Chapter Fifteen
BARRETT’S STOMACH PLUMMETED.
Was Zoey kidnapped? Or even worse?
He checked the giant closet, but she wasn’t there, sending a dagger through his heart. Guilt crushed him like a boulder rolling off the cliff of despair. Still, he inspected the balcony as if she could become a bird and fly away. It barely took seconds, but they were the longest seconds of his life.
It was all his fault. He shouldn’t have left her alone. What was he thinking?
Lord, please help me find Zoey unharmed.
His mind raced. He’d wanted to help, yes. But he’d also wanted to look like a hero in her eyes. He’d wanted to impress her. As a result, he could’ve put her in a harmful situation.
Okay, he needed to check the bathroom. Normally, he kept cool under pressure, and he’d been in plenty of dangerous situations before. But just the thought of losing Zoey beaded up a cold sweat on his forehead as he knocked on the bathroom door. “Zoey! Zoey?” Her name sounded like a plea now, desperate even to his ears.
“I’m here!” Her voice was the best sound he’d ever heard in his life.
He nearly slumped in relief. “Are you okay?”
“I’m all right.”
Enormous relief removed the boulder from his shoulders and chest—apparently, he’d been carrying three boulders then. But he edged back as his neck warmed. “I, eh, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You’re not interrupting.” The door opened, and she stepped out.
She looked regal in that spectacular emerald-green evening gown, but paler than usual, and her hazel-brown eyes were wide. Was she scared?
It took all his willpower not to take her into his arms. He shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from hugging her.
He’d tried so hard not to fall for her. But, in truth, he’d given her his heart the moment he’d laid his eyes on her, so vulnerable yet determined like a baby bird about to take its first flight.
Well, with her clothes such bright colors, she was more like a bird from some fantasyland he didn’t know even existed before he’d met her. But that was where she’d have to stay. In fantasyland, with borders not to be crossed.
He did his best to maintain his composure and keep a distance from her, behind the invisible line that separated them, shielding her like bulletproof glass.
She stepped toward him, but something in his expression must’ve stopped her because she retreated two steps.
How well that depicted their relationship! One step forward, two steps back. The taste in his mouth turned bitter.
“I was hiding,” she said.
“Hiding?” Her words nearly broke his resolve. All kinds of alarms sounded inside him.
“I heard someone trying to open the door. The handle turned. I called out for you, and there was silence. I opened the safe while I called out with the same result. Then when someone pressed on the door, I snatched the gun and figured I’d put an extra door and a lock between us. I was about to text you, but the battery gave up on me. I should’ve charged my phone more. So silly, right?”
“It’s not silly. I’m sorry this happened. It’s all my fault.” He didn’t have access to the camera footage for the hall and penthouse, but then, before the gala, he hadn’t known they’d end up here. “I’ll let Kennedy know and ask to see the camera feed from the hall. Whoever it was, it must’ve been barely seconds before I showed up.”
“You spooked off the intruder! Merci beaucoup!” She rushed into his arms.
His resolve crumpled, and he couldn’t fight with himself any longer. He wrapped his arms around her, tenderness expanding his heart. “I don’t deserve the praise.” Especially considering that his behavior wasn’t professional right now.
He’d have to either step down as her bodyguard or do a better job of stomping down his growing feelings.
Of course, Zoey knew her lunch with Barrett wasn’t going to be a date. Still, her first thought when she woke up the next day was about him, and her heart began beating fast.
Despite the mostly sleepless night after the gala and only catching a few hours of sleep in the morning, she felt restless and dashed to the bathroom. She cringed as she studied herself in the mirror. Sure enough, her hair looked like a bird nest—if the little birdie skipped nest-building classes in bird school. And she had dark circles under her eyes. Not panda-size circles, but on the way there. Her ragged oversized T-shirt was faded and wrinkled.
Yup, she could’ve passed for a sparrow after a fight with pigeons for breadcrumbs. While Sofia was gorgeous and glamorous like... a peacock maybe? Zoey wrinkled her nose at her reflection.
