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“Come on—that Missing Persons thing was pretty weird,” Mr. Henderson defended himself. “I had to make sure our nanny wasn’t a weirdo.”

“I should have been honest with you guys right away. My parents aren’t dead. Well, actually …” I stopped, realizing my error. “I found out today that my dad died of a heart attack.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” Mrs. Henderson’s hand covered mine at the center of the table. “You should have said something. You didn’t have to come in today.”

“It’s okay,” I assured her. “I don’t remember the guy. He took off when I was about Sasha’s age, and I never heard from him again.”

“Still, that’s never easy,” Mrs. Henderson sympathized.

“Did you follow me out to Harvestfest?” I asked.

“Harvestfest?” Mr. Henderson echoed.

“I saw your red car out there,” I noted. “Was it you?”

“You remember, Thad, that pumpkin patch place,” Mrs. Henderson supplied. “Sasha insisted she get her face painted like a tiger, and she growled at everyone the rest of the night.”

“Oh, right. That thing. No,” he said, shaking his head. “That was just a coincidence.”

“So you didn’t e-mail me to stop clowning around?” I asked.

Mr. Henderson’s heavy eyebrows knit together. “What?”

I sat without speaking. Could I trust them?

“Tell us what’s been going on, Harper,” Mrs. Henderson urged. “Has someone been harassing you?”

“I-I’m not sure.”

Mrs. Henderson leaned forward. “What do you mean, dear?”

I slowly told them what had been going on over the past few weeks—the red car I was convinced was following me, the strange text message and e-mail after Harvestfest, the dark clothed person who’d knocked on my apartment door, and the continued harassing text messages from a blocked phone number.

At this point, I was having a hard time distinguishing between what had been Mr. Belair’s associates trying to track me down or what might be a real threat. I didn’t tell them about my family’s health history, or about the untouched pills in my medicine cabinet, or about Ruby.

“If you’re willing to fill out a police report,” Mr. Henderson said, “we can track down whoever’s been doing this.”

“I called my phone company and they’ve blocked the number, and I haven’t gotten any texts since.” Maybe everything would stop on its own.

“They could always call you from a different number, sweetie,” Mrs. Henderson gently noted. “Let Thad help you. We can make this person stop permanently.”

I swallowed thickly. “I don’t know if you can.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

There was a shoebox in the back of my closet where I stored my memories from Memphis. I pulled it out into the center of the room and sat on the floor. I removed the top and sifted through the box’s contents. There wasn’t much. I didn’t hold on to many keepsakes, especially from my childhood. Chief among the few belongings were the birthday cards supposedly sent over the years by my estranged father.

My mother had been especially quiet about anything to do with my dad. I never even knew if he’d had any siblings or if his parents were still alive. But apparently he’d left me a large sum of money. It would take a while to process that. I’d become so accustomed to pinching pennies and living paycheck to paycheck that the thought of having a respectable balance in my savings account threw me.

I ran my fingertips over the handwriting on the inside of one of the birthday cards. Had my mother’s penmanship looked the same? I couldn’t remember. I’d spent so much time and energy trying to block out the past, that now when I tried to recall details from my childhood, I only came up empty.

I didn’t know how to feel. Propriety told me I should be sad, maybe even cry a little bit, but I couldn’t remember a single memory of my father. Try as I might, I couldn’t conjure up his face, or his voice, or his smile.

In the absence of knowing how to emote, I cleaned. The apartment was due a deep scrubbing, and it quieted my mind for a few hours. When the tub had been scoured, my comforter laundered, and the refrigerator detailed, I lay on the bare wood floor and stared at the long crack that bisected the ceiling.

The chime of my cell phone woke me up. I recognized the Memphis area code, but not the number itself.

“Hello?” I tentatively answered. The way this day was going, it could have been anyone on the other line.

“Hey, Harpoon. I wasn’t sure you’d answer.”

I sat up and brushed the hair away from my face. “Oh hi, Uncle Jerret. How are you?”

“I’m good. Sorry I missed you when you were in town last.”

“Yeah. It was kind of a last minute thing. I should have called you guys.”

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I never really celebrated the holiday. My friends all had families to spend the long weekend with, and I’d always been too embarrassed to admit that I didn’t have much of a family to go back to. They probably all assumed I returned to wherever I was from for the short school break.

“Olive and I were talking. She mentioned how it was so nice seeing you a few weeks ago, that we both thought it would be even nicer if you came down for Thanksgiving, too.”

“In Memphis?”

“We’ll pay for your ticket if money’s the issue.”

Money wasn’t an issue anymore. I wondered if my uncle and aunt knew about my father and his inexplicable wealth.

“Will Damien and Sandra and their miracle child be there?” I really didn’t want to see any of them. I still had to confront Damien about why he hadn’t said anything about our inheritance though.

Jerret snorted. “Hell no. Are you crazy?” He coughed delicately when he caught the slip up. “I’m sorry, Harpoon,” he said, reverting back to the nickname he’d given me when I’d first moved in with him and Olive. “You know what I mean.”

“I know,” I dismissed. “Don’t worry about it.”

“So? Thanksgiving?”

I glanced down at the open shoebox and thought about Alan Belair and his news. I thought about my nascent relationship with Raleigh. I thought about the police report Mr. Henderson would be filling out in the morning. I thought about Ruby. “Things are kind of up in the air around here. It’s probably not a good idea for me to leave town right now.”

