Chapter 49
Squirrelly. Tessa sat on the edge of the bed. Grounded herself. She needed to handle this. “Oh, Ethan, I don’t think—” she began.
“Look, Tessa,” Ethan talked over her. “We have a couple of hours before the event. It’s sold out. Everyone bought their books in advance, and will get them when they arrive. And they are expecting to see you. If you don’t show up, we’ll lose all those sales. But—”
“Okay. Summer vacation. We went to the beach, in Chatham,” Tessa interrupted.
This was sheer fabrication; Tessa had known someone in high school whose family went there.
But she was not going to reveal any more of her personal life or past, no matter what they asked.
Not one bit more. “Maybe it’s someone who was there, too.
And wants to reconnect. Golly, I have no idea who, but you never know what people remember.
” Golly? she thought. I am totally losing it.
“So you’re not concerned?”
“Not at all.” Tessa kept her voice as light as the fog, as if Ethan’s concerns would vanish with the next ray of sun. Her career depended on this. Her livelihood. Her family. Her future. “But I bet it’s a mistake, and they’re all from the same person. Seriously, Ethan, sorry for giving you pause.”
Silence again. She could almost hear Ethan calculating book sale profits versus potential losses, bad publicity, video clips on Insta, how many books of hers they’d have to return if they had to cancel.
How to explain it to the readers who would be disappointed and blame the store and blame Tessa and spread their venom on social media.
Tessa was unreliable. Inauthentic. A selfish bitch. We hate her.
“Chatham?”
“Yup.” She had one fact, at least. “Cape Cod.”
When Ethan didn’t answer, she decided to push. “I mean, this seems pretty benign.”
“I suppose,” Ethan said. “But it’s a new one.”
“First time for everything, right? Just ask the debut author.”
“Okay, look. We can’t cancel.” Ethan’s voice had an edge to it. “I simply won’t ask that question. We’ll go from there.”
“Perfect.” Tessa closed her eyes. That might work. “People know I’m not big on personal stuff. See you soon, okay?”
“It’s a full house, Tessa. We’re counting on you.”
Tessa tried to ignore the almost-threat. “Can’t wait.”
She’d already started a new online search as she hung up.
Some article she’d seen said all a reader needed was three telling details to make a description sound authentic.
She found the listing for Chatham, and tucked away enough facts to fake familiarity about a place her family had never been.
There was no one alive who could refute that story.
Now there was no time to do anything but take a shower, get dressed, go to the bookstore, and, essentially, pray.
It was all too clear that someone was digging into her past. Someone close to her.
Someone knowledgeable. Someone malevolent.
Because her name was not online in connection with the bad thing, no casual search would find it.
What made it more disturbing: tonight’s questions were about a different part of her past. Her summer vacations.
Although they were called Danforth then, any number of people could know they’d been in Maine.
Not just Emily. Her father the sheriff. Her stepmother.
And the ice-cream store lady and the rental car place and the lifeguard at the lake and the librarian and who knows who else.
But so what? Was the deer preservation society on her trail?
She put one hand on the top edge of her laptop, ready to close it, then couldn’t stand it. She sat on the bed again, typed Emily Owen, Blytheton Maine .
Images.
Deep breath.
Enter .
A banker. A meteorologist. A soprano. She scanned the photos.
Some were too old, others too young, no one the right age, not even close.
It might simply mean she wasn’t very public.
Or she was dead. Or she’d gotten married and changed her name, in which case Tessa was doomed.
And this search was doomed. And Tessa was, too.
And way too soon, there was no stopping it, Tessa would be in another Uber, headed to yet another bookstore, with her future as unpredictable as the weather outside.
Good simile, Annabelle said.
“This is your fault,” Tessa snapped. Then covered her face with both hands. “Get a grip, Tessa,” she whispered.