“We do know. Get up there.” Jay looked almost as tired as I felt.
I dragged myself up the stairs, stuffed a pair of pajamas, a change of clothes, and a few toiletries into an overnight bag, then went to my nightstand where my phone was charging. I’d run upstairs sometime while the detectives were here to plug it into the charger. I hoped I’d find a message from Keith, but there was nothing from him. He was scrambling to get home, I reasoned.
Instead, I had two missed calls from Ryan and two texts. HEY, I REMEMBERED KEITH WAS TRAVELING THIS WEEK. CHECKING IN TO SEE IF YOU NEED ANYTHING.
Then about an hour later: LET ME KNOW YOU’RE OKAY.
I glanced at the time and decided Ryan would want a response regardless of the hour. THANKS FOR CHECKING. LONG DAY. I’LL CALL TOMORROW.
Was it just that Keith had rushed to find a flight, check out of his hotel, and get to the airport that kept him from calling or sending a text? Had he wanted to come straight home, or had Gabe persuaded him to do so when he called him to let him know what had happened?
I wanted to believe the best—needed to believe the best of Keith. But doubt niggled.
I unplugged the charger from the wall and tossed it into the overnight bag, along with my phone. Then, rather than climb into bed to fall asleep in the comfort and security of my husband’s arms, I went back downstairs and told Jay and Gabe I’d follow them to their house.
Nothing felt right or certain.
Nothing.
After a restless night, I finally fell into a fitful sleep sometime before dawn and then woke with the sun. I tossed in the unfamiliar bed, ultimately landing on my back and staring at the ceiling. When it was clear I was awake for good, I reached and turned on the lamp on the nightstand and then picked up my phone. I was grateful to see a text from Keith letting me know he was on his way. Whether that meant on his way from Seattle, on his way from the airport, or on his way to Jay and Gabe’s, I had no idea.
All that mattered was that he was coming.
Chilled, I pulled the down comforter over the blanket already covering me and snuggled under its warmth. I took in the decor of the guest room as I lay there. Bright batik prints and black-and-white photos from Ethiopia, where Gabe and Jaylan spent their honeymoon working with a relief organization, hung on the walls. Proud of their African American heritage, they wanted to give back to the country of their ancestors. I respected their selfless act. Both Gabe and Jay had also chosen careers that allowed them to serve others in selfless ways.
But, in addition to respecting them, I also envied them. The feeling wasn’t one I dwelled on, but I’d often recognized a partnership, a melding of passions and purpose between Gabe and Jay, something my relationship with Keith lacked.
That awareness, once again, left me standing on a precipice overlooking a stark void.
The slow swoosh of the bedroom door pushing open over the carpet in the room pulled me from that edge. A large familiar hand holding a Starbuck’s cup appeared around the corner from the hallway.
I smiled when Keith poked his head into the room.
“Grande latte with whip.”
“Whip?”
“Thought you might need a little something extra.” He came and sat on the side of the bed.
I scooted up and leaned against the headboard. “Thank you for coming home. And for the whip.”
He leaned over and planted a kiss on my forehead, then handed me the latte. “Sounds like you’ve had an action-packed week.” He smiled, though I could see the shadows under his eyes. He’d likely been up most of the night.
“You want adventure, I’m here to provide it.”
He raised his eyebrows and got up. He came around the other side of the bed, kicked off his shoes, climbed in, and put his arms around me. I sat my cup on the nightstand and then nuzzled into him. “I’m so glad you’re home. I was so… scared. I am so scared.” My voice caught. “What are we going to do?”
When he stiffened and pulled away from me, I realized I’d misread his intent, or he’d misread mine.
“We’re going to let law enforcement do their job. Speaking of which, why do I have a message from a detective? He said they need to talk to me today.”
“The charm was mailed from Seattle.”
“Yeah, I know. Gabe filled me in. But what does that have to do with me?”
I sat up. I knew Keith hadn’t sent the charm. He wasn’t a suspect, of course. He’d never do anything like that to me. But couldn’t he see why they’d have to question him? Again, his attitude surrounding all of this baffled me. I trusted him implicitly, but… “Well”—I sighed—“like you said, we have to let them do their jobs. I’m sure talking with you is just a formality. Because, obviously, you were in Seattle at the same time the package was postmarked. Maybe talking with them will trigger a memory—something or someone you saw.” I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“They’ll probably figure out it’s all just a sick joke.”
“A joke? But that guy was at the office and—”
He pulled the covers back and got up and reached for his shoes.
I hesitated. “You don’t want to talk about this?”
“I just don’t want you making a bigger deal about it than it is, okay?” He bent to put his shoes on and then looked over his shoulder at me. “I’m starving. Let’s go get brunch at that place downtown that makes great southern food—”
“Keith…”
“—their beignets are the best. Remember the pork belly benedict they make? Maybe Gabe and Jay can join us. After brunch we can catch a matinee. What’s playing?” He pulled his phone out of the back pocket of his pants and pulled up movie listings. He began reading titles and times to me.
As I listened to him ramble on, it occurred to me…
He couldn’t face what was happening.
