Literally Stalked Read online

  “Kinda makes you forget about fridge-magnet fights, huh?” I let out a whimper as Alex rolled up his T-shirt sleeves. His dark hair was sweaty, and he swiped it off his forehead.

  “Ooh, maybe we can get them to lift a fridge next,” Liv said, leaning against the wall as Carson used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing his toned stomach.

  Despite the new snow on the ground, the guys had been working hard and had stripped down to their cotton T-shirts and jeans. Liv and I snapped our mouths shut and stood up straight as they came in from outside.

  Carson looked around the empty apartment. “That’s it. You two ready?”

  “Yeah.” Liv wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “You go ahead with Alex. Pepper and I are going to say goodbye.”

  Alex’s brown eyes latched onto mine in that way he had of making sure I was okay.

  I winked at him to show him I was fine. “We’ll meet you at the bookstore. Jess said she left the back door open.”

  Once the guys had gone, Liv placed a hand on her chest. “Goodbye apartment. Thanks for the good times.”

  A few tears ran down my cheeks. “We’ll even miss the fact that only two burners on your stovetop actually work.”

  “And your shower’s hot and cold handles are reversed,” Liv added, wiping her own tears.

  After walking through one last time to make sure we’d gotten everything, we locked up and dropped the key off at the apartment complex office. We spent a few quiet moments in Liv’s car before she pulled out of the parking lot—well, quiet except for the occasional sniffle.

  Finally, Liv cleared her throat and started driving. “So do you think it’s okay that Carson and I are moving in together?” she asked.

  I glanced over at her. “Of course.”

  “I mean…” Liv shook her head. “I mean, is it weird we’re doing this before getting married?”

  Scoffing, I said, “This isn’t the fifties, Liv. People can live together without being married.”

  “I know.” She tapped her fingers on her steering wheel. “I just thought he might ask. I guess I could ask him.”

  “True.” I bobbed my head, but my brain was going through its own questions. Alex and I have been together almost as long as them. Should we be getting married? Should we be moving in together?

  I mean, I was excited to live on my own for the first time. And both Alex and I were still dealing with losing a parent in the recent past. For me, it was important for me to finish my master's in English, like my dad. For Alex, living with his father seemed to help them both with the loss of Alex’s mother.

  “Alex and I can barely get together for dinner, so at least you and Carson are moving in together,” I said, regretting the way it sounded like I wanted something different from what I had.

  Liv eyed me, but luckily she pulled into the small parking lot behind the bookstore, so she didn’t have a chance to ask me what I’d meant by that.

  The guys were already maneuvering the mattress in through the back door. Liv and I got out and raced ahead of them, clomping up the creaky steps to my apartment, so we could hold open the door.

  Once they slid my mattress onto the frame we’d set up earlier that week, I collapsed face-first into the plush softness.

  Alex wiggled my foot. “Don’t get too comfortable; we’ve still gotta take Liv’s mattress over to their place.”

  I groaned and peeled my face off the pillow top. “You mean Noblebranch Manor?” I corrected in my best, haughty accent.

  He snorted out a laugh. “What?”

  Liv rolled her eyes. “She’s been reading all those Brontë books and named our new house.”

  “And Noblebranch is a dignified name, not to mention it perfectly describes the beautiful oak you have in the front yard.” I didn’t see what was so wrong about naming the house.

  Liv shook her head. “Whatever. Actually, Peps, why don’t you hang here and unpack?” Liv suggested. “You’ve been at our place—sorry, Noblebranch—the past week, helping us. We’re just going to use Alex for his truck one last time and then send him back to you, anyway.”

  Glancing over at my friend, I asked, “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” She winked at me.

  Alex dipped his head once. “Sounds good. I’ll be back in a few to help.”

  At that, they went back down the staircase, and I was alone.

