“I’m pretty sure it’s my ex . . . He wasn’t happy when I broke up with him. And he was even madder the next day, after he discovered I’d packed up all the clothes and stuff I’d brought to his house while he was at work. He begged me to give him another chance. Followed me everywhere I went—even during his workday. Came to my apartment, called me dozens of times a day for weeks. He also texted me over and over. I never answered the phone or the door.
“At first, his voice mails and texts were all sweet and apologetic. Then they turned threatening, mixed in with random pleas. After a while, he stopped trying to contact me altogether, and I thought he’d finally given up. But . . . it wasn’t too long after that when the weird stuff started happening.”
“Weird stuff?” he asked.
Carlise nodded and took a deep breath. “Creepy things. Notes left on my car, both at my apartment complex and when I was out doing random errands. My tires were slashed. The word ‘Bitch’ was painted on my door. Emails and texts from unknown numbers and accounts.”
“What’d they say?”
“Nothing good,” Carlise said with a wrinkle of her nose.
When Riggs didn’t comment, she sighed. “Whoever it was said I was an idiot. A stupid bitch. A horrible human being. That I didn’t know how good my life was. That kind of thing.”
“Did you go to the cops?” Riggs asked.
Carlise could tell he was upset, but his thumb brushed back and forth on her arm soothingly. It meant a lot that he wasn’t leaping up and being over-the-top pissed about the situation. “Yes, and I got a protection order, based on all the calls and texts from his phone. But there wasn’t much else they could do, since I can’t prove who’s leaving the notes or who vandalized my car or door. I don’t have any cameras at my apartment.
“They told me I could probably hire someone to see if the emails or texts can be traced, but honestly, while I make enough money to live on, I don’t have endless funds to hire specialists. It seemed easier to just get out of town for a while and hope it blows over rather than pay someone to maybe track down whoever’s harassing me.”
Riggs was silent for a long while. Carlise had a feeling he didn’t agree with her decision, but she appreciated him not harassing her about it.
“Who else could it be, other than your ex?” he finally asked.
She told him about the author who wasn’t happy with her work. About the woman in the grocery store. She named every single person she might have upset even mildly in the weeks before the harassment started.
Riggs shook his head, and Carlise leaned up to look at him. “What?”
“Carlise, people don’t do the sort of things you’ve endured because you wouldn’t let them into your lane in a construction zone. Or because you took the last tub of ice cream. Or because you disagreed with them in a social media post.”
“People are crazy, Riggs,” she said softly. “I swear, everyone’s skin has gotten a lot thinner over the last decade or so. The smallest thing can send someone off the deep end.”
“I realize that,” he said calmly, “but I still don’t think those things would make someone so mad they’d track down where you live and slash your tires. Not to mention send you all those emails and texts.”
“Yeah,” she agreed with a sigh as she put her head back down on his chest. “The only other person I can think of is my dad.”
Riggs stilled. “Your dad knows where you live? When was the last time you had any interaction with him?”
“Yes, and about four months ago. He came to Cleveland wanting to see my mom. She had moved to Ohio at my urging. I missed her, and she’s been doing really well there. Anyway . . . my dad calls every so often. Tries to get Mom to go back to him. She always says no, but when he came to Cleveland several months ago, she actually agreed to have lunch.
“I was so upset when she told me after the fact. I made her promise to tell me if and when he contacted her again. Surprisingly, she did. He returned to Cleveland just a couple of months later. I begged her to let me meet with him instead, and she agreed.”
“Please tell me you didn’t go meet this abusive asshole by yourself,” Riggs growled.
“No way!” Carlise said fervently. “I asked Tommy to go with me, but he said he was busy. So I called Susie, and she went. Nothing happened,” she said soothingly, bringing her hand up to the side of Riggs’s neck and running her thumb over his jaw. “I told him in no uncertain terms that Mom was done with him. That we were lucky to no longer have him in our lives.