Identity

“He wants you to be afraid,” Morrison said. “He wants to live in your head. You live in his. And that burns, Morgan. It scrapes against his ego, and that burning, that scraping caused him to make a major mistake. We’re forewarned, and so are you.”

“What good does that do me?” She dropped into the chair again. “Now I live looking over my shoulder every day, waiting for him to come after me? What about my mother, my grandmother?”

“I’d advise you to install a security system.”

“We have one,” Morgan said wearily. “We never use it.”

“Start,” Morrison said flatly. “Morgan.” He leaned forward. “I’m not going to say you have nothing to worry about, but you have advantages here.”

“How about you name a few, because I’m not feeling it.”

“You know what he looks like. He changes his appearance—hair color, facial hair, colored contacts, glasses—but you know him. He can’t use his usual methods with you. He has to devise another way, and you can put up roadblocks there. Security system’s number one.”

“You work nights,” Beck continued. “Buy a panic button, have your keys and the panic button in your hand when you leave work. Have Security or other coworkers walk you to your car. Check the tire pressure and gas gauge in your car before you drive anywhere. Never leave it unlocked, and check the back seat before you get in.”

“We’ve already given local law enforcement Rozwell’s photo. You should do the same for Security at your employment, and to the staff at your family’s business. To hurt you, he has to get close to you. Make it hard for him to get close.”

“He could just shoot me in the head from a distance.”

“There’s no satisfaction for him in that.” Beck said it so easily, Morgan choked out a laugh.

“Oh, well then.”

“For him, it has to be close. It has to be personal, because for him it is personal. It’s possible he did this just to thumb his nose at us and frighten you. But I’d strongly advise you to take these precautions.”

“Keep your phone charged and with you,” Morrison added. “Get in touch with us, and the local police, if he makes any attempt to contact you. Contact us even if you just feel something’s off. Taking a basic self-defense course wouldn’t hurt. I’d give that same suggestion to anyone, frankly.”

“Your best weapon against him is to live your life.”

“With this criteria.”

Beck’s tone changed, softened just a little.

“Most of it’s common sense. You’re a sensible woman, Morgan. Stay sensible. I’m sorry we had to bring this to you. I’m sorry we haven’t caught him. We believe he spent most of this past year in hiding because you spooked him. But he’s come out now, and he’s made some mistakes.”

“The locket.”

“And others.”

Beck glanced at her partner, got a subtle go-ahead nod.

“Evidence indicates he kept this victim a prisoner in her own home for over twenty-four hours before he killed her. That’s a risk he’s never taken before. Her sister had a key, which he knew. She might have come in at any time. He spoke to one of the victim’s neighbors during this period—deliberately went outside the house to start a conversation. In her statement, the witness described the conversation and his demeanor as odd, and she’d found it unusual for the victim not to come outside herself, as she was a keen gardener. She didn’t report any of this, but she might have. He risked that, very possibly to stroke his own ego after his failure and time away from his work.”

“And the woman is still dead.”

“Yes. She didn’t know him and didn’t have the opportunity to take precautions against him. You do.”

Beck put a manilla envelope on the table between them. “Inside are several photos of Rozwell, along with a description and list of his known habits and routines. My card and my partner’s are also inside. We’ve spoken to the local police. Please give these to your employer, your family. If that’s difficult or awkward for you, we’ll do so.”

“I’ll do it.”

“We’re both available anytime, day or night.” Morrison rose. “Take the precautions, Morgan.”

She would, of course she would, she thought when she stood in the empty house. What choice did she have?

She’d start with the alarm system, something her grandmother had installed shortly after Pa died. And, Morgan knew, no one ever bothered to use.

She had to look up the instructions and the code in her grandmother’s files, but she set it before she took the envelope and left the house.

She hated the way her heart hammered when she walked outside. And the trembling inside as she walked to the, yes, unlocked car, checked the back seat.

Three-quarters of a tank, so that was good, but she had no idea how to check tire pressure.

She’d learn.

Even on the short drive into Westridge, she found herself obsessively checking her rearview mirror, tensing up when a car approached on the other side of the road.

She locked the car in the lot behind Crafty Arts and walked into the warm welcome of the shop.

Sue and a customer laughed together like old friends. Maybe they were. Her mother stood at a display case while another customer tried on a pendant.

Audrey sent Morgan a smile as she spoke to the customer. “It looks wonderful on you, so good with your coloring. I like these earrings with it. They coordinate, but they’re not matchy.”

“You’re the devil, Audrey.” But the woman held one of the earrings up to her left ear.

“Try them on. You know you want to. See how they feel. What do you think, Morgan? Irene, this is my daughter, Morgan.”

“So this is Morgan.” Irene turned as she took off one of her own earrings, passed it to Audrey. “Your mom talks about you all the time. No wonder you said she was beautiful, Audrey. She looks just like you. And damn it, I love these earrings.”

“They look wonderful on you,” Morgan managed. “And the pendant’s stunning.”

“When you’re right, you’re right. Okay, Audrey, ring everything up. Then I’m getting out of here before my credit card bursts into flames.”

“Is Gram around?” Morgan asked.

“She just went upstairs.”

“Do you think you could come up when you’re done? For a minute?”

“Sure.”

She went through the café—three tables of tea drinkers—and managed to smile at the counter server before she went into the back and up the stairs.

Giving in, she sat on them a moment, between kitchen and offices, steadying herself. Get it done, she told herself, and rose.

She heard her grandmother’s voice before she stepped into the office. Olivia sat behind the desk, studying her computer screen as she talked on the phone.

“If you can deliver next week, we’ll take two of each for a total of six. Don’t screw with me on the tonal quality, Al. The sound’s as important as the craftmanship. I’m going to trust you. Tuesday works. We’ll see you then. Bye.”

She hung up the phone. “Wind chimes. Half a dozen. And we’ve got hummingbird feeders, garden stakes, birdhouses, and what-all coming in next week. That’s a sure sign of spring.”

She reached for her tea and took a good look at Morgan’s face. “What’s wrong? Something’s wrong.”

“I just—”