Chapter Four
Aubrey
Bree grinned as she stood on the balcony of the Hunter Museum of American Art. This balcony, overlooking the Tennessee River, was one of her favorite spots to stand and take in the view during her monthly visits to Chattanooga. Taking a final swig of coffee, Bree turned and walked back into the museum, eager to visit the last exhibit before she had to head back to Rhodes. The exhibit focused on abstract expressionist art, which was admittedly not her favorite. There was something to be learned from each form of art, though, so she planned to dutifully read each of the plaques and study each of the paintings even though she’d likely forget them the moment she left. She’d much rather study impressionism.
Bree ambled through the room, studying each painting as she walked by. While most of them were a waste of paint, she paused to look at Helen Frankenthaler’s Mountains and Sea. The 1952 masterpiece reminded her a little bit of a young child’s watercolor painting, but there was something interesting about the shades of the colors the artist had used. The pastel blue and green drew the eye into the painting, unlike Koenig’s Woman Ochre, whose colors felt harsh. The only interesting thing about that painting was that it had been stolen and later recovered. Honestly, it was amazing someone liked it enough to steal. But the Mountains and Sea were softer, and Bree was content to stand there for much longer than she had for the others. Bree moved on and felt she was going cross-eyed as she tried to figure out the appeal of a Jackson Pollock with no luck. To each their own.
A large crowd of disinterested-looking high school students walked into the room, and the noise level rose significantly. The chaperone gave instructions and dismissed the students to walk throughout the exhibit. Bree”s anxiety crept up as the room began to feel much smaller than it realistically was. She took one last glance around the room to see if there were any other paintings she wanted to see. As she was looking, she caught the attention of one of the high school girls nearby, who elbowed her blonde friend and whispered excitedly. The other girl whipped her head around and caught sight of Bree, a huge smile on her face.
“Aubrey Gray? No way! Can we get a picture?” She asked excitedly.
Bree started counting in her head, the anxiety threatening to overwhelm her. Her chest was tight, and it felt hard to breathe. “Of course!” Bree said, forcing a smile.
The girls squealed and came to stand next to her, taking a selfie of the three of them. “Thank you so much!” The blonde said before running off with her friend toward a larger gaggle of girls.
Bree turned and walked out of the exhibit, careful not to move too quickly. She didn’t want to seem like she was avoiding people or running away…even though that’s exactly what she was doing. She moved into the main space of the museum, and the knot in her chest loosened. She could finally take a deep breath. It was past time to go.
“Aubrey Gray?” A woman’s voice called from near the visitor’s podium.
Bree turned to acknowledge the person speaking and quickly plastered a smile on her face.
“I thought it was you!” The woman said. “I’m Caroline Miller, and this is my husband, Jim.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Bree said, shaking each of their hands while her stomach sank. That freaking invitation for the Gala was still sitting in her pile of mail that she had said she was going to deal with later.
“The pleasure is ours.” Mrs. Miller replied.
“What brings you to Chattanooga?” Bree asked, hoping it was for pleasure and not for the Gala.
“My wife and I are on the board for the annual gala that raises money and awareness for families who have a loved one suffering from drug addiction. The funds raised at the event go to helping families afford rehab or make their bills while the family’s breadwinner is in rehab. It also helps families who may need financial help getting on their feet if their loved one has died from an overdose. We’re looking for a venue to host the Gala this Thanksgiving.” Mr. Miller said.
“Well, the museum is beautiful. Trenton has some beautiful venues as well. But you really can’t go wrong in Tennessee.”Bree said. She hesitated before continuing but felt it was important for them to know that she really did care for their organization and understood the importance of it on a personal level. She could do hard things.
Bree took a breath and continued, “Your organization is such a blessing. My family could have benefited from an organization like that.” Bree told them warmly. She truly did love the organization and all it stood for. She just didn’t want to speak in public or be in the spotlight anymore…at all.
“We think so as well.” Mrs. Miller said. “Aubrey, I believe my assistant sent an invitation to see if you’d like to speak at the event. We’d truly love to have you.”
Bree maintained her smile on the outside while panicking on the inside. She didn’t want to do it. But the people-pleasing side of her wasn’t going to let her out of it. She had no other engagements.