Best not to think about it. Jealousy wasn’t diamonds; it wasn’t good to wear.
She washed her face with cold water and the face soap with bergamot and cucumber Kennedy had left her. Its scent spread through the bathroom.
Spurred on by the idea of seeing Barrett soon, Zoey’s nerves jittered, and she dropped the hairbrush—twice. At least, she didn’t drop her toothbrush.
Not a date. Not a date.
Barrett was not taking her on a date. Just a lunch together to get her accustomed to the place.
She didn’t need to look fabulous. She welcomed the mint toothpaste’s refreshing feel, then yawned. Then she stumbled to the living room on the way to the kitchen.
Coffee. She needed coffee. Lots of it. A gallon of it. She glanced out the window, stilling at the showstopping ocean view. An ocean of coffee was probably needed, but she’d have to make do with a cup.
Barrett was going to stop by early to update her on his investigation. That put a silly smile on her face, but she flattened it quickly.
It was a business lunch. Nothing else, nothing less, nothing more. Hadn’t she searched for love and affection in the wrong places before?
She didn’t know how to use the fancy-schmancy espresso machine or whatever that fancy coffee machine on the counter was. Okay, she didn’t know how to use many of the gadgets in the shower, either. Kennedy had also left a collection of coffee pods with weird names and lots of flavored coffee creamers all of which Zoey had no clue existed. She preferred her coffee pure, undiluted—except by water—and not messed with. Frankly, like everything else in life.
So she opted to open a can of instant coffee and breathed in the aroma.
Yup, she belonged in the nineteenth century. Or maybe the eighteenth? She and that Italian vase could keep each other company.
At that moment, the front doorbell rang, and she winced.
Was Barrett early? Or...
She checked the camera feed on her phone the way Barrett had shown her. She exhaled, her stiff shoulders loosening. She was safe. It was Barrett, but then her heart received the jolt it always did in his presence.
She grimaced at the ratty T-shirt she was still wearing. She didn’t want to make him wait, so she put the coffee can back and walked to the entrance.
After all, she’d never hidden who she was. Yesterday’s spectacular gown had been just that—a disguise out of necessity. She’d never pretended to be some fashionable social butterfly. She wasn’t even a caterpillar. Maybe she was a worm who’d been kept underground most of her life.
She opened the door. “Come on in.”
“I hope it’s okay that I’m early.” He stepped inside, holding up a coffee cup and a bag that emanated a yummy aroma.
“I’m always glad to see you.” Wasn’t that the truth?
“Likewise.” His lips widened, sending her treacherous heart aflutter. He was so handsome in his cowboy boots and hat, faded jeans, and a black T-shirt with the Lawrence ranch logo stretched over his muscular torso. While he’d looked dashing in a tuxedo yesterday, she preferred this look on him.
It made him look more approachable, more... real, maybe? Or was she wrong about him, and he could change himself based on the situation and adapt to the environment?
“I brought coffee. Black for you.” He lifted the cup.
She accepted it, its surface warm to her fingers, then led him to the dining table. “You know how I like my coffee?”
How unexpectedly intimate. Or maybe she was imagining things. Growing up without friends, she’d taken to reading a lot, besides arts and crafts. She’d read too many fairy tales, mostly German but a lot of French ones, too. Only this wasn’t a fairy tale, and she wasn’t a princess.
“Kennedy told me.” He brought the other cup to the dining table, as well as the paper bag. Then he helped her carry some dishes from the kitchen. “I brought biscuits with eggs and sausage. I hope you like them. The stores here didn’t have croissants.”
“That sounds good. I’m not fond of croissants anymore anyway.” Not since her silly puppy love.
He seemed to have remembered her story because his eyes darkened. “Right.”
She gestured for him to sit, but he pulled the chair out for her first.
“Merci.” She sat.
Having breakfast together seemed intimate, like something bringing them closer.
