13. Chapter 13
Charlie
T he first hint that something was wrong came as a tightening low in Charlie’s stomach, a quiet, instinctive wrongness she could have blamed on the champagne, except she’d barely had a few sips.
Certainly not enough to explain this feeling .
She shifted in her seat, glancing out the truck’s windshield at the approaching cul-de-sac. Around them, the neighborhood slept. Nothing looked out of place. Nothing moved.
“You’re quiet,” Lorenz said, not taking his eyes off the road.
“I’m just tired,” she lied.
They turned onto her driveway. The shadow of her trash can sat exactly where it should be, just beside the edge of the driveway.
Relax.
Everything’s fine.
Lorenz’s hand tightening on the steering wheel was the first hint that things were not fine. The headlights swept forward, showing her what he’d already seen.
At first, she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. A splash of red, too bright, too—
Then the paint resolved into a single word.
SALOPE .
It stretched across the width of her driveway in crude, aggressive strokes, the letters uneven but unmistakable on the thin layer of fresh snow.
Charlie’s breath left her in a thin, soundless exhale.
“Oh, my God.”
Lorenz braked hard. For a second, neither of them moved. The red gleamed—wetly—under the headlights.
“Please tell me that’s paint,” Charlie said, her stomach clenching violently. She was going to be sick. “Lorenz… please tell me that’s paint.”
Lorenz got out of the car and kneeled beside the paint, studying it, his expression sharpening.
“It’s paint,” he confirmed after a beat.
His words lent her the courage she needed to step out of the car herself.
“Who—“ Her tongue felt dry. She tried again. “What—“
He was already reaching for his phone. “Vincent. I need your help.” He gave her address and a calm, precise description of what he was looking at.
Vandalism.
I guess that’s all it is.
But the word seemed too soft for what she was looking at. And it wasn’t just the color. There was violence in the word itself.
Salope . Slut.
It didn’t feel random. It felt personal.
By the time Lorenz hung up his phone, the urge to throw up had passed, but not the fear.
“They’re sending someone,” he said. “It’ll just be a few minutes. Do you want to wait in the car?”
“What are you going to do?”
“I want to take a quick look at the house.”
Charlie shivered. “You think someone might be inside?”
“I don’t,” Lorenz said, his tone matter-of-fact. “But I want to make sure.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Lorenz hesitated. “Are you sure? You can wait in—“
“I’m not letting you go alone,” she said. “Not if there’s a mad person loose with a—“
“Bucket of red paint?” he said helpfully.
Despite herself, Charlie smiled. “Right. With a bucket of red paint.”
They circled the house once. Charlie kept her eyes down, stepping where Lorenz stepped. Her black heels, which had felt so à propos earlier that evening, crunched softly on the fresh snow. Fresh, because nobody had stepped there before them. Whoever it was, they’d stopped at the driveway.
By the time they made their way back to the paint, the gendarmes were there. Two officers. Efficient, professional, almost deferential as they took photos and asked questions. Charlie knew they were treating this with particular care because of Lorenz.
“Have you had any disagreements with anyone recently, mademoiselle ?”
Charlie shook her head. She didn’t have enemies. “I’m a teacher,” she said weakly. She was distracted from saying anything else by the appearance of her neighbor. Tonight, he was wrapped in a bathrobe and wearing incongruous-looking white slippers that squelched in the snow with every step he took.
Almost as bad as my heels .
The man stood on his side of the driveway, frowning at the red paint like it was an inconvenience designed especially for him.
“What is all this?” he demanded. “People are trying to sleep. I was trying to sleep.”
One of the officers turned politely. “Sir, please don’t step anywhere near here. We need to take pictures first.“
Her neighbor peered at the red letters, looking unimpressed. “Hmm. That’s going to be difficult to clean, you know. Especially from concrete.” His gaze seemed to linger on the placement of the word. “Half of this driveway is mine.”
Charlie blinked.
Asshole .
“I beg your pardon?” Lorenz asked, stepping in swiftly. “What’s your name, sir?”
“I’m Oliver Brody. I’m the owner of this property,” he said, pointing at an invisible line on the ground.
He looked down again at the letters, twisting his head slightly. When the meaning of the word finally sank in, he looked up at Charlie, his gaze accusatory.
“I don’t like this.”
“No,” Lorenz agreed. “We don’t, either. Did you see anything—“
“The property line runs straight through,” the man continued, ignoring Lorenz. He jabbed a finger toward the concrete. “This needs to be cleaned up, and I’m not going to be the one paying for—“
Lorenz stepped forward, but one of the gendarmes was quicker. “The priority, Sir, is to find out who trespassed and defaced this property,” he cut in smoothly, redirecting the conversation. “Maybe you saw or heard something.”
“I didn’t. As I already told you, I was trying to sleep.”
“How about earlier?” Lorenz asked.
The neighbor’s glassy blue eyes turned to look at him. “And you are?”
“Lieutenant Van der Berg,” Lorenz said. “Perhaps you’d like to continue the conversation down at the gendarmerie , Mr. Brody?”
For the first time, Charlie’s neighbor looked nervous. “No. No need. Earlier, I was watching a movie. In my bedroom. On the other side of the house. I didn’t see or hear anything.”
The gendarmes stepped in neatly to ask questions, but Charlie wasn’t listening anymore. She stared at the red paint beneath their feet. At the dripping lines that made up such an ugly message.
Someone had been here, stood right where she was standing, and thought of her as they wrote each letter.
As if he could sense her discomfort, Lorenz stood closer. “It’s going to be okay, Charlie.”
Eventually, the neighbor was dismissed. He left, still grumbling something about the cleaning under his breath. Then the officers left. The street fell quiet again.
“I’ll need something to clean this with,” Charlie said.
“You’re not staying here tonight,” Lorenz said, his voice firm.
Charlie hesitated. As much as she couldn’t bear to sleep right next to that word, it wasn’t right to make him responsible for her. She stood on her own two feet. She made her own decisions.
She exhaled shakily. “I—“
“Please come home with me, Charlie. Tomorrow, we’ll figure this out.”
Her eyes went down to the bold, deliberate lines.
Someone had been here.
Outside her house.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
“Come on, let’s grab whatever you need.”