“Okay. I thought I’d give it a try.” I could hear the disappointment in his voice. “Keep us in mind though, okay?”

“I will,” I promised.

+ + +

The weeks leading up to Thanksgiving vacation passed without incident. The texts from Ruby had stopped, Mr. Henderson’s red car was back in storage, and no one was pounding down my apartment door anymore. Despite how things had calmed down, Mr. Henderson was busy with my case. He’d gotten a warrant to obtain my phone records, but he’d discovered that the blocked number that had sent me all of those text messages had come from a pre-paid phone. It was probably a burn phone the person had used a few times and then had dumped.

Realistically, there was no way to find out who had purchased the phone. If we had been characters in one of those TV cop dramas there would be video footage of the bad guy buying the phone and a trail of credit card receipts, but this wasn’t a television program.

They had been able to trace the IP address of the e-mail that had sent the picture of the pumpkin. It had been sent from a computer at a branch of the Chicago Public Library. The next step was to see if the public computer terminals had login information in order to identify who had been online at the time the e-mail had been sent.

I didn’t want to hold out hope that they’d actually be able to catch the person responsible. I also felt guilty about the amount of footwork that had already been put into this case, but every time I voiced my discomfort, Mr. Henderson assured me that it was his job.

All of these thoughts were buzzing around in my head, days before Thanksgiving.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Raleigh asked. We were on my bed, with Raleigh sitting up against the headboard and me with my head in her lap. She smoothed her fingers across my forehead trying to erase the worry wrinkles.

“Are you sure you have to go back to Boston?” I sighed.

“It’s only for Thanksgiving. My parents booked the ticket even before I transferred schools.”

“I know,” I mumbled. I shut my eyes when she began to stroke her fingers through my hair. “But I’m going to miss you.”

It was only going to be little more than a long weekend, but it would be the longest that we’d gone without seeing each other since Fall Break.

“What if you came home with me?” she suggested. “It’s last minute, but maybe my parents could get you a ticket, too.”

I stiffened on her lap. “I couldn’t do that.”

“It’s just money, Harp.”

“No, I mean I can’t go on an airplane.”

She leaned over and pressed her warm lips against my forehead. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”

I relaxed at her touch. “No, I’m sorry I’m such a head case.”

“Stop that,” she hushed.

“I don’t even have a good reason for being afraid. It’s not like I had a traumatic experience on a plane once. I’ve never even been on a plane.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me. Everyone has irrational fears.”

“What are you afraid of?” I asked, tilting my head up to better see her face.

She breathed in, and I felt her chest and stomach fill with air.  “Not being able to be independent after college.”

“That’s not an irrational fear. Try again.”

Her lips thinned in thought. “You know those over-the-counter medicine bottles with the tinfoil safety seal? I hate opening those.”

“But are you actually
afraid
of them?”

“Terrified.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Bring me a pill bottle, and I’ll scream.”

I kissed her soundly on the mouth and hopped up from the bed. “I’m calling your bluff.”

She voiced her complaint, but I was already on my way to the bathroom in search of an unopened medicine bottle.

I opened the hinged door on the medicine cabinet and, without thinking, opened the secondary door behind that. I removed one of the translucent bottles and stared at its label and the oblong pills inside. Over the years I’d gained access to and had assembled an impressive collection of antipsychotics, but they were probably all expired by now. The medicine had served as a kind of security blanket. I’d never taken any of the pills, but knowing they were there, hidden behind the medicine cabinet door, had been my assurance that when Ruby inevitably came for me, I’d be ready.

I popped the top of the bottle and stared inside. I twisted the bottle around in my fingers and watched the white chalky pills roll around inside like rocks in a rock tumbler. I should just flush these, I told myself. There was no Ruby. It was a real person who’d been following me.

I heard Raleigh’s voice through the bathroom door. “Harper, your phone’s ringing,” her disembodied voice said.

“Okay,” I called back. “Just a minute.”

I returned the white lid to the bottle and put it back on its hidden shelf. I couldn’t go through every bottle and dispose of every pill while Raleigh waited in the next room. Even if I thought I could throw away the medicine, there wasn’t time.

Raleigh was still sitting on my bed when I left the bathroom, empty handed.

“I swear I wasn’t snooping,” she said.

“Huh?” My gaze followed the trajectory of her stare and landed on my phone at the end of the bed.

“I answered your phone. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.” She licked her lips. “Mr. Henderson wants you to call him back. He said he has a lead. What is he talking about?”

“It’s nothing,” I dismissed.

“Tell me,” she insisted.

“It’s really not a big deal. He’s … he’s been helping me find the person who’s been harassing me.”

“Harassing?” she echoed. Her hazel-green eyes stared me down. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell
anyone
. The Henderson’s only know because Mr. Henderson is a cop, and he wants to help. But I don’t know if there’s anything
to
help.”

“Why do you have so many secrets?”

“I don’t have secrets,” I stubbornly denied. “I’m just a private person.”

“I’ve told you everything about me. I’ve been nothing but honest and forthcoming. Why don’t you think I deserve the same?”

“I told you about Memphis. I told you about my mom and my childhood. What more do you want?” I snapped, feeling defensive.

“You could have told me you were really being stalked.”