No, she was reading too much—no pun intended—into coffee and biscuits. She bit into the biscuit. It was flaky, buttery, with a hint of honey. It tasted wonderful, but she suspected the latter was more because of the company than the food. “So do you think Sofia is involved?” She cringed. Did she want Sofia to be a suspect because she didn’t like the woman?
The coffee aroma drifted to her.
He sipped his coffee with its vanilla creamer, and she watched him with an intensity she didn’t expect. Warmth heated her. Probably from the coffee. Yeah right. She snorted, knowing it was because of their hug yesterday. She’d astonished herself by initiating it. And now, how much she wanted to be in his arms again scared her.
He lifted his cup to his lips again, attracting her attention to those lips. Nice lips. Firm and well-shaped lips. Probably fun to kiss. Stop that! “Sofia has an alibi for when that truck nearly ran you over. Also for when Nora King was murdered. But if she’s involved, she might’ve been able to have a fan in love with her do the work for her. So there’s that.”
Her mind processed his words, but a pleasant wave still spread in her at the forbidden idea of kissing him. What was she thinking? They were talking about serious matters, tragic matters, but she let her mind wander where it shouldn’t go.
“True.” Already an innocent victim had her life cut short. And Zoey, even if inadvertently, had caused someone’s death by having her clothes and jewelry stolen. The biscuit and sausage soured in her stomach.
“You were right about Zachary Reed pulling out of financing Sofia’s new movie.” His gaze settled on her over the rim of his paper coffee cup, unnerving her. “Rumor is, if he gets the hotel deal he and Kennedy both want, he might come back in.”
“So harming me would benefit Sofia.” She drank more of her bitter coffee. She needed to clear the cobwebs from her head. Besides, she could blame the coffee for her temperature spike. “Still, that seems like too far to go. She could easily book another movie.” She paused. “Of course, Sofia could be way more motivated now to make me disappear.”
“Why’s that?” He raised an eyebrow as he bit into his biscuit.
Did she have to spell it out? Heat infused her cheeks. She huffed. “If I’m, well, removed, she can get to you much easier. Not that I’d stay in the way if you’re interested in her.”
“I’m not interested in her.”
Zoey resisted the urge to clap. “Awesome!” Then she paused again. They weren’t out of the woods yet. They were just entering them. And those woods had way more dangerous animals hiding in them than squirrels and woodpeckers. “But she doesn’t seem the type of a woman who’d take no for an answer. You being a challenge probably makes you more interesting to her.”
“I’m not interested in her, and I won’t be. Ever.” He spoke more forcefully than before, and his jaw set tight.
Zoey was grateful, very grateful, and she celebrated with more of the biscuit with sausage. But people could change their minds. And Sofia was very interested in him and in changing his mind. His expression, however, suggested it was best to drop the topic. Zoey drained her coffee to distract herself.
“I dug more into Zachary Reed’s family. His son-in-law, Cody Morris, has a friend who owns a trucking company. One of their vehicles looks like the one that nearly hit you. According to the maid, Cody was also the most vocal about not wanting to lose their lifestyle and doing something about it.”
She blinked at him. “The maid told you all that? I mean, you’re very charming and all, but... Wouldn’t she risk getting fired if the family found out?”
He grinned at her over the cup’s rolled rim. “So you think I’m charming, huh?”
Probably beetroot-red by now, she tried to hide behind her cup as if she were a child hiding behind their palm. “Well, duh!” She sounded and behaved childish, too. She pulled her shoulders back and put her empty cup down.
His expression turned serious again. “I gathered the maid had a grudge against the family for refusing to give her time off when her father was sick.”
Zoey’s hand with the rest of the biscuit stopped halfway, and she placed it back on the plate. “I feel bad when I don’t spend enough time with mine. That was the entire point of me coming here.” Though this morning, he’d told her he was going to be busy. He’d acted sort of secretive. Like he was hiding something?
