“And now he’s stalking you?”
“Yes.”
“And it never occurred to you that this stalker Bellstone might be worth mentioning to the police in terms of investigating Immie’s disappearance?”
“He has nothing to do with anything.”
“He might. There are a lot of things that don’t add up.”
“Immie killed herself and there’s nothing more to it,” snapped Jule. “She was depressed and she didn’t love you anymore and she didn’t love me enough to stay alive, either. Stop acting like there’s anything else that could have happened.”
Forrest bit his lip and they rode in silence. After a minute or two, Jule looked over and saw that he was crying.
In the morning, Forrest was gone. He was simply not on the fold-out couch. His bag was not in the hall closet. His fuzzy man-sweaters were not lying around the room. His laptop was gone and so were his French novels. He had left his dirty dishes in the sink.
Jule wouldn’t miss him. She never wanted to see him again. But she didn’t want him leaving without saying why.
What had Paolo said to Forrest the night before? Only “I’m a friend of Imogen’s” and “Heard what?”—and his name. That was all.
He hadn’t heard Paolo call JuleImogen.Had he?
No.
Maybe.
No.
Why did Forrest want Paolo investigated? Did he think Imogen had been stalked and murdered? Did he think Imogen had been romantically involved with Paolo? Did he think Jule was lying?
Jule packed her bags and went to a youth hostel she’d read about, on the other end of town.
THIRD WEEK OF FEBRUARY, 2017
LONDON
Eight days before Jule left for the youth hostel, she called Forrest’s cell from the London flat. Her hands were shaking. She sat on the kitchen counter next to the bread box and let her feet dangle. It was very early in the morning. She wanted to get this call over with.
“Hey, Jule,” he said. “Is Imogen back?”
“No, she’s not.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “Then why are you calling me?” The disdain in Forrest’s voice was palpable.
“I have some bad news,” Jule said. “I’m sorry.”
“What is it?”
“Where are you?”
“In the newsagent’s. Which is apparently what they call newsstands over here.”
“You should step outside.”
“All right.” Jule waited while he walked. “What is it?” Forrest asked.
“I found a note, in the flat. From Imogen.”
“What kind of note?”
