Page 40 of Find Me

“So those textswerefrom you.”

“Of course. I even mentioned the armoire. It’s a reference from, literally, the last time I saw you. Remember? When we left the armoire at the Becketts’?”

“I thought if someone had been watching us move, they could have known. And I didn’t understand why you’d tell me not to look for you—”

“Because I didn’t want to be found, Lindsay. And I didn’t want you to be in danger. I thought I could figure it out by myself. I thought I could find out what he wanted and why, and then it would all be okay. But now...” She closed her eyes and exhaled. “He’s dead. How is he possibly dead? They said I’m wanted on TV.”

“They only said they were looking for you. As a witness. Someone who might have relevant information.”

Hope clenched her jaw and held her gaze. “Are you honestly telling me as a defense attorney that I don’t need to be scared right now?”

Lindsay looked away and shook her head. “So do you know this Alex Lopez person?” she eventually asked, her voice low.

“No!” Hope cried out. “At least, I don’t think so. Or I mean, I didn’t. But I think I know who he is now. And I hit him. I like basically stabbed him, and now they think I killed him.”

Lindsay led Hope to the sofa. “Sit down, and start from the beginning.”

It took a few false starts, Hope getting bogged down in details Lindsay couldn’t follow, but she finally steered Hope in a clear direction. “You said in your journal a couple of times that you thought someone was following you. Someone in a white pickup. Was that Alex Lopez?”

Hope nodded. “At least, I think so. I didn’t know that at the time. I mean, I didn’t even know for sure that anyone was following me, let alone who the guy was. I just sensed that I was being watched one night, but the cottage feels like a fishbowl without the curtains drawn, especially after living at the Becketts’ for so many years.” In New Jersey, Hope had lived in a second-floor garage apartment behind the main house on a wooded lot, whereas her current rental was only feet from the sidewalk, with no privacy. “Anyway, one time I got creeped out and saw a white pickup out there. And then another time, I thought I saw the same truck parked outside while I was getting a haircut, and I thought he looked a little familiar, but I wasn’t sure.”

“That was the last entry in your journal,” Lindsay said. “I was convinced the guy had you locked in a basement or something. I’ve basically been going crazy. Why didn’t you tell me when it was happening?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got to understand that the only place I can remember living is little tiny Hopewell. I’m not used to all these people, or to every single face belonging to a stranger. And I knew how much you disapproved of my decision to move here, and I assumed it was just my imagination going wild. I thought if I said anything to you, you’d drive out here and convince me to go back home.”

She wasn’t wrong. Lindsay realized she had broken her own practice of letting a client or a witness give their complete account of the facts, uninterrupted, before asking follow-up questions. “I get it. So then what happened?”

“I had an open house to stage in Sagaponack. I was in the house alone.”

“Two Saturdays ago? The Stansfield house?” Another violation of her usual protocol, but she wanted to make sure they were talking about the same night.

“Yeah. How do you know—”

“I’ll explain. Just go on.”

“Anyway, I finished up the job. When I opened the front door to leave, he was standing there. It took me a second to realize it was the guy I’d seen with the white pickup truck. I tried to run back into the house, but he pushed his way inside and grabbed me. And then he said something like I was playing some kind of game.” Hope was gazing at a spot on the wall, as if she was in a trance. “I just kept trying to fight him off, and he was saying crazy things like he wasn’t going to let me ruin his life with my games. I tried explaining that I didn’t even know who he was. I said he could look it up—that I’ve had amnesia for fifteen years—but he was looking at me like I was insane. And I’m saying this while I’m trying to get distance from him, and he’s following me all over the room. I finally got hold of my keys in my purse.” She returned her gaze to Lindsay. “I swear, I thought he was going to kill me.”

Lindsay arched a brow and glanced toward the end table next to the sofa, where her own keys rested, complete with a purple, cat-head-shaped self-defense keychain that she knew matched Hope’s. AKA Stabby Kitty.

Hope looked more like herself as she flashed a brief smile. “I can’t believe I even thought to grab for it, but it actually worked. I managed to get two of my fingers into the holes and just began swinging. I aimed for his face. It drew blood. A lot. I don’t know if it was his head or his eye, or what, but there was all this blood.” She ran her fingertips against her own left temple. “He kind of stumbled backward and fell. All I could think about was getting out of there. I grabbed my purse and ran. I also took this.”

She reached inside her purse and retrieved an iPhone, which she placed on the sofa between them.

“Is that his?” Lindsay asked.

Hope nodded, wincing. “It dropped out of his shirt pocket when he fell.”

Lindsay knew her expression revealed her immediate analysis of the situation:Not good.

“I just wanted to know who he was,” Hope explained. “I drove until I was sure he wasn’t following me, and then pulled over to look through it real fast.”

“Wait, how did you even get into his phone?” Any evidence that Hope was able to get past a locked phone screen would undermine her claim not to have known Alex Lopez.

“When I finally felt safe enough to pull over, I realized that could be a problem, but I guess he didn’t have it protected. It was just on.”

“And you’ve had it this whole time?” By now, the police would have triangulated the location information. The coverage in the Hamptons was notoriously spotty due to a scarcity of cell phone towers. She had to hope that it decreased the accuracy of the pings.

Hope nodded. “But I turned it off after I went through it in the car. Most of the emails were to Alex Lopez at ReelDeal.com. That’s the name of the guide shop we used for the boat trip. I know this is crazy, but I’m almost positive he was our fishing guide.”

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