Well, let’s face it, she preferred spending time with Barrett over spending time with her father. Even though she’d missed out on decades of their life together. Even though she might lose him soon. More guilt piled on her shoulders, making them slump again.
Barrett’s eyes softened, and his hand moved toward hers. But then it stopped halfway. “I’m sure he’d rather you stay alive and well.”
She breathed easier. “Well, when you put it that way...”
A few moments passed as neither of them moved, just looked into each other’s eyes. She felt a bond forming between them. A bond that would be difficult to break even when she returned across the ocean.
Finally, he said, “I talked to Nora’s sister, Naomi, about whether Nora had any connection to Gerald Fowler or Zachary Reed and his family. She said Nora used to date Cody before he married Zachary Reed’s daughter.”
“That guy’s already on our radar. Hmm.” She finished her breakfast.
She had a weird sensation. Whenever she started a jewelry project or a tapestry, she usually knew where all the parts went. She knew what she wanted to show other people, though sometimes what went in there at the beginning had been totally different.
“I sense someone wants to show us a specific picture that is very different from what it had been in the beginning,” she whispered.
What were they missing?
“Yes. And there could be another motive for murder. Jealousy on the part of Cody’s wife. Oh, and I double-checked the waiter whom Sofia accused of stealing the bracelet. His background was squeaky clean. I talked to his coworkers, friends, neighbors, girlfriend, and every relative living close by. Everyone gave him a stellar recommendation.”
She blinked. “Do you think he’s innocent? Sofia just made it up about the theft? Like to make herself look like a victim and gather compassion and many likes on social media?” Or did Zoey just want to believe it because she didn’t like the woman? Another motive for Sofia could be that she’d expected Barrett to help investigate the theft, which would allow her to see him more often—and cry on his shoulder.
“That’s my opinion, but I’ll keep digging.” His eyes narrowed. “Another thing. Your cousin gave me access to the hall leading to the penthouse. The person who knocked on your door kept his head low, and he was wearing a felt hat and sunglasses, so the camera didn’t catch his face. But the posture, the black suit with a bordo”—he paused—“maroon tie and the shoes... They resembled Mr. Fowler.”
She chewed on the news like she’d chewed on the biscuit before. “I don’t get it. If Gerald wanted to do me harm, he could’ve sent someone. Maybe he just wanted to talk to me? Or it was someone resembling him?”
“Either way, I don’t want him anywhere near you.” He seemed to remember about the lunch. “At least, not without proper protection. Kennedy is trying to find out whether he bribed someone to get to the private area.”
“What about fingerprints? That person touched the handle.”
“Good thinking, but he wore leather gloves.” Barrett got up. “I’ll be glad to help you with the dishes.”
That meant their breakfast together was over. She stifled a frown. Despite their conversation’s sinister nature and her worry about her very survival, being around him filled her with an intoxicating cocktail of yearning, turmoil, and pleasure. Feelings she’d started to crave.
So she blurted out as she got up, “Do you want to see my arts-and-crafts room?”
Yeah right. She nearly snorted. What guy wanted to see a room filled with beads, thread, fabric, a handloom, a sewing machine, and so on?
“I’d love to.” He smiled as if she offered him front-row tickets to the most popular football game when his favorite team was playing. Then he carried the plates to the dishwasher in the kitchen while she disposed of the paper cups.
She hadn’t even invited her father or Kennedy to that room. Barrett must be affecting her even more than she’d realized.
With her heart giving nervous little spurts and jolts, she led him upstairs along the spectacular marble staircase to a former guest room she’d changed into her workroom. “Growing up, I couldn’t escape outside. So I found the ways to escape inwards and, well, into a similar room in Lazoria where I could let my imagination take off.”
What would he think of it? It was difficult to impress a man with the help of rows of handmade beads or tiny painted wood squares.
“Wow.” His eyes widened. “Are all these your projects? You’re even more talented than I realized.”
“Thank you.” She stood a little taller.
