But he was here. I could feel him. He was close.
A loud metal clank behind me made me jump three feet in the air.
I whirled, ready to punch someone. I saw a utility worker in a bright orange vest, reaching down to retrieve a thick metal chain he’d dropped on the sidewalk.
I sagged in relief as I watched him weave the chain through the door of Gordon’s Frozen Custard and snap a padlock shut across the two ends. He rattled the chain to make sure it was secure and then sauntered away, climbing into a Lake Sanguis utility truck double-parked on the street.
I walked toward the shop. The utility worker had left a bright yellow notice taped on the glass front door from the Lake Sanguis Health Department.
“Listeria outbreak?” I read aloud. I guessed nobody would be getting their frozen custard mudpacks today. The paper was plastered right next to the oversized poster of Kenzie Gordon wearing her Miss Wisconsin sash and crown across a brilliant silver sequined gown with a leg slit up to her hip that filled the entire window. Her makeup was flawless; her clear green eyes glittered in the poster like emeralds.
I got the sudden feeling I was being watched. A creepy, cold sensation at the back of my head. Someone was watching me.
I turned. The sidewalk was empty. If I’d been in Chicago, an army of pedestrians would’ve been marching by. Not here. After having to elbow my way down the bustling avenues of the city, Lake Sanguis felt isolated and alone. The sidewalks too clean and too empty.
My phone pinged.
You’ve been a bad girl, Ella.
It was a text message. From an unknown number.
My head whipped up and my blood ran cold. I stopped and turned, but no one else was on the street. Even the Big Pizza Pie shop was mostly desolate. Nobody was staring at me except KenzieGordon from the poster, her bright white smile frozen in place in the corner window of Gordon’s Frozen Custard.
You’ve been very, very bad.
I know Oscar told me not to respond. But I couldn’t help it.
Who is this?
Three dots appeared on my screen. Then disappeared. And then came the message.
You know exactly who this is.
And then came three skull emojis.
Followed by a single lemon.
My heart kicked up a notch. No one but the cops, me, and the killer knew about the lemon. I felt hot and cold. Slowly, I looked right. Then left. I felt exposed. Vulnerable.
The killer wasn’t taunting me from afar.
He was here.
Unnerved, I glanced around. There was the tourist family at the end of the street, walking into the vintage toy store. And near them, I saw Tammy up ahead, her bright orange puffer vest impossible tomiss, as she tucked a bag of groceries into the back of her minivan beneath a canopy of gold and red autumn leaves. Otherwise, no one was out. A car horn behind me almost made me jump out of my sneakers. I glanced back and saw a single car in front of a sauntering flock of Canada geese in the road, preparing to fly south for the winter.
I needed to get ahold of myself. I was letting my imagination run wild, just like Oscar said. This was Lake Sanguis. Boring old Lake Sanguis. No serial killer was stalking its Hallmark holiday movie set streets.
I toggled my settings in my phone to block unknown numbers. That should silence him.
Seconds later, I got another lemon.
What the hell?
The phone number was there.
Sloppy, bro. Really sloppy. Now you’re cooked. I googled the phone number. Reverse lookup sent me to an app designed to send anonymous messages to the phone of a creep’s choice, without any way to trace it back to the real culprit. The site claimed it would help lovers connect by offering ways to have “secret admirers” and people who wanted to send anonymous compliments. Right. Because that’s exactly how creepy weirdos would use it. Loved when technology helped the bad guys do worse. Fantastic job, Silicon Valley.
Yet, this didn’t seem like an incel’s work miles away in his mother’s basement. I was being watched.