  The apartment was big, about twice the size of our old place, but it was all one room save for the bathroom. Even the big sectional couch my mom had given me from her den didn’t make a dent in the space. And while I wasn’t sure exactly what I would do with all the room before me, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about Liv getting on my case about my stacks upon stacks of books. This place was a book-stacker’s paradise.

  Midmorning sun filtered in through the large, half-moon-shaped window looking out over the valley, dust motes dancing in the golden light. As old as the building was, the former owner had remodeled this apartment under a decade ago.

  The place held none of the musty smells one might normally equate with such an attic. Even when no one was living up here, they had kept it warm in order to store extra stock—bookstore owners are finicky about keeping their books from growing mildew or from moisture turning pages yellow.

  Even though my visual scan of my new home was making me feel happy, my attention caught on something through the large window that made my good mood plummet down to the main floor of the bookstore. Off in the distance, in the northern foothills, I had a perfect view of the Woodcrest mansion.

  The events of yesterday came crashing back. Rubbing at the goose bumps forming on the backs of my arms, I went downstairs to find Hammy. If I was going to be up here unpacking until Alex got back, I needed some company.

  4

  Hammy was a perfect unpacking companion. She stood by my side each time I opened a new box, wagging her little nubbin of a tail as if this might be the one that held her toys. I laughed at the way she acted surprised and sniffed all our regular stuff, just because it’d been a few days since she’d seen it.

  By the time I’d unpacked three boxes, Alex returned.

  “Of course you started with your books,” he said with a chuckle as I stacked the novels by color.

  I smiled up at him. “Of course.”

  “Well, I’ll start on the bedroom, so you can actually sleep here tonight.”

  Tipping my head to one side, I said, “I suppose that makes sense. Here, I’ll come help you.”

  Together, we tackled the boxes containing my bed linens and comforter. But before we’d even gotten the pillows into the pillowcases, Alex got a call from the station.

  “Okay. Will do. Be there in fifteen.” His eyebrows furrowed together, and he looked up at me.

  “Don’t worry.” I waved a hand at him. “I’m sick of this unpacking business anyway.”

  He wrapped an arm around me, and we surveyed my new place.

  “They find something new?” I asked, unable to help myself.

  Alex pulled in a deep breath. “Well, they got ahold of the brother.”

  “They found Emerson? Where was he?” I spun toward Alex to better read his features.

  “Must’ve been in town. He’s at the station now.”

  “In town, huh?” I chewed on my bottom lip, considering his tendency to drift in and out of Pine Crest like a mysterious fog. “When you talk to him, ask him about the Thanksgiving break during his—” I counted back on my fingers. “It would’ve been his freshman year in high school. Something big happened between him and Cole that weekend. I mean, the two of them were always at odds, but after that holiday, things changed. They could barely be in the same room.”

  Alex’s eyebrows rose with interest. “Okay.” He nodded. “You want me to come back when I’m done at the station?” He bumped his shoulder into mine. “Your first night alone might be a little weird.”

  I shrugged. “Ham and I will be okay.”

  Sea
rching for her, I found her snuffling around behind a stack of boxes.

  “Won’t we, Hammy?” I said, patting my leg.

  The snorting stopped, and she came jogging over. Alex and I doubled over in laughter at the sight. A sizable dust bunny was stuck to her nose, but it was positioned just right and looked like a fancy mustache. When she reached us, Alex took pity on her and cleaned it off with a tissue.

  “I can see you’ll be in very good hands,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Plus after closing up the store I have to finish this paper for Fergie tonight, so the less handsome, well-muscled distractions I have, the better.” I wrapped my hand as far as it would go around one of his biceps and leaned up to plant a kiss on his cheek.

  “This the Brontë paper?”

  “The one and only.” I dipped my head.

  “What’d you decide on for a thesis?” But before I could answer, he held up a hand to stop me. “No, let me guess… you’re writing about how the Brontës must’ve lived in a creepy place growing up since they all ended up creating super intense characters who basically stalked everyone they loved because they never learned how to show their feelings.”