Then she showed him some of the new necklaces, but soon, his attention drifted to the tapestry she’d started to work on. It had a tiny bird—a lark birdling—in the palm of a human hand, surrounded by a blooming garden of pink and yellow tulips.
“This gives such an amazing feeling of fragility and protection. It’s just... gorgeous.” His gaze stayed on the half-done tapestry before moving to her face and searching her eyes.
“When I was little, I found a little birdling in our yard and brought her home. It must’ve fallen out of the nest. Mom scolded me, saying that the bird’s mother would never accept it back now after I touched it. That I just made things worse.” A lump formed in her throat. “I cried for a while.”
He stepped to her. “That was cruel of her to say. Did the little bird...” His voice trailed off as if he didn’t want to voice the question.
She moved her fingers along the needlework. “Thankfully, it survived and eventually flew away. But I’ll never forget the feeling of it fluttering in my hands. So helpless, and yet—I thought—so trusting.”
Like her. But after her sad experience with her first love and her former art professor, she’d decided she’d never again put her wounded heart, like that tiny bird, into the palm of someone’s hand.
Shortly later, Laredo called, needing Barrett’s help at the ranch. When Barrett wanted to stay, she waved him off. After all, the security system was state-of-the-art here, and she had a gun in the safe. She’d be fine.
She closed the front door after him, and locked it, then reset the alarm system. Missing him immediately, she returned to her arts-and-crafts room, already counting the hours and minutes until she’d see him during their lunch at the seaside restaurant.
Was it because she was so inexperienced, and her heart, after longing for love for years, had latched onto the first eligible and attractive bachelor who was kind to her? One who had to spend a lot of time with her?
To occupy her hands and mind, she started a new embroidery of the rose garden with a fountain where she’d imagined Barrett nearly kissed her. The memory remained as vivid as the silky threads she chose for the design.
But as her hands worked, her mind couldn’t stop thinking about him, fragile threads of tenderness and longing now weaving through her.
Was she so drawn to him precisely because it was forbidden? Was she trying to squeeze him into the beautiful clothes and image of Prince Charming like one of the puzzles she’d played with as a child?
Or was Barrett truly special?
If before her longing was for the abstract fantasy of love, now it was personified in a specific person whose company, whose touch, whose gaze, and whose voice she hungered for.
The doorbell made her perk up. Since few people knew where she was and her father and Kennedy already said they’d be busy today, chances were it was Barrett.
Her heartbeat picking up speed, she took the stairs several steps at a time and hurried to the front door. But as she glanced in the peephole, she couldn’t suppress a grimace. It wasn’t Barrett.
She flung the door open. “Hello, Mason. Come on in.”
Avoiding her gaze, he straightened the creases on the brown suit. “Ma’am, I’d rather stay here. I see you’re not happy to see me, and the feeling is mutual.”
Her eyes narrowed. What did she do to him to cause such an attitude? They hadn’t communicated much, but she’d always been polite when she had. Sans the disappointment surely on her face right now, of course. She’d thought he’d been polite to her, as well. And Kennedy had only good things to say about him, her excellent, efficient, and loyal assistant.
Working with custom jewelry was so much simpler than figuring out people. A reliable square made from oak wouldn’t become, let’s say, perilous balls of mercury. With people, one never knew.
She didn’t step outside onto the porch because Barrett had warned her before not to go onto the balcony or the porch where she’d be an easier target. “Then why are you here? And why did you bring me a basket of cookies and chocolates?”
Was it an olive branch? If it was, what girl wouldn’t like an olive branch bearing chocolates instead of olives?
“Ma’am, Todd sent this basket to our office for Tulip. That’s your artistic pseudonym, correct? Do I look like your personal messenger to you?” He handed her the basket, still avoiding eye contact by focusing on his polished brown shoes. His hair so tidily combed fell just to the collar of his pristinely white, starched shirt. But his groomed appearance didn’t help the air of disdain coming in her direction as distinctly as the breeze brought her humid salty ocean air.
