Page 62 of Romance Is Dead

“No,” I admitted.

“So, all we’re reporting is the notes?”

Bile rose in my throat in disappointment. “Just the notes.”

Larry the cop wasn’t thrilled I’d waited so long to come in.

“You’ve been hanging onto these for how long?” He squinted as he took my phone to peer at the photos. The three of us were in Larry’s office, a space with terribly unflattering fluorescent lighting and piles of paper that should probably have been securely filed away somewhere. I’d already told him about the note I’d received that morning and had moved on to the one I received the day after Trevor’s death.

I squirmed in my seat. “Um, a few days?”

“And why didn’t you report it then?”

“They told me not to. I was worried for my—for our—safety.”

Larry sighed heavily as he handed me back my phone. “We’ll need copies of those photos for our records.”

“Absolutely.”

“And you need to tell us if you receive any more of these.”

“I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Larry leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his ample belly. “Now, I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to find the perpetrator of these notes. We don’t have much to go on. But since they allege that a crime has been committed, we’ll be heading out to that set of yours to talk to a few folks.”

“Ok.” My voice was shaky. I reminded myself that this was what I wanted—for the police to believe that Trevor’s death had been intentional. But now the killer would know I’d ratted them out to law enforcement. My skin crawled, feeling like the killer was in the room with us. Watching. Like they already knew what I’d done.

Next to me, Teddy reached out and put a reassuring hand on my back, his thumb moving slowly up and down. My heart rate relaxed. I took a deep breath—slowly in and then out, reminding myself that this was the right thing to do. The police had to know what was going on. And hopefully, they’d be able to help.

Because I really didn’t want to think about what would happen if I’d just put myself in harm’s way for nothing.

Chapter Twenty

Teddy and I were quiet on the drive back to the hotel. I rested my head against the window, watching the little town’s shops roll by. It was hard to believe it’d only been a few hours since Brent had laid on the grass, gasping for air.

Unbidden, the images started rolling back.

Brent, grinning at me before the smile died from his face. Chloe, her face contorting in horror as Brent collapsed on the ground. The paramedics, their expressions falling as they checked for a pulse. Then it was back: the feeling of not being able to get enough air, like my heart was going to burst.

I gripped the armrest, my knuckles turning white. “I can’t go back to the hotel.”

“You ok?” Teddy took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at me.

“Yeah, I. . .” I ran a hand along my collarbone. “This is