“I’m sorry I haven’t had the chance to get back to you—I’d love to.” She said with a smile, even as her stomach sank and the knot in her chest tightened again.
“We’d love that. Our administrative assistant will send over details.” Mr. Miller said.
“Perfect,” Aubrey said. They exchanged goodbyes, and the Millers headed toward the abstract expressionism exhibit while Bree made a beeline for the door. Apparently, she was going to give a speech.
Great.
***
Bree”s phone buzzed, alerting her to the new message waiting for her as she sat in the Rhodes Creek Coffee Shop watching the sun begin to set. The opening day of the farmers market was a success and the teardown and clean-up portion of the process had begun. A number of people were out helping with clean up, which meant the coffee shop was full of customers, even at seven o’clock at night.
The men at the table behind hers brushed past her on their way out and she felt a shiver creeping up her neck. There wasn’t enough space in here. Bree took a deep breath. It’s not like someone was out to get her. She needed to chill.
Bree opened the messaging app and responded to a few fans who shared their excitement over seeing her in concert a few months ago and encouraging her on her new endeavors—whatever those were. Bree smiled. Those were the best messages. She honestly loved her fans—they were generally really good, kind, supportive people.
A long, scraping sound—similar to nails on a chalkboard—came from the the door of the cafe and Bree felt goosebumps break out. “Sorry!” One of the workers called out, adjusting his grip on the table he was carrying back into the cafe. Someone cleared their throat impatiently behind the workers. Bree rolled her eyes. She couldn’t stand people like that. She turned her attention back to people watching, nursing her iced coffee in her hands.
“Hey Aubrey,” a deep voice said from beside her. Bree turned, and her stomach dropped. Five bucks said he was the one clearing his throat behind the construction workers.
“Hi, Kyle.” She said, immediately looking for a way out of the conversation. Slimy wasn’t the only descriptor that came to mind when she thought of Kyle Rhodes, but it was definitely the kindest one.
“There’s an awards dinner coming up in two weeks. I’ll pick you up that Saturday at seven.” He said, oozing an amount of fake charm that should come with its own government warning label and a set of red flags that could be handed to any woman who was forced to hold a conversation with him.
“I’m not going to an awards dinner—or any kind of dinner—with you, Kyle. Thanks for asking, though.” Bree said, attempting to remain pleasant.
Kyle slid into the chair across from Bree.
“I don’t recall asking.”
“I don’t care whether or not you’re asking,” Bree said with false bravado as her heart raced. She scooted further back to put additional distance between herself and Kyle. “I’m telling you that I’m not going out with you. Ever.” Take a breath, he can’t do anything—Bree thought, trying to reassure herself. She rubbed her fingers on her jeans anxiously.
“You’re going to change your tune one day, Aubrey. And it better be soon.” He sneered before getting up and roughly shoving his chair into the table. Her cup rattled, and Bree quickly steadied it before it spilled. She didn’t need any more attention on her. She gave a reassuring smile to Marilee, who watched the interaction from the counter, poised to intervene if necessary. Marilee nodded back to Bree and resumed cleaning up.
Bree took a deep breath to steady herself and opened the next message, which contained several pictures. Bree tapped to open the first attachment—she was always cautious when opening pictures. While she loved seeing people enjoy her concerts, some people sent images that she had to report. Then she had to block the person. The first picture was of a garden full of blooming flowers. It looked like the wildflower mix that Bree loved to share on her socials when it was time for gardening. Her home in Los Angeleshad the same flowers in the front garden.
Bree opened the next picture excitedly. The blue kitchen cabinets and white quartz counters looked sharp next to thewhite subway tile backsplash. The gold pulls on the drawers looked exactly like the ones she had picked out when she redid her kitchen in L.A. a few years ago. Even though she couldn”t cook, she could appreciate a beautifully decorated kitchen.
Bree paused and zoomed in on the picture. Her hands felt sweaty, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose. There, on the side of the island, was a small chip in the paint shaped like the state of Texas. Just like the one Steph had caused when she accidentally smacked her ring on the cabinet. Who was sending her pictures of her old house?