She lowered the basket to the foyer’s marble floor. “Sir, why do you dislike me so much?”
His shoulders slumped. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I might lose my job because of it. But the way you’re sweeping in and taking so much of what Ms. Crawford worked so hard for her entire life is unfair—flat-out wrong. All the properties she managed and expanded for her uncle and was going to inherit. And she’s fantastic at what she does!”
It sank in, and her stomach dropped to the marble tile. “Do other employees feel that way?”
He paused, then smoothed his silver-toned tie. “A lot of them, yes. Word is you know very little about not only our business but also business practices in general. If you take over, you might flounder and survive while your father is alive to help you. Though rumor has it he wants to retire soon.”
She stiffened. “He deserves a well-earned retirement.”
Mason tucked that silver-hued tie in against his jacket lapels. “Then you’ll run the company into the ground, no doubt. And for us, it’s our livelihood. We don’t have mansions and diamonds to fall back on. Of course, Ms. Crawford will help you, as well, but it’s going to be doubly unfair to her. Even today, you’re doing nothing, sitting at home, while she has one important meeting after another.”
Her knees went weak. Way more people might want her gone than she’d realized. “I can hire a manager. A skillful one.” She’d already decided to step aside from any involvement in the company, even if it was going to disappoint her father, but she wanted her family to hear it from her first. So she didn’t say anything to Mason now.
His thin lips twisted, and he pushed up his glasses on his long nose. “Plenty of managers run companies into the ground while enriching themselves. The company already has someone who does an amazing job and deserves the reward and recognition for it. You know well who that is.”
With that, he turned and left.
Her chest tight, she closed and locked the front door and leaned against it. She needed to tell her father and cousin sooner rather than later about her decision so they could announce it to the rest of the company. So people wouldn’t worry. And so no one took matters into their own hands.
Surely, people wouldn’t go to such drastic measures to, um, remove her over a hypothetical scenario, but maybe—okay, definitely—she didn’t know people well. Until this conversation, she had no clue Mason felt this way about her, either.
Which meant she must’ve been mistaken when she imagined attraction in Barrett’s eyes. The thought gave a bitter jolt.
And this conversation left a bitter taste in her mouth. While she didn’t want any attention from Todd, she wanted to sweeten that taste, to cleanse her palate with chocolate instead of water.
As eager as she was to call Barrett about this development—okay, she ached to call him period—she was going to see him soon and could tell him at their lunch. She wouldn’t act clingy. He already had one vine trying to wrap herself around him.
So she picked up the basket, dragged it to the dining room, placed it on the table, and opened the cellophane. She unfolded the elegant card inside and ran a finger over the embossed words—To beautiful Tulip. Todd.
Then she munched on a chocolate chip cookie, oh-so sweet and tender, and helped herself to another. It failed to lift her mood, so she returned to what usually did.
After working on the new embroidery of the rose garden, her limbs started feeling weak. Dizziness swirled in her head. Must be the result of a sleepless night. She probably needed more coffee. She’d take a break soon and brew some. For different reasons, Barrett’s visit and then Mason’s must’ve given her jolts of adrenaline and, therefore, much-needed energy. But now the effects wore off, and adrenaline ebbed away. No wonder fatigue stepped in to take their place.
That was the logical explanation.
Yet her gut clenched. Something didn’t feel right. Her mind turned foggy, and she flinched after sticking herself with the needle multiple times.
Should she call 911? Okay, and say what?
I’m feeling weak. Tell the ambulance driver to make sure to put the siren and flashing lights on when they rush to me. Never mind that someone in a much more critical condition is waiting.
That wouldn’t be the right thing to do.
Should she call Barrett?
No. She didn’t want to look weak or helpless and whiny. He already looked at her as someone needing his protection, and she wanted him to see her as equal. She couldn’t be a child tugging at his sleeve for attention every moment.
