"Like retracing her steps?" asked Rob.
I nodded. "Like that."
"I can email you everything within a couple of hours. I already started keeping a log," Juliet told me. "I really appreciate you taking this on. I can't live like this anymore, not when I feel so suspicious of everyone. I just don't understand why this is happening."
"Don't worry about the why. Let me work on that. I'd appreciate the list as soon as it’s ready. You have my details."
"I'll walk you out," offered Rob. "Do you think this is serious?" he asked after Juliet and I said our goodbyes and he walked me to the curb. It was entirely unnecessary in a safe neighborhood like this, but he obviously wanted to talk out of earshot, and I couldn’t turn the opportunity down. Rob could have valuable insights, and I needed everything I could get. Juliet was right about her stalker being anyone, but I still hoped I could find some connections in the incidents that she reported.
"Could be," I said.
"That's not a yes or a no."
"My experience tells me Juliet isn't making this up. How someone is targeting her is the first thing I need to look into; and that should tell me who, and also why."
"I must be honest with you. I convinced Juliet to see a therapist about all of this."
"She didn't mention that."
"She's embarrassed. She doesn't want anyone to think something is wrong with her... you know, mentally."
"Do you think something is wrong with her?" I asked, searching his face for some kind of clue that he wasn't the supportive fiancé Juliet believed he was.
Rob paused, his lips twisting at one side. "Juliet loves her work, but it can be highly stressful; and she's planning our wedding too. Did she tell you she's also pregnant? I think it's all too much for her. I'm worried that she's having some kind of delusional trance, and she's doing stuff without knowing she's doing it."
"So why did you install the home alarm system?"
He looked directly at me, and his face grew stern. No, not stern. Worried. He was desperately worried. "Because if I'm wrong, and I might be... if someone's doing this to her, then she could be in danger. I will do anything to protect her."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
Chapter Three
I wore pink pajamas with little, winged pigs printed on them. They weren't sexy, but very comfortable as I curled up on my couch, some toast on the plate next to me, and perused my notes. The more I thought about it, the more I decided this case wasn't the kind I could solve easily; but wasn't that what I wanted? Something juicy? Well, I asked and the universe delivered; this was going to be a tough one. From what Juliet told me, it seemed like her stalker was being very careful to mess with her, but in ways that were little, and almost insignificant, until, like Juliet said, all those little things combined together to make one very big problem.
Grabbing my phone, I checked my emails one more time. Juliet still hadn't sent over the list and I wondered what was taking her so long. Perhaps the incident list was longer than she thought; or maybe she couldn't think of a single person who gave her unwanted attention to write down. From first impressions, she seemed a nice person, so I thought the latter was more likely the case. Switching off the email app on my phone, I checked my notes again.
Written on the first sheet was Who? I followed it with spurned lover, ex partner, jealous friend, angry friend, angry or jealous relative, stranger. All, but the very last would be easier to investigate, and all warranted a big question mark. A stranger would take much more work and surveillance, and I lacked both the means and the opportunity to watch Juliet all day long. Gone were the days when I could tag team with a colleague on an in-depth job like this. I was on my own now, and that made it even tougher. I probably could have called Solomon and requisitioned one of my former colleagues, but pride stopped me. That, and the possibility that he could say no; I wasn't sure what I would do with that.
I turned the sheet as I stuck the pen in my mouth, chewing the plastic tip. Why? That was almost impossible to answer. Stalkers rarely needed any reason. Anything could set them off; and sometimes, they didn't even realize they were doing it, or so I'd heard them claim. Sometimes, they even thought the attention was warranted, as if it were a fun game that their victim secretly enjoyed. I added a big question mark to the whole page and started a new sheet.
This time I wrote How? Did the stalker have access to Juliet's home? If so, how did he or she acquire keys? Builder? I wrote. Then, tradesman? I planned to ask Juliet about that. If she had any work done on her home, perhaps she trusted her workers to come and go, giving them plenty of opportunity to access her house and her car keys. Car keys? I wrote on the next line. Juliet claimed someone moved her car. It seemed unlikely that a thief would steal her key, then her car, only to park it several spots away. The purpose of moving her car only spaces away purely to mess with her seemed more probable. Yet with only two sets of car keys, and the other set being held by her fiancé who was ostensibly out of town, I had to assume either her key was copied, or the other key was stolen at some point and returned without either Juliet or Rob noticing.
Flipping through my notes one more time, I felt a cold shiver blast through my torso. For the stalker to have succeeded in all the creepy, little games I knew about so far, they had to be really smart and really sneaky to avoid getting caught. Most likely, they were growing very confident in their harassment. Far from being a Mom-and-Pop case, I knew I had my work cut out.
Much as I wanted to stay in my pajamas, under a blanket and eating toast all day, I couldn't. Juliet depended on me to help her end this creep’s fascination with her and I had more investigating to do.
Heading upstairs to the bedroom in my bungalow's attic space, I cast off the pajamas and reached for sky blue pants, a cute, white sweater and cream flats, perfect for whatever kind of day I might end up having. My notes safely in my purse, and my mascara superbly applied, I checked my reflection in the mirror one last time. I had to remind myself not to be so vain before heading out to my car. I pointed it in the direction of the coffee shop where Juliet's car mysteriously moved four spaces over. If I were lucky, I might find someone who could remember Juliet, or the car.
The coffee shop was quiet this midweek morning and the parking lot that serviced it, along with a hardware store, a travel agent, and a couple of smaller businesses, was almost empty. Like Juliet, I parked in front of the fire hydrant. For a few minutes after parking, I simply watched what was going on in and around the glass-fronted coffee house. The lunch crowd hadn’t started filtering in, and it wasn't a large enough establishment that parents with strollers could meet and chat. A few people passed by, shopping bags in hand, and a couple of loud guys in suits jostled each other on the sidewalk before entering the coffee house. They returned only minutes later with takeout cups. I saw my cousin walking the beat and we waved. I didn't see anyone overtly suspicious, but that didn't surprise me.