He was really looking forward to finishing this podcast, solving Candace’s murder, and putting the past completely behind him.
When he reached his apartment door, he noticed the lights were all off: Troy must be out with Denise. He unlocked the door and as he opened it, he noticed a paper sticking out from under his mat. He picked it up and flipped on the lights.
Lucas dropped his backpack on the couch. The envelope was standard, plain and white. On the front, his name was written in a red Sharpie in thick, perfect block letters.
His stomach tightened. Something felt creepy, like he was being watched. But that was stupid—he was inside his apartment.
He looked out the front window. The street was quiet, dark, except for a streetlight on the corner. Cars were parked up and down both sides, which was common for this area. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“Don’t be so paranoid,” he said out loud.
He opened the envelope. Written in the same red marker, in the same perfect block letters, was a short message.
LEAVE IT ALONE.
Twenty-One
After having one too many margaritas, Regan tossed her dad her car keys. She’d told him about Lucas’s call and the threatening letter. “I know it’s serious, not only because he called instead of texting me but because he sounded scared.”
“He should call the police.”
“I’ll check on him first, see what’s going on. You’re probably right. It’s not far from here.” She wasn’t drunk but figured her BAC was over the legal limit. She asked the waitress for coffee to go to help clear her head, then over her objection her dad took care of the bill.
Over dinner, she’d told her father about her divorce being final, as well as her decision not to return to the Marshals Service. Neither was unexpected, but both brought about a sense of closure that made her feel simultaneously lighter and sad. And her dad didn’t judge her or question her, just accepted her decision.
She directed her dad to Lucas’s apartment. “You can wait here, if you’d like,” she said.
“I’d like to meet this young man,” her father said.
Before she knocked on the door, Lucas opened it. “I’m probably overreacting, but…it’s just weird.”
“I’m glad you called,” she said. “This is my dad, John Merritt,” she said as they stepped inside. “Is your roommate home?”
“Troy’s at his girlfriend’s. I called him after I talked to you. He said the note wasn’t there when he left at seven.”
“I assume there are no security cameras?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t have a Ring or anything. This is a pretty safe neighborhood, you know—nothing much happens in Flagstaff.”
Of course, having grown up here Regan knew that wasn’t true. There were plenty of car thefts, burglaries, assaults, and rapes. Maybe to Lucas it just seemed that way because it was safer here than where he’d grown up in Phoenix.
“Where’s the letter?” she asked. “I assume you touched it.”
“I didn’t know what it was. It could have been from my landlord.”
Regan slipped on gloves that she’d had in her truck. Not that it would matter: Lucas’s prints were all over it, and if someone didn’t want to be identified, they would also have worn gloves. But it was a good habit to maintain, not touching potential evidence.
The standard white envelope was generic. The Sharpie and painstakingly formed letters helped disguise any distinctive characteristcs. It was difficult to tell if the writing was male or female.
The message brief and to the point.
LEAVE IT ALONE.
The author had put a period after alone, bold and larger than a dot, as if they held the marker down for a length of time. To punctuate the point? Or because they were angry? Thinking about writing more? Considering?
The red ink was ominous. Danger, a threat, blood. The method of delivery—at home, under the mat—sent another message: I know where you live.
The threat was subtle, but Regan was certain it was meant to coerce Lucas to end the podcast.
Regan asked Lucas for a plastic baggie, then slipped the letter and envelope inside so it could still be read. She handed it to her dad. “What do you think?”
“The police won’t do anything. It’s not a clear threat, but you should contact Detective Young and let him know about it.”
Lucas glanced at Regan. “How’d your conversation go?”
She should have called him after, but that’s when she’d received the divorce papers and she wasn’t in the mood to discuss the podcast. “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’ll take you to breakfast.”