Page 16 of Archer

She tapped her screen while I considered the facts.

“Any idea who’s behind this?”

The question earned me a flabbergasted expression.

I lifted my palms in surrender. If she knew, she’d probably have confronted them or had them arrested. “Angry ex?”

Harper rubbed her forehead. “I have one of those, but I don’t think it’s him.”

Noted.

“Any other guesses?”

She hesitated, then shook her head.

“Did you see the delivery driver or their car when this music box arrived?”

“No. I was on the back deck until the bell rang. By the time I got to the front door, whoever left it was gone.”

“When was that?”

“Around one.”

The home didn’t have any security cameras that I’d noticed and no evidence of a system in place.

I pulled out my phone and texted Colton.

Archer: Need you to track down where this music box was purchased. Sending photos.

Archer: Also find delivery service that made drops on Shore Drive around 1pm.

Colton: On it.

I pocketed my phone and looked at Sarah. “How long has this been going on?”

“A little more than six months. It started in Nashville.” She moved to the window and opened the blinds to stare out at the ocean. “At first it was roses delivered to my apartment. Then the music boxes started. They’re always sent anonymously.”

“Did you report it?”

“Of course. The police investigated but found nothing. No threat. No reason to do anything more than take the reports.” She turned to face me. “It freaked me out, so I took some time off. Visited friends. But he kept finding me. Every city, every friend’s house, every hotel. Then Gram died, and I came here for the funeral. When I got back to Nashville, I started thinking about how I could get here unnoticed and stay off the radar a while.”

“But he followed.”

She sighed in answer, brows high. “That or he placed the order and someone else delivered. Either way, that means he knows I’m here, right.” She pointed at the music box. “And someone has to be watching to see if I brought it inside.”

I walked the perimeter of the open floor plan, starting in her living room, checking windows, testing locks. “You live alone in Nashville?”

“Yes.”

“Work?”

“Yes.”

I turned to her and waited.

“Yes,” she repeated. “I work in Nashville.”

“What do you do in Nashville?” I asked the question as slowly as possible.