Something didn’t add up. Their conversations had been consistent, detailed, knowledgeable. If Dylan had made up a fictional persona, why choose an antique dealer? Why not something more impressive or lucrative? And besides, he knew his wines. But then, Julia thought about what James had said about that. A mass murderer could have a thing for vintage Claret.
Julia’s phone chimed again:
Dylan: Hope I didn’t interrupt something important. Just wanted to say I’m looking forward to Boston.
She felt tears pricking at her eyes. The message seemed so normal, so much like the dozens they’d exchanged. How could she reconcile these thoughtful texts with the absence of evidence for The Black Tulip?
Tomorrow, she would have to decide—confront him directly, continue searching for information, or walk away from whatever this was before getting more invested. But tonight, the certainties she’d felt about their connection had been replaced by the ghosts of her past and familiar warnings about trust.
As Julia got ready for bed, her hand hovered over her phone. She was about to respond but stopped herself. Instead, she turned the phone face-down on her nightstand. She would not text another word until she figured out exactlywhowas on the other end.
Chapter 6
Ghosting
Julia stared at the small screen. Another message from Dylan:
Dylan: Are you okay? Not like you to go silent. Did I say something to upset you?
It was his third message since she’d stopped responding. Each one increased the unease sensation in her stomach.
The morning light filtering through the window was bright. Julia’s laptop was still open on the table, alongside scattered notes of addresses and business listings she’d searched. She’d spent hours combing through every possible record of The Black Tulip’s existence. Nothing had turned up.
Her phone chimed again:
Dylan: Julia, I’m starting to worry. Please just let me know you’re okay.
She picked up her phone and began typing:
I’ve been trying to find information about The Black Tulip online and can’t find any evidence it exists. No website, no business listings, nothing. I need to understand why.
She stared at the message, then deleted it without sending. Too accusatory.
She tried again:
Before we meet in Boston, I should probably know more about your shop. When I searched, I couldn’t find any online presence for The Black Tulip. Can you explain?
Better, but still off. She set the phone down and walked to the kitchen to make coffee. She rubbed her temples while the coffee brewed. She felt a headache coming on.
Even after all this time, it was hard to forget the humiliation Julia had felt after discovering Aaron’s lies. The sympathetic looks from friends who’d warned her, the embarrassing conversations with family, the colleagues to whom she had introduced him as a fellow architect. The shame had been almost worse than the heartbreak.
She’d promised herself to be smarter, more cautious. Yet here she was again, emotionally invested in someone whose most basic claims she couldn’t verify.
Julia’s phone rang, startling her from her thoughts. Eliza’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey,” she answered, trying to sound normal.
“Morning, Miss Raven. Just checking if we’re still on for lunch?”
“I—” Julia hesitated. “Actually, could you come over instead? I need to talk to you about something.”
Thirty minutes later, Eliza sat on Julia’s sofa. “I understand I’ve been asked over to play a game of What’s Wrong With Him.”
“We don’t know him that well.”
“Good point. WhatCouldBe Wrong With Him, then. You go first.”
“What if he’s married?”
