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As Emma takes a sip of wine to calm herself, her gaze falls on the crumpled note, which she’d dropped on the islandwhen she came in. She hasthatto contend with, too. The idea of touching it again creeps her out, so she grabs a banana from the fruit bowl and uses the stem to smooth out the paper.
Are you really too stupid to see the truth?
This one isn’t simply dismissive like the others were; the tone here is downright contemptuous, possibly even menacing.
Who in Westport not only dislikes her enough to leave these notes, but has the incredible nerve to risk being caught on her property? A thought strikes her out of the blue. What if the notes are somehow related to the person sneaking into the studio the other night? She still doesn’t think it could be Dario, and besides, her two employees are together at the moment. But just to be sure she taps out a text to Eric:Just curious. Dario’s been with you the whole time, right?
Grabbing her glass, Emma slides off the bar chair and paces the kitchen, ruminating. In terms of the police inquiry, meeting with Dunne tomorrow feels like a decisive move, the right step, but the notes are a whole different matter, and she has no clue how to proceed.
Her phone rings and when she snatches it from the counter, she’s surprised by the sight of Justine’s name on the screen.
“I hope I’m not catching you at a bad moment,” Justine says.
“No—is everything okay?”
“Yes, fine.” Her voice, however, sounds tense. “But I’ve been unable to reach Tom with a quick update, and I thought you might know where he is.”
“He’s in Chicago. Aren’t you there with him?”
“Not this time.... Tom said he wanted to keep this trip pretty streamlined.”
“Um, it’s possible his meeting ran late, or if they signed the deal, perhaps they’ve gone out for drinks to celebrate. When he calls later, I can tell him you’re eager to speak to him.”
“Or I’ll just wait and fill him in tomorrow,” Justine says. Her voice has reclaimed its usual silkiness. “Have a nice evening, Emma.”
Odd, Emma thinks after ending the call. Was this simply another instance of Justine trying to insinuate herself or is there something else going on?
In other words, is there evenmorefor her to stress about? She feels suddenly desperate for something,anythingto tamp down her anxiety. On the spur of the moment, she snatches her phone from the counter and texts Bekah.
Hey, I have to be in NY unexpectedly tomorrow. Any chance I could stop by in the afternoon + say hi, see the baby?
It’s only a minute before a response appears on her phone.
Omg, I’d love that. Would 6 be too late? J.D. has a business dinner, but Hadley and I will be footloose and fancy-free and she’ll have had her nap and dinner by then and won’t be fussy.
Six is a little later than Emma would like, but, understanding that when you’re a parent your schedule isn’t yourown, she texts back saying she’ll be there with bells on. She certainly can’t tell Bekah everything, not now anyway, but at least she’ll have the comfort of her friend’s company.
After changing into sweatpants and a T-shirt, Emma wanders back to the kitchen. She’s got zero appetite, but she nukes one of the premade chicken dinners from the freezer and forces herself to take a few bites. The note’s still on the island and her eyes are drawn to it again.
Are you really too stupid to see the truth?
She wishes she’d held on to the first note but at least she’s got the second tucked in a drawer upstairs. And the words from both are seared in her memory.
You’d better watch what you’re doing.
You’re not as smart as you think you are.
Could there be more to the messages than a show of disdain and contempt? For the first time she sees that there’s a warning implied in each one, an admonishment to watch her back, wise up, and pay better attention.
Is someone trying to warn her aboutTom?
The room suddenly darkens. Glancing out the kitchen window, Emma sees that the early evening sky is now bunched with thick, dark clouds that seem to have come out of nowhere.How fitting, she thinks, for the state her mind is in tonight.
Emma struggles up from the table. As she’s dumping the remains of her half-eaten meal in the trash, her phone rings. Tom. Somehow she’ll have to manage to sound normal.
“Ah, there you are,” he says, and it’s only then that she notices a missed call from a bit earlier, probably from when she was upstairs.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t hear the phone before.”