She wove another silky thread in and out, the smooth orderliness soothing her. She hadn’t told her father and Kennedy about her decision yet because she didn’t want to see him disappointed. Her mother taught her that approval had to be earned. So Zoey started making jewelry and tapestries because her mother liked the additional income Zoey’s work brought in.
She flinched as she poked herself with the needle again and stared at the tiny drop of blood on her finger. Her eyelids grew heavy and started drooping.
Well, now she wasn’t just a princess tucked away in a tower. She was becoming a Sleeping Beauty who’d poked herself with the needle on a spinning wheel and fell asleep for a hundred years. Zoey didn’t want to sleep for a hundred years. Just for a bit.
She put the embroidery aside. Her stomach clenched again, this time more aggressively and painfully. Nausea roiled her. No, she wasn’t just tired and sleepy. Maybe she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her. Because another prospect terrified her.
She stumbled out of the arts-and-crafts room onto the staircase and nearly missed a step.
Oh no. She’d almost tumbled down like a ball of knitting yarn. Holding onto the cold, smooth banister for dear life, step by painstaking step, she managed to make it to the kitchen for water or... something. Her gaze landed on the giant gift basket as she passed the dining room, and premonition sent a shiver over her back.
What if...
No, it couldn’t be. Why would Todd risk his career and all the fame? It didn’t make sense.
Now she wished they’d exchanged numbers. She needed to make sure he had been the person who’d sent the gift basket. Her fingers trembling, she fished her phone out of her skirt pocket and opened her professional email contact, hoping the famous actor had contacted her there.
At the same time, she wobbled into the kitchen where sunshine caught in the metallic backsplash. Leaning against the fridge, she poured herself a glass of water. If one suspected food poisoning, it was essential to drink a lot of fluids, right? She gulped down water, then refilled the glass, and drank it again. The nausea intensified. Ginger ale might help, but she didn’t have any.
Should she call Kennedy? Zoey nearly pressed the number, then shook her head in response to her question. Mason had just said her cousin was in an important meeting.
Besides, what could have caused food poisoning? She hadn’t eaten anything expired or suspicious, and Kennedy had made sure the fancy food that had landed in Zoey’s fridge had been thoroughly checked.
Except for those cookies. Because what if they hadn’t been from Todd?
The glass nearly slipped from her fingers. She dropped it into the sink before she’d have shards on the floor. Going even weaker, she slid down the wall to the floor as her legs didn’t want to support her any longer. Then she scrolled through her work emails.
Okay, this email appeared to be from Todd. Of course, so had the gift basket. Who knew what was real now? Still, she opened it.
Tulip,
I know you didn’t want to pursue further acquaintance, but in case you change your mind, here’s my phone number. I keep thinking about you.
Her mind getting foggier, she punched the numbers, though the email could be a scam. “Hello, Todd, this is Tulip.”
“I’m so glad to hear from you!” He did sound excited. And it was his voice, so no scam. Or could the voice be imitated? Yes, it could.
What now? Oh, right. She studied thin golden threads in the pale marble. “I just wanted to thank you for the chocolate goodie gift basket you sent.”
There was a pause. “I should’ve sent one, but I didn’t.”
Everything crushed inside her. “Oh. I’ve got to go. Sorry.” She disconnected.
Her thoughts jumbled like threads thrown together, forming lots of knots, and nausea rose again, more forceful now. She made it to the restroom in time to lose her breakfast and hopefully the cookies.
She literally tossed her cookies. It would be funny if she could still laugh.
Then she rinsed her mouth with mint-flavored mouthwash as she leaned on the granite counter around the shell-shaped sink. She needed to stay hydrated.
Right. She did. She half-crawled, half-scrambled back to the kitchen for more water.
Why couldn’t she just get water in the bathroom? She didn’t mind tap water. She should call 911. Instead, her fingers pressed on her most-called number, which was Barrett’s. He didn’t answer, so she texted. Next, she would call 911.
I might’ve been poisoned.
Then the phone slipped from her hand and thumped onto the marble floor.