  I laughed. “Though astute in your observations, I’m not sure the evidence would support your claim.”

  He tipped his head to one side. “Come on. What’s his face in that Wildfell book follows that woman he loves, ‘randomly running into her.’” Alex used finger quotes around that last bit. “Rochester pretends to be a fortune teller to try tricking Jane into telling him how she feels about him. And don’t even get me started on Heathcliff! The guy literally stalked Cathy when she refused to see him. Not to mention how he locked her daughter in his house until she agreed to marry his son.”

  A grin spread across my face as Alex ranted, pacing in front of me as he listed his evidence.

  “Knowing Fergie, she’ll prefer my thesis that the Brontës all wrote about independent women living in a world where so many only dreamed of independence.” I placed a hand on either side of his face. “But I love you for how riled up you just got about literature.”

  He leaned down to kiss me. “Okay, well, good luck. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Hammy and I followed Alex downstairs to relieve Jess. Alex took off for the station, and Jess headed home. Alone in the empty store, I worked on inventorying a shipment of new books.

  As I performed the monotonous work, I ruminated about Liv’s worries that she and Carson weren’t engaged yet. Was it weird that Alex and I hadn't taken any next steps? Should we be moving in together or getting married? Did the fact we hadn't mean something was wrong?

  I distracted myself with shelving the stack of newly entered books. Things between us didn’t feel wrong. Not at all, actually. I mean, except how little I’d gotten to see him lately. But this was merely a phase, a busy time for both of us.

  Right?

  Hamburger let out a hefty doggie sigh from her bed next to the register.

  A group of customers entered, pulling me from my unproductive thoughts. And while I loved every customer who set foot in my bookstore, seeing they were locals made my greeting all the happier.

  Fiona, a friend from high school, waved in response to my welcome and pointed to the historical fiction section—the girl was a sucker for Regency and Victorian romances.

  Closely following Fiona were Nate and his girlfriend, Victoria. Nate Newton owned my favorite local coffee spot, Bittersweet. And while he had a baker to make the amazing pastries, he was the creator behind each of my sugary coffee-drink obsessions.

  “Pepper,” he said, bowing his lanky body as he approached my register.

  Victoria, hiding behind her curtain of dark hair as usual, slunk off into the poetry corner.

  Being left alone with Nate would’ve given me the total creeps a year ago, but we’d sort of become friends as of late. Still, the guy had a tendency to leer down on people like he was trying to spot their weaknesses.

  “Hey, Nate. What brings you in today?”

  He blinked slowly. “Victoria wanted more poetry, and I thought I might check out what was new in the horror section.” He rubbed his hands together, producing a sound like sandpaper. “You know, gather some inspiration.”

  Swallowing, I frowned up at the tall man. Inspiration? “For?” I asked, choking on the word.

  “For the screenplay I’m writing with Victoria. Didn’t I tell you about it?” He pursed his thin lips.

  “Uh, no.” I shook my head, unsure if I should be relieved or not.

  He cleared his throat, and a smile curled at the edges of his mouth. “The main character is the murderer, a serial killer, you see,” he said, visibly thrilled to get to explain it to someone else. “But the interesting part is that he’s also a traveling knife salesman, so he gets to test out each knife.” Nate raised one eyebrow. “See if it works.”

  A shiver raced down my spine. “Oh…” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Another bit of good news,” Nate continued. “I’ve recently started selling knives: hunting, cooking. Pick your poison; I’ve got it.”

  Hammy woke up from where she’d been sleeping next to the register. Her head tipped to one side as if she were saying, Really, dude? That was the creepiest time to mention that.

  Before purchasing the café, Nate was known for his odd, ever-changing, pyramid-scheme-type business ventures. The man had sold everything from power tools to self-tanners. So it wasn’t surprising he was still getting sucked into these opportunities, despite his successful café. But even more mentions of knives only blurred my vision. All I could think about was last night; all I could see were the red stains in the pure snow.

