I wait, holding my breath until I see the three dancing dots indicating someone is responding.
UNKNOWN:Stop searching for them. Leave them in peace.
I freeze. Stop searching for who?
The bodies?
It must be. Aside from my necklace, which I’ll never stop trying to find, I can’t think of anything else I’m currently searching for. And I’m not even really doing that. This is Jasmine’s show. I’m only keeping tabs on her so she doesn’t get hurt.
How does this person know we’re after the reward? And why don’t they want us to look for the bodies? Everyone in the whole damn country wants those remains to be found. I can’t think of a single person who’d even object to—
The air escapes my lungs in a rush.
Leave them in peace.
Oh my God.
It can’t be.
Can it?
My hands tremble wildly as I send another message.
Me:Dad?
There’s a long delay. Too long. So long I think I won’t receive an answer. But then those dots reappear, and two more messages pop up in succession.
UNKNOWN:Stop looking or you’ll regret it.
UNKNOWN:Remember…I know who you are, Gabrielle Thorn.
fifteen
It’s Complicated
I know who you are, Gabrielle Thorn.
I spend the rest of the night Googling, trying to figure out who sent those messages. I look up the number, but that yields no results. It probably came from an app.
But how could anyone know who I am? We—my aunt and uncle and I—have been so careful. Who found out?How?
I nearly drive myself mad ruminating on the texts. It was crazy to think it was my father. He’s on death row. I doubt he’d be able to get his hands on a phone. Unless he had someone else text me?
No. The odds are so astronomical, it’s a waste of time to even entertain it. It’s probably someone from school, but who?
Whoever sent those messages knew exactly what to say to unnerve me. The words are burned in my mind, blinking and flashing like a neon sign.
After breakfast, I wait until Jasmine and Connor go to get their school things, then pull Maggie aside. I wasn’t sure if I should say something about the messages, but I keep thinking about what she said when I first got here. How the ten-yearanniversary has made all those crime sleuths even more rabid than usual.
In the mudroom, I tell my aunt about the texts as her brows dip in concern.
“Let me see them,” she orders.
I hang my head in remorse. “I deleted them before I blocked the number. It wasn’t a real phone number, though,” I quickly add. “It came from an app.”
Maggie purses her mouth in thought. “All right. Well. Without those messages, there isn’t much we can do. I would’ve suggested showing them to the sheriff, but I doubt he’ll be much help. And that old coot has a big mouth when he’s a few pints deep at the bar. I’d rather not tell him who you are unless we absolutely must.”
“How did anyone find out?” I fret, gnawing on my lower lip. “Do you think…my father sent the messages?”
