Anna gasps. “Oh my God! Cassie, that’s horrible! Did you call the police?”
“No.” Cassie bites her lip. She doesn’t want the police in her apartment, but what choice does she have? “I was about to.”
“Yes…”
Cassie pauses. “I should though. Right?”
“I suppose…”
“You don’t think so?”
“Well, what will they do?” Anna says. “Just loads of paperwork, right? And they’ll go through all your stuff.”
Cassie shudders at Anna’s assertion. That’s the last thing she wants.
“I mean, really,” Anna says. “Do the police ever catch burglars?”
“I… I assume they do…”
“They don’t,” Anna assures her. “But listen, I’m just across town, and my husband’s got the baby. Why don’t I come by and help you get everything cleaned up?”
“But…” Cassie thinks back to the other night, when she had the anaphylaxis from her dinner, even though she’d eaten the same food the night before without a problem. “I think the person who broke in might be trying to kill me.”
“Kill you?”
She tells Anna all about the obscene calls she’s been getting. And she explains about the peanuts in her food and how she’d nearly died when she couldn’t find her Epi-pen. She no longer believes the peanuts were just bad luck. And she no longer believes the missing Epi-pen was from her own carelessness.
“Oh my God,” Anna breathes. “That’s… insane. If someone really did that…”
“Yeah,” Cassie manages. “Insane.”
“Listen,” Anna says. “Don’t move. I’ll be there soon… there’s just one thing I need to do first. Okay?”
Cassie is too spent to argue. “Okay.”
After she hangs up with Anna, she’s itching to call Joel. She remembers how comforted he made her feel the night she was scared someone was in her apartment. On a whim, she punches on his number. She grips the phone as she hears ringing on the other line.
But he never picks up.
Chapter 51: The Ex
After Joel broke up with me and started dating Francesca, I hated both of them. But especially her. Because she’s everything I’m not. She’s as tall and beautiful as a model. She’s several years younger than I am. She’s a successful （or so I had thought） restauranteur. But as I step inside Francesca’s apartment, I realize something else about Francesca:
She is frightening.
I don’t know why, but it’s a feeling I’ve always gotten. That’s why I brought the knife tonight. Not because I’m scared of a faceless loan shark, but because I need protection against Francesca herself.
As I said, there’s something about her.
“What do you want?” Francesca growls at me.
I take a deep breath. “I know everything, Francesca. I know the trouble you’re in. I know that you’re putting the lives of everyone you care about in danger.”
She snorts. “You don’t know anything.”
“I tried to warn Joel,” I say. “But he won’t listen. So that’s why I’m appealing to you.”
Francesca arches a finely plucked eyebrow at me. She and I are both Italian women—nobody could say Joel doesn’t have a “type”—but we are so different. She is long-legged and tall with flowing hair. I am short and top-heavy with mousy brown curls. I don’t know how Dean could have said I look like Sophia Loren when Francesca is the dead ringer for her. I heard at Lydia’s Halloween party this year, Francesca dressed as Cleopatra and was absolutely stunning.