Page 24 of Fight or Flight

She could tell. “Thanks. I enjoyed my work. I still do, despite my fears. Without my work, I’d be one screwed-up woman. More screwed up, anyway,” Katherine added, a wry grin lifting the corner of her mouth.

“What can I do to help?”

She nodded. “My family had a housekeeper in Dallas, and she had a little girl around my age. I can’t remember her exact age, five or six, but her name was Tracie. She was my best friend until I was sent away to boarding school. I never saw her after that. I often wondered what became of her. I even tried searching for her when I was working, but, oddly enough, I didn’t know her last name, so it was useless to continue my search. Fast forward. I have a Friendlink fan page; your granddaughter may know about it. People come and go. There is always a rush of new fans after a book is released, but I’m rambling.” She took a sip of wine. “I act as the moderator, but I also have an account set up for . . . I guess you could call it my alter ego. This alter ego is a teenager who visits the fan page daily.

“A young girl joined the fan page recently. She seemed eager to make a friend. I felt bad for her, and we chatted. I was trying to be nice. Some girls are downright mean; others remind me I’m glad I never had children. I gave the girl my phony email address, because she implied her dad was not the nicest man in the world. She said he hit her occasionally.

“She emailed, asking if I would help her. I responded by telling her I’d call the police, but then I began to wonder—if she could email my alter ego, why couldn’t she email the police, a teacher, or maybe a neighbor? So then I get another email. This one said, ‘I know who you are, selfish bitch,’ and another said, ‘Be careful Darby, he knows you.’ ”

“Darby’s the alter ego?” Doc asked.

Katherine nodded. “What doesn’t make sense is that two people are seemingly sending the emails from the same address. After the last email, I checked the girl’s online profile and saw she had added her last name and phone number. It matched the number she’d shared during a chat. My old reporter instinct kicked in, so I Googled her name. Her name is common, though spelled slightly unusually. I found an obituary for Tracie Denise Collins, survived by Karrie Lynn Collins of Dallas, Texas. Maybe I’m losing it, but I think this Tracie is—rather was—my friend. And now she’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, K. Though both are common enough names,” Doc said.

“I know, but here’s the kicker—the obit said Tracie was also survived by her mother, Audrey. That was Tracie’s mother’s name. So is this girl on my fan page in trouble? Should I reach out to the authorities with this information? Was her mom the little girl I knew when I was a kid? All of this seems way too far-fetched, but the strange messages make me wonder if this is just a teenager being a teenager, or if Karrie’s connection is legitimate. When I read that obit, I panicked.”

“What’s your gut tell you?”

Her instincts had once been excellent, fine-tuned as a violin. But after spending almost a decade alone, Katherine hadn’t any need to use her natural skills. “Nothing. That’s just it. I could be making more of this than necessary, or it’s possible Karrie is in real trouble. Though why reach out to a total stranger on a fan page? Or does she know my pseudonym? My real name. That’s what concerns me. Supposedly someone knows who I am and sends me those weird emails. I don’t know if I should take this girl seriously, call the police, or what. I needed to share this with someone who could advise me. I’m not sure what, if anything, I should do.”

“Could you contact your publisher and see if they’ve received any similar emails on that website you have? It’s probably nothing more than a prank. Some bored kids may have done some online research on their favorite author. If not, contact the authorities or her school. Does she list where she goes to school on your fan page?”

“No,” Katherine said. “Though I can email Gayle. She’s my editor. My publisher maintains the website. They’d tell me if anything was awry. I can ask if any similar emails have been sent to the website, though my identity is pretty secure. I don’t see how one could find me, or a connection to my past, as I’ve been extra careful not to reveal anything about myself personally or my pseudonym.”

“Good idea, though I don’t know how that works. You’ll want to stop whatever they hope to accomplish if it’s a kook. Some folks have bad intentions, K. You gotta watch out for them.”

She was very familiar with crazies with bad intentions. She almost let it slip that she’d been in Boston on the day of the bombings but caught herself. “It’s not as though I’m in the public eye,” she said. “I’m pretty sure no one around here other than you know what I do for a living. Any correspondence I receive from my publisher is by email. I don’t ask for copies of my books, as I have no need for them.”

“You’re quite the mystery, according to Bethany, my granddaughter.”

She smiled. So the granddaughter had a name. “You’ll have to keep me a secret, Doc.”

“Yep, just as I’ve been doing all these years, kiddo. I take my medical oath seriously, even as a vet. I respect my pet patient’s owner’s privacy, as well.”

“I know, and I am so grateful. I couldn’t deal with the publicity if the locals learned the weird mountain woman was K.C. Winston.”

“Stop that kind of talk. Who cares what people think?”

“Thanks, Doc. You’re one of the good guys,” she said.

He laughed. “Glad you think so.”

She finished her glass of wine. “It’s true. So what are your thoughts? Am I overreacting?”

He sighed and finished the last of his wine, shaking his head. “There’s not a physical threat, at least one you know of. Whoever is doing this wants to stir up trouble, maybe scare you a little. I’d leave it alone for now. Though I’d call that publisher of yours and tell them what’s happening.”

“You’re right. That makes sense,” Katherine said. “I’ll wait and see if this turns out, as you said, to just be some kook wanting to scare me.”

“I’m glad I could help. Now, I need to get home and get a bit of shut-eye. Four in the morning comes early when you’re my age.” He stood up and took his glass, placing it in the sink. Both dogs, lying on the throw rugs scattered about the kitchen, jumped up when they saw Doc stand.

“Sit,” Katherine said. The dogs sat, but she knew they were waiting for her to tell them to “go” so they could follow Doc out to his truck and romp about one last time before calling it a night.

“You need me, K, just call. It’s just me at the house,” Doc Baker said.

She wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t spoken of it. But he had, and she was glad. “Doc, are you alone? You know, alone as in single? Widowed?”

“And why would a pretty gal like you want to know?” he asked, his eyes alight with humor.

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