“Oh, you know… missing my boys, I guess.” It’s not a lie. I do miss them. It’s just not what has me in a state today.
Her face falls into a sympathetic smile. “I know you miss them. How about a girls’ night? I’ll be your wing woman. We can get totally sloshed.”
I laugh. “No thanks. I can’t handle hangovers like I used to. You’re too young for me to keep up with.”
“Don’t be daft.” Bonnie rolls her eyes, waving a dismissive hand at me. “There’s only seven years between us.”
“Yes, and I’m closer to forty, where you are closer to your twenties.” I grin, shaking my head. “I’m going to step out and make a call. Can you hold down the fort?”
“Deflecting won’t change my mind, Lily flower. I’m going to arrange a bevvy session. How’s this weekend?”
“I’m busy.” I beam, dashing from the table as she curses under her breath at me.
As soon as I’m out in the alley behind the salon, I open up my phone and call my cousin, Barrett.
“Lilian. How are you?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be so damn formal.” I snicker and he chuckles.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I received another envelope,” I rush out, and Barrett remains silent for a moment before he speaks again.
“The same as usual?”
“Yes.”
“Any footage of the deliverer?” he asks, and even though he can’t see me, I shake my head.
“No. Nothing this time.”
“When did you get it?” he asks.
“Yesterday morning. It was waiting for me at the salon,” I offer, and he growls.
“And why are you only just calling me about it now?”
I roll my eyes. “I was busy yesterday. And besides, there’s nothing you can do. This arsehole has both of us stumped.”
“Hmmm. Even so.” He sighs. “Any more text messages?”
“No,” I sigh, “nothing for a few days.”
Barrett grunts at that, and I can just imagine him sitting in the dark, somewhere in the world, dressed in one of his fine suits with a glass of whisky in hand.
“I know you think the two are related, Lil, but they seem like different people to me.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.
“I know I haven’t had the best luck in my life, but two obsessive stalkers in the same decade is a little far-fetched.”
“The pictures have only ever hinted that they know you are the infamous killer that has local traffickers shaking in their boots,” Barrett reminds me. “The text messages, however, are more personal, Lily. They know you’re a Marx. They know about our family. But they haven’t once mentioned your extracurricular activities. I’m convinced you now have two fucking stalkers. I wish you’d let me tell your brothers. They’d?—”
“No!” I snap. “Do not tell Devon or Warrick! I’ve been doing fine without them for twenty years. I don’t need them now.”
For a long moment, my cousin remains silent.
This is a constant argument we have, despite whether I have bloody stalkers.
