra’s appointment book.”
“Her planner? How did you get—”
“Chelsea gave it to me this morning. She thinks Alexandra was writing another book about Elias Pratt. Is that true?”
“I don’t know. I think so. I assumed she was, at least. Though I couldn’t understand why.”
“When did you find out about her new book?”
“I overheard a conversation between Alex and Paula Page.”
“On the phone?” I asked.
“Here, at the house.”
He was quite the gifted eavesdropper.
“When did the conversation between Alexandra and Paula occur?”
“Right before Alex left on her book tour, Paula showed up at the house in a frantic, crazed state, shouting at Alex to ‘leave things alone.’ She was hysterical.”
“Any idea what things she was referring to?”
“Alex was planning to expose something about Paula in her new book. She told Paula it was too late, said Paula should have told the truth in the first place. She wouldn’t be in the situation she was in if she had.”
The truth about what? I wondered.
“How did Paula react to Alexandra’s response?”
“Paula threatened her, said if she didn’t back down, she’d expose a secret she knew about Alex too.”
“How did the visit end?”
“Paula shouted a few expletives at Alex and left. I walked into the room a minute later, asked what it was all about, and Alex laughed, acted like it was nothing. She was rattled though. I could tell.”
It was clear to me now. “Elias Pratt is the reason you broke into Alexandra’s desk drawer and removed the laptop.”
He laughed like my assumption was absurd. “Why would I do that?”
“You wanted to read what she’d written. What she’d revealed in the book.”
“I’ve never given a damn about what she puts in those books. Why would this one be any different?”
“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today,” I said. “Ever since you admitted Alexandra gave you cash to keep you from blabbing about the divorce, something’s been bothering me.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“Paying you not to mention the divorce to Chelsea before she was married doesn’t make sense. Many people already assumed the relationship between you and Alexandra was failing. Even Chelsea. Alexandra did pay you though, didn’t she? She just paid you for a different reason.”
He remained silent. I continued.
“Take a good look at this picture of Elias Pratt. What do you see?”
“What everyone sees. A killer. A pathetic man who deserved to die, and he did.”
“You want to know what I see?”
“Whatever you’re getting at, say it.”
I set the photo on the kitchen counter, stabbed my finger onto the noticeable birthmark on Elias’s shoulder. “You’re not Chelsea’s real father, are you?”