Chapter 20. The Watcher
The Watcher
What are you up to, Holly? My guess is no good.
I’ve been keeping an eye on you, and I don’t like what I see. I’ve noticed a newfound determination in your stride. You’re a woman on a mission, that much is obvious.
You didn’t notice that I followed you to the lawyer’s office.
I’m assuming you have to make financial arrangements for the house, which looks dreadful.
But not for long, right? That handyman will fix it up for you.
You could stay there for a long time … unless you keep putting your nose where it doesn’t belong. Then all bets are off.
I didn’t stay for your whole meeting. I had other things to do. But now I’m back on your trail, watching …
I see you despite the crowd of tourists. You’re certainly in a hurry—no window-shopping today, no time for a shot of caffeine. Given the path you’re taking, I believe I know where you’re headed.
It’s a bad idea, Holly. A very bad idea.
Remember, you’re a professional writer, not a trained investigator. You should keep your head down, typing away. I know you won’t outline your next story. You never do. You call yourself a pantser, as in flying by the seat of your pants. I’ve learned that about you from the privacy of my computer.
That’s just another way I watch.
Here’s what else I know: You’re working on your fifteenth book.
As a teen, you loved reading and devoured classics like Jane Eyre, Sense and Sensibility, and—of course—anything by Shakespeare.
When you began writing, you focused on crafting stories about human emotions and meaningful relationships.
You pride yourself on telling a good tale that doesn’t need a dead body to move the plot along.
But that’s the old you. You’re changing, Holly.
It’s happening right before my eyes. This new you might decide to try writing about a murder, one that actually took place, maybe even one close to home.
I’m here to tell you: You shouldn’t. You think you’re finally making progress, but you have no idea the danger you’re stumbling into.
So I do what I do best—I follow you. Just another face in the crowd, seen but unseen. I am a phantom. I am your ghost. I’m right behind you when you march into the police station.
There’s danger there—danger all around. I reach into my pocket. I feel the sturdy cold steel beneath my palm. It’s right there, waiting for me, in case I need it.
Don’t push it, Holly.