But what I don’t understand is how he even knew I had the appointment. How did he know where to call to cancel? The only person who knew I had that appointment was…
Philip.
I gulp down a spoonful of soup, an uneasy feeling in my empty belly. Philip is the only one who knew I had that appointment. And Philip also had access to another piece of information that Brady wasn’t privy to: he could search my patient list. With a few clicks of the mouse, he could find out all of my female patients in the right age range.
And then another thought occurs to me:
My mug at work that disappeared—is that the same one that ended up at Shelby Gillis’s apartment?
I push away the tub of soup, my appetite completely gone. Philip. Oh my God. Is it possible? I’ve known him for so many years. I respect the man. He would never, ever…
Would he?
After I finished my residency, he sought me out. He found me after all those years and did his best to try to convince me to join his practice. He seemed willing to offer me anything. I was flattered, considering I wasn’t even sure he remembered me. He claimed he had heard good thingsabout me. But maybe that wasn’t the only reason he wanted me at his practice.
As I press my eyes closed, I remember the way Philip was staring at Harper when they left the office. Harper, with her long dark hair and blue eyes. I thought she would be safe with him. I thought he would protect her.
Oh no.
I almost feel like I’m choking. Harper’s got to be okay. Philip wouldn’t hurt her. I can’t believe he would do that. I just can’t. Iknowhim.
I reach for my phone and click on Harper’s cell phone number. It goes straight to voicemail. Then I try Philip’s number.
Please pick up. Please.
Voicemail again. Neither of them is answering. Of course, there are a million explanations for that. They could be in a crowded bar, where they can’t hear their cell phones. They could be having sex. I am really, really hoping they’re having sex right now.
It was Brady who killed those women. Brady who’s been tormenting me. I’m sure of it. It makes sense that it’s Brady.
I go on my phone again and search for the name “Brady Mitchell.” His Facebook profile pops up again, but this time there is a friend request from him, waiting for me. I click to accept and his profile opens up and…
Oh my God.
I was wrong. I was completely wrong. Brady isn’t some psychopath loner who was stalking me, that’s for sure. He most definitely has a daughter. There are multiple picturesof him with that cute little girl he showed me on his phone. Pictures of him grinning at the camera with the girl and his parents at some park. A fifth birthday party with a dozen little kids. Nobody could fake this. His landlady is crazy, just like he said.
Brady is for real. That locked room was really his little girl’s room, not a torture chamber. Which means…
I close Facebook and dial Harper’s number again. I don’t know exactly what I’m going to say if I reach her.The guy you’re on a date with might be a psychopath. You might want to go home early.She’ll think I’ve lost my mind. But I’ve got to try. I at least want to hear her voice and know she’s okay.
But nobody is picking up.
Screw this. I’m going over to Harper’s apartment to see if she’s okay. If I can’t find her there, I’m camping out in front of Philip’s house.
I get up and grab my purse. I unlock the front door and I’m about to go outside when I hear a thump coming from the basement.
The cat.
I shut her in the basement this morning, along with my makeshift litter box and her bowl of food. She doesn’t seem willing to leave my house, but at least she’ll go in the basement. If she wants to live there, that’s fine. We can coexist in this house.
Anyway, I should probably feed her before I go. And maybe leave some food for the weekend, if I’m going to be away. I don’t know the protocol for leaving an animal when you go away for a few days. I don’t want the poor thing tostarve to death. Maybe I should Google what to do.
I fill my pockets with cans of cat food from the cupboard. I’ll give her one now, then I’ll open a couple of others. I’m worried she’ll make a mess of things down there, but there’s not much I can do about it. I’ll deal with that on Monday—it’s the least of my problems.
When I twist the knob to the basement door, my fingers freeze. I thought I locked the door after I put the cat down there. I wassureof it. But now the knob turns easily under my hand.
Maybe I didn’t lock it… it’s not impossible I might have forgotten. I have a lot on my mind…
I turn the knob the rest of the way and push the door open. In addition to forgetting to lock the door, I apparently left the light on down there as well. The single lightbulb is flickering on the ceiling, providing just barely enough light to see. Certainly not enough light to make out a black cat hidden in the shadows.
