Page 46 of Finding Forever
Alex typed something on his laptop. “According to my calculations, there’s a ninety-eight percent chance the photo will be sent to Eric’s agent in the next twelve hours.”
I studied the spreadsheet, noting the chilling accuracy. “There are two things wrong with your prediction. First off, the stalker must know the police can track his emails and letters. Why would he keep sending them? And secondly, the stalker doesn’t know if my agent’s sending me the letters.”
“You disappeared from Brooklyn,” Riley countered, glancing at Alex. “I’d say that was a big clue as to whether you know about the stalker. What if the break-in was his way of telling us he knows where you’re living?”
I sat back in my chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Then he’s not as smart as he thinks he is. If the burglar and stalker are the same person, we know what he looks like. Once the police have compared the fingerprints, he’ll be arrested.”
Alex’s jaw tightened. “I hope for your sake it’s sooner rather than later. For the record, I’m with Riley. I don’t believe he was the target. Even after the burglar triggered the alarm, they had time to grab a couple of paintings. But they didn’t take anything from the studio or the rest of the house. Either they were looking for something specific, or they realized they were in the wrong side of the cottage.”
“Or they didn’t expect the house to have an alarm,” Riley added. “If the burglar was looking for high-value art, they wouldn’t have found any. The canvases on my side of the cottage are at least ten years old. They aren’t something a collector would want.”
“Have you had the paintings valued recently?” I asked, my mind racing with possibilities.
Riley shook his head. “They’re not as good as the ones I paint now.”
“When an artist sells their work for more than fifty thousand dollars, even the earlier paintings can reach high prices.”
Heat rose to Riley’s face. “How do you know how much my paintings have sold for?”
Alex slowly lifted his hand, guilty as charged. “That would have been me. My only defense is that I’m a professional snoop and couldn’t help myself.”
Riley took Alex’s admission of guilt better than I would have. “Don’t believe everything you read. The ones that sell for that much are usually large canvases. I paint a lot of smaller ones, too.”
“I didn’t purposefully look for what you earn,” Alex told him. “The sale price of some of your paintings appeared on one of my searches.”
Riley shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. But in case you’re wondering, I’m not a billionaire.”
Alex seemed relieved. “In that case, I’ll buy you a coffee next time we’re in town. Now, what about the stalker?”
I pointed to the spreadsheet. “I’ll be the first to admit there are similarities between my first novel and the stalker’s movements. But that doesn’t mean he’ll keep following the rest of the story.”
“Check out these stats,” Alex said, turning his laptop around. “The predictability algorithm is off the charts. From when your agent received the first message, the stalker’s actions have mimicked your book almost exactly.”
Alex might be a genius with computers, but relying on an algorithm to anticipate someone’s behavior didn’t sit well with me. Especially when they were comparing a fictional character, living in a make-believe world, to a real person who should be locked away.
“Aaron Connelly never broke into someone’s home,” I reminded Alex.
“But he did travel across three states to find the person responsible for the woman’s death,” Alex replied.
“And look at this.” Riley pointed to the entry that matched the date of the break-in. “Jericho Walton, aka your novel’s bad guy, broke into an associate’s apartment to steal thousands of dollars. I don’t have that kind of money lying around, but the principle’s the same.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Why couldn’t Riley see how much danger he was in? “If Riley stays in the cottage, and that’s a big if, how will he look after himself?” I directed my question to Alex, but Riley jumped in.
“Hello. I’m sitting right here.” He sent a pleading look in Alex’s direction. “Someone with immense technical know-how could stay with me. Between my self-defense moves and his ability to predict the future, we have all contingencies covered.”
“Except for one crucial fact,” Alex said half-apologetically. “We’re dealing with someone who’s mentally unstable. If I stay with you and something happens, I’d never forgive myself. Eric’s right. You shouldn’t stay here on your own. Your mom would be the first person to agree with us.”
At the mention of his mom, Riley’s shoulders sagged. He sat silently, staring at the spreadsheet. “Okay. I’ll stay with you for a few days, but that’s all. Do you have somewhere I can paint?”
“My mezzanine floor will be perfect.” Alex sent Riley a reassuring smile. “You’ve made the right decision.”
Moving to Alex’s home solved one problem, but it didn’t remove the biggest hurdle. “When do we leave?” I asked.
Alex closed his laptop. “My house is ready whenever you are.”
I stared at Riley.
“A local television station already knows about the burglary,” Alex said. “We should move fairly quickly. What about seven o’clock tomorrow morning?”