  Luckily, Fiona stepped up behind Nate and cleared her throat. “Sorry, Nate. Mind if I squeeze by you here?”

  Nate took a large step back—with his stilt-like legs, one step took him halfway across the room—and gestured forward with a sweep of his arms. “Of course, of course. I should go find some treasures of my own.” And with that, he skulked behind a bookshelf and disappeared.

  “I half expect him to let out an evil cackle each time he leaves like that.” Fiona set her books on the counter. “Hey, you okay?”

  When I snapped out of my trance, Fiona was staring at me the same way I’d seen her look at patients in triage at the scene of a medical emergency.

  “You’re white as a sheet.” She leaned closer and peered in my eyes.

  Heaving in a deep breath, I said, “I’m fine. Sorry, just... he got talking about knives, and I got thinking about blood.” Another shiver rattled through me.

  “Girl,” Fiona said, pausing as she shook her head. “You have no idea. I was at the worst scene last night.”

  I cringed at the mention of what had to be Woodcrest. Fiona had become an EMT and would’ve been called to the scene first.

  My friend must’ve caught the flinch in my features, because she raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe you do have an idea. Did your boyfriend fill you in?”

  “I went along when he got the call,” I whispered. “But that was before we knew it was…”

  “Cole.” She finished for me, letting out a sad exhale.

  “It must’ve been especially hard for you. You grew up on that property,” I said, but immediately regretted it. Fiona didn’t like to talk about her father.

  “We all did,” she said, stiffly.

  Her father had been the Williams' gardener, but he’d skipped town our senior year after stealing a small fortune from Woodcrest. The Williams family took her in, giving her a place to stay until she graduated and got her feet under her.

  Fiona scanned my probably uncomfortable-looking expression and her own softened. “I can’t believe it. Everybody loved Cole.”

  “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Nothing at that scene made sense.” She scoffed. When my forehead wrinkled in question, Fiona took another step closer and said, “There were bloody footprints leading to the body and a little ways away from it,
but there was only one stab wound. Sure, it was awful, but usually when we see that much blood spread around it’s from something messier like multiple stab wounds.”

  Speaking of blood, mine was pounding in my ears, making the bookshelves seem like they were closing in on me. “You mean, you think that might not have been all Co—uh, his blood?”

  Fiona shrugged. “I mean, that’s up to your boyfriend and the detectives to figure out, but it sure didn’t seem like it could’ve come only from him. And that’s not all. There was a rifle under him, but he was stabbed, not shot. It’s almost like whoever did this to him, lured him out there with those footprints.”

  My breath caught in my throat for a moment. “Almost as if someone was stalking him,” I whispered, recalling Alex’s comment from earlier about the abundance of stalking in Brontë novels.

  “Yeah,” Fiona said.

  We both jumped as Nate and Victoria’s voices headed in our direction. Remembering I was supposed to be running a business, I grabbed the books Fiona had picked and rang them up, telling her the total. She paid, scooting out of there before she had to deal with Nate—proving not everyone could get past his creepy ways as easily as I did.

  After Nate and Victoria paid, I had a steady trickle of customers before locking up for the night. Fiona’s words about the killer luring Cole to his death had only grown into full-blown worries in my mind over the course of the night. So by the time I flipped the sign on the door and then the locks, tremors shook my fingers. I checked each lock twice, Hammy on my heels.

  “This is silly, Ham.” I chuckled at myself. “No one has ever wanted to break into the bookstore before, and that won’t be any different now we live here.”

  What I didn’t say aloud to her was that I was glad there was a separate lock on my apartment door at the top of the steps. After what had happened to Cole yesterday, extra locks were welcome. Though as I settled into my dad’s old mustard-colored armchair and worked on my Brontë paper, it felt as if I’d locked the darkness inside with me.

  Try as I might to focus on quotes that would support my thesis, evidence of the independence and strength of the women in these novels, my eyes constantly lighted on the eerier lines.