Page 60 of The Followers

The woman sighed. “Yes, I wrote a note in the computer. I have it right here in front of me.”

“Did he give a name?”

“No, I’m sorry,” the woman said.

A thousand questions flooded her mind: Who would want to get into that box? And why? She flashed back to Kristina’s case file, and the drug dealer who might have killed Kristina. Had he been following her?

“That wasn’t my brother,” Liv said, panicking. “I don’t know who he was or why he wants to get into my sister’s safe deposit box, but I only give permission to Oliver James Barrett. No one else. How can I have that documented in the file?”

“I’ll document it right now,” the woman said, sounding exasperated. “But the sooner you get me that certified letter, the better, okay?”

Liv took a breath. “I will.”

Liv rushed home and was relieved to find her apartment undisturbed. Her passport was in the top drawer of her nightstand, like usual, and she also grabbed the cash she kept there. She looked up the address for the nearest notary public and headed over.

As she drove through the streets of Durango, she berated herself. She’d gotten complacent, allowed herself to relax. Even if Scott—Sam—whatever his name was—hadn’t killed Kristina, someone had. And maybe it had something to do with whatever Kristina had kept in her safe deposit box.

An hour later the certified letter had been notarized and faxed to the bank, and she’d mailed the original copy. Liv called the same woman to make sure she’d received it, who verified that no other requests for access had come through.

Then Liv called her brother.

“Ollie,” she said when he answered. Her heart was pounding, even now. “I think Kristina’s killer might have found me.”

thirty

We must not allow ourselves to forget that even though our online life is part of our life, it is not our full, real, true life. That cannot be contained on a screen.

—Molly Sullivan in a speech at Youth Rise, a conference for social media influencers

It was Monday, Scott’s day off, and he’d encouraged Molly to do something nice for herself. She needed it after a full weekend with the girls. Plus, engagement on all her social platforms had continued to drop. Soon, Molly might not be able to justify keeping Brookelle on. She hated the thought of firing her assistant, plus she didn’t want to start doing it on her own again. It all felt heavy. Relentless. She probably should have spent the day creating new, innovative, engaging content. But her well of ideas had gone dry. She needed a break. She needed real, genuine connection.

Thank goodness for Liv, who had responded to Molly’s text right away, agreeing to meet up for lunch. She and Liv met up at Michel’s Corner Crepes on Main Ave. The patio was pleasantly crowded with a comforting hum of activity, and Molly relaxed and let herself enjoy being with an IRL friend.

But a few minutes after their crepes were delivered, she got the sensation of being watched again. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. She glanced around, looking for someone staring at her. But she didn’t see anything other than the usual crowd for a weekday lunchtime, businesspeople and tourists, and a few mom groups. Molly had purposefully worn her hair down today—not up in her usual high ponytail—and hadn’t even brought her favorite pink sunglasses, hoping that might make her less recognizable.

“Molly?” Liv asked. “You okay?”

“I keep having this weird feeling. Like someone’s watching me.” Molly forced a laugh, trying to keep it light. “Which is stupid, I know. There’s been a lot of negative comments online recently and maybe it’s getting to me.”

Liv didn’t laugh, though. She looked concerned. “You think someone’s watching you? Have you seen anyone?”

“No.” Molly shifted uncomfortably in her seat. It sounded ridiculous, saying it out loud. “It’s just a feeling. One night Scott’s dog started barking at the open window. Scott was gone, and it freaked me out. Probably nothing, though. Dogs bark at random noises.”

Although Hoopi never did.

Liv leaned forward, concern creasing her forehead. “Have you told Scott?”

“No. I don’t want him to be worried.” She took a bite of her crepe—delicious—and tried to look as if she wasn’t worried, either.

“It sounds like something you should be worried about.” Liv’s voice was firm. “What if someone tried to break in?”

“Probably some teenagers hanging around, looking for crimes of opportunity.” Neighbors had told Molly there’d been break-ins on the street, wallets taken out of cars, and stolen bikes. That sort of thing apparently happened every summer.

“Still.” Liv didn’t look convinced.

“How are things with you?” Molly asked, ready to turn the conversation away from herself. “How’s your Cute Beard Guy?”

Liv’s expression changed from a concerned frown to a careful smile. “Good.”

---