Couldn’t or wouldn’t? I wasn’t sure.
What I was sure of was that he was as afraid as I was.
One afternoon several days after I’d received the final charm, I sat in my office where I’d just finished rearranging my client schedule to coincide with Jay’s schedule. Gabe had suggested that neither of us should spend time alone at the office until the “situation,” as he called it, was resolved.
I was grateful for his suggestion, while at the same time more aware than ever of how the situation was encroaching on my life. Like a hamster in a cage, I felt small and confined, running on a wheel to nowhere. And it wasn’t just my life that was impacted; it was the lives of all those around me.
The hypervigilance—the constant looking over my shoulder, watching for that one familiar but still unknown to me face wherever I went, the adrenaline spikes when the phone rang or the mail arrived—proved exhausting. The nightmares had also begun and were disrupting not only my sleep but my peace.
I was both weary and overwhelmed.
And I couldn’t talk to Keith about any of it.
Nor could I depend on Jay or Ryan or other close friends to help me work through the feelings I was having at any given moment. I needed to process with a therapist. I was quickly reaching the point where I’d need medical assistance too. An examination and prescription to relieve anxiety.
I got up from my desk and stretched, trying to relieve some of the tension in my back and shoulders.
How long could I keep up with my client list? I wasn’t sure. I’d caught my mind wandering several times as a client was talking. I was struggling to stay present and focused.
When the phone on my desk rang, my heart stuttered. I dropped into my chair, looked at the caller ID, and then picked up the call.
“This is Denilyn Costa.”
“Mrs. Costa, this is Daniel Neibuhr from the sheriff’s—”
“Yes, hello. Do you have any news?”
“Nothing much. Until we have an ID on the guy you’ve seen, there’s not much we can do. We did, however, discover where the bracelet and charms were purchased. Through a search online, we found a jewelry store chain t
hat carries the exact bracelet and charms. There are two stores in our area, so we checked with both of them. The second store has record of selling the bracelet and two charms a few days before you received the first package. But whoever purchased the bracelet and first two charms paid cash for them, which isn’t a surprise.
“The third charm was sold by the same retailer, but through one of their shops in Bellevue, outside of Seattle. Again, the customer paid cash. The fact that whoever made the purchases used cash may indicate that they didn’t want the sales tracked. Or it could mean nothing. It’s a dead end at this point, unless an employee from either store can remember making the sale and give us a description of the customer. But so far we haven’t had that kind of luck.”
He went on to clarify something we’d discussed over the weekend and then asked me a few more questions, but I had nothing more to offer.
“Just one more thing, Mrs. Costa. As I’m sure you know, I did speak with your husband earlier this week. I know you’ve said he didn’t send that final charm. I can’t prove whether he did or didn’t, but it seems like a pretty big coincidence that he was in the same city where the charm was purchased at the same time it was sent. I’m not questioning your judgment; I’m just saying it’s odd. Okay?”
I nodded, though I knew he couldn’t see me. But I wasn’t sure I could speak. He may not have directly questioned my judgment, but he wasn’t convinced that Keith hadn’t sent the charm.
He cleared his throat. “Any questions for me, Mrs. Costa?”
“Um…” Did he really suspect my husband? “Did you… did you ask Keith if he’d told anyone on his team about the bracelet and the first two charms—anyone who was in Seattle with him?”
I’d asked Keith that question myself, of course. I was grasping, but then I wondered what my question revealed about me? What would the detective think it revealed? Was I questioning what Keith had told me? Of course not. I trusted him. But doubt had begun to take root.
“Yes, ma’am, I asked him that. He said he doesn’t remember telling anyone about the bracelet, but he couldn’t be sure.”
That’s what he’d told me. “How can you not remember?” I’d pushed. “You have to remember whether you said something or not. Is there anyone on your team who would want to set you up, make you look bad, play a perverted joke? Think, Keith. Think. Please.” But he’d shut down, walked away. I was seeing, for the first time since we’d met, that in the face of hardship or stress, his habit was to escape. “Okay, thank you.” I leaned back in my chair, wishing I too could escape. “What do you suggest I do now?”
“I suggest you keep your eyes open. And if you haven’t already done so, install a security system in your home, and let us know of any new developments.”
I’d called a couple of alarm companies on Monday and set appointments for them to give us bids. It was money we didn’t want to spend, but it was also money we couldn’t afford not to spend. Keith agreed, and I was grateful not to have a disagreement over finances in the midst of everything else.
Perhaps an alarm would provide a measure of comfort.
After the call, more than ever I wanted the bracelet and charms to be nothing more than the sick joke Keith had suggested they were. I’d written a book for those traumatized by bullies. Clearly someone was now bullying me.
Maybe the bracelet was as far as it would go. I prayed that was so.
But that theory didn’t answer the question about the man who seemed to be stalking me, even if the stalking was benign in nature, at least thus far.
Who was he? And why did he seem familiar to me?
I’d asked myself those questions a hundred times over.
But I still didn’t have answers.
January 2010
A few weeks later on a Friday evening, just as Jay and I were leaving the office, I received a text from Keith saying he was still working but would leave his office within thirty minutes. I didn’t like the idea of walking into an empty house, so I texted him back and told him I would stop at the grocery store so neither of us had to go over the weekend.
As I pulled into the parking lot of the store, I felt a moment of freedom. The simple act of wandering the aisles of the busy grocery store felt both safe and normal. I hadn’t sensed either safety or normalcy in the last week, and I vowed I’d enjoy the time.
I grabbed a cart on my way into the store and made a slow circle around the produce department, marveling at the array of colors—purple eggplants, golden and crimson beets, and every shade of green imaginable. I chose a head of broccoli and some salad greens and then went to grab a couple of russet potatoes to have with our dinner the following evening. As I placed the potatoes in a produce bag, I sensed someone behind me. I turned, and I was face-to-face with him. I dropped the bag, and the potatoes rolled across the floor. I took a step back, hitting the shopping cart with my hip.
“What… what do you want? Why are you following me?” I reached for the cart and maneuvered it so I was behind it—a blockade between us.
He looked at my wrist then back to my face. “You’re not wearing the bracelet. I thought you’d like it. D for Denilyn.”
My breath caught and my heart raced.
“I for Isabelle. But you don’t like it? You don’t like the bracelet?” There didn’t seem to be any malice in his tone, only what I perceived as disappointment.
I gripped the handle of the cart, trying to steady myself, then glanced around to see if anyone was watching us, anyone witnessing him talking to me. But no one was paying attention. People were focused on their shopping lists or reaching for items they needed. It was Friday night and shoppers were anxious to get what they needed and get out and go home or to wherever it was they were spending the evening.
My mind raced. Should I try to engage him, or should I run? “What… what about… my last name?” I hadn’t considered the question. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it.
His dark eyes bore into me, and he slowly shook his head. “Denilyn Isabelle…”
I took another step back, but there was nowhere to go. I was trapped in a corner between two displays and the cart.
He took another step closer to the cart. “R for Rossi. Would you like that?”
Was he really concerned about pleasing me?
“No… that’s not my name”—as I was talking, I realized what I needed to do—“now.”
His brow furrowed, and he said something else. Something about a C. He was shaking his head. I maintained eye contact with him, but I couldn’t absorb what he was saying. My focus had shifted as I reached into my purse sitting in the top of the cart. I tried to make the action look natural, as though I was still listening but had remembered something I needed out of my purse. I dug through the contents until my fingers landed on the cool smooth case of my phone.
Just as I pulled the phone from my purse, a woman walked up to us. “Excuse me. May I?” She pointed at the displays of potatoes behind me.
“Oh…” I looked at him. “You’ll have to move.” His eyes darted from me to her and back, but he didn’t move.
I kept the phone down low, behind my purse. I tapped in my security code then looked back to him. He kept looking from me to the other woman.
“Excuse me,” she said louder. “I just need a couple of those.” She pointed again.
Finally, he took a few steps back, giving me room to move the cart. But first I glanced at the screen of the phone again, tapped the icon I wanted, and then lifted the phone and pointed it at him. I had to work to steady my hand, and then I snapped his picture.
His eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed with what I assumed was anger. He stared at me for a split second before he turned and ran.
Hands shaking, I dropped the phone back into my purse and doubled over.
“Are you okay?” the woman asked.
I’d been holding my breath. I gasped then pointed toward the doors of the store. “Catch… him!” I cried. “Someone catch him!” But no one move
d. The few people who heard me looked confused.
Trembling, I pushed the cart out of my way, stumbled past the woman and her cart, and then ran for the door. It slid open as I approached, and I ran out into the already dark parking lot. Cars, headlights blinding me, maneuvered through the lot, looking for parking spaces. Others were headed toward the parking lot exits. Frantic, my eyes roved through the parking lot, looking at each person. When I saw a man getting into a car, I headed that way and stepped into the lane that ran in front of the store. A car honked as it slammed on its brakes, stopping just before it hit me. Rooted, I turned and looked at the driver. A woman about my age, hands in the air, glared at me.
When the car I thought I’d seen the man getting into came up the row toward me, I ran to it only to discover it was an elderly woman at the wheel.
I had to find him—had to see what he was driving. Get a license plate number or something that could be used to track him. I had to stop the madness. Make it end. But there was no sign of him.
He’d vanished into the crowded lot.
Or somewhere else in the shopping center.
He was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Denilyn
January 2010
The picture I’d taken was a clear shot, straight on, of his face. I’d transferred the photo from my phone to my laptop, where his dark eyes, surprised, stared at me from the screen. With time to really look at him, to consider what about him was familiar without the stress of his presence, I was surer than ever that I did know him, or at least had seen him, possibly met him, somewhere.
But where? The answer still eluded me.
I attached the photo to an email and sent it to Daniel Neibuhr, as he’d asked me to do when I’d called him. They could run it through a facial recognition program of some sort and see if it matched photos of offenders in their data bank. If this guy had a record, there was a chance they’d make a match and identify him.
Convergence Page 13