The next picture was her old bedroom a shadow visible in the window but not clear enough to make out any identifying features. The last attachment was a video, and Bree had a feeling she wasn’t going to like whatever it was. Bree opened the last attachment—a video—and nausea rose in her throat. There, in what had been her private bathroom, was a masculine hand holding the little stuffed bear Nonna had given her the Christmas before she died. Tears filled her eyes as she stared longingly at the bear on the screen. The movers had left him behind. Bree had left him behind. Maybe the person had found him and wanted to return him. Hope flooded her chest. Maybe they were reaching out with pictures to prove they were there and had her beloved bear. She’d ask them to mail the bear back. It was priceless to her and had to be essentially worthless to them. At least sentimentality-wise. If they wanted money or something, she’d happily give it.
The video zoomed in on a small torn piece of paper the bear was holding that said, “How could you leave us behind?” The video slowly zoomed out, and a second hand reached around, twisting the head of the bear around. Bree held her breath. The hand in the video violently jerked the bear”s twisted head, decapitating the bear. The tears in her eyes streamed down her face as she buried her head in her hands, hope crashing down around her. Who would do something like that? A pair of heels clacked across the floor, and Bree turned her head. Marilee stood next to her, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” She asked.
Bree shook her head. “I just need to go home.” She whispered.
Taking a deep breath, Bree forwarded the message to Detective Ramirez, Rae, and then to Steph as well. She wasn’t surprised when her phone rang a moment later.
“Aubrey, you need to hire some security,” Steph said in lieu of greeting.
“Whoever it was is clearly in L.A.,” Bree argued half-heartedly, her stomach sick and heart aching. Who would do this to her? Bree stood and pushed in her chair, walking toward the cafe door slowly.
“People like that don’t just stop, Bree. What if he finds you?”
“No one is going to find me, Steph. I pay Royce a lot of money to keep my information off the internet.”
“And the paparazzi?”
“They’re not in a small town like Rhodes. Everything I attend is outside of this town, and there is no real connection to me here. It’s fine.”
“You need to send the video to Noah.”
“No. Steph—”
“We can’t get to you soon enough if you need help, Bree. Noah can. If you won’t hire him, we can at least keep him in the loop.”
“Fine. I’ll send it over.” Bree sighed.
“Are you okay?” Steph asked, her voice softening in concern.
“No. I’m going to head home, though. I was at the coffee shop. Can we talk later?”
“Of course. Call if you need me.”
“Will do,” Bree said, hanging up the phone as she slid behind the wheel. She locked the car doors and rested her head against the steering wheel while she took several deep breaths to calm the emotional storm raging inside her. It would be okay. The press didn’t come to Rhodes, so whoever was tormenting her from L.A. wouldn’t be able to find her. It”s a big world. They’d give up eventually.
The shadows on the drive home tormented her, her anxiety spiking as the tree branches caused movement in the edges of her vision. Bree took the long way home and made multiple turns to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She pulled into her garage, leaving the car running, and the doors locked until her garage door shut tightly behind her. She quickly exited, leaving her mail and packages on the passenger seat, and locked her car before going into the house and locking the door between the garage and house as well. She dropped her purse and slid to the ground, tears welling again as images of her old home and her bear flipped through her mind—an unwanted video reel stuck on repeat in her brain.
Bree trudged into her bathroom, locking both the bedroom and bathroom door behind her. Intellectually, she knew she was safe in her home. But was she? What if the person who sent that video found her? Or the commenter who threatened her life? Was she living on borrowed time?
Bree started the shower and pondered whether it was worth it to sleep in the bathtub so she could stay behind more locked doors overnight. That would probably be excessive. She washed the stress and trauma from the day off and soaked in the warm water for a few minutes while she focused on deep breathing exercises her old therapist had taught her. Once she felt more steady, she turned off the water and threw on her coziest pair of PJs. The material on the sweats was wearing thin, and the shirt was three sizes too big, but that was exactly what she needed.
Bree left her bedroom door locked and curled up on her bed with her favorite comfort read nestled in her hand. She was as secure as she could be for the night, and Poppy was about to kick some craven butt. Her life could wait a few more hours to fall apart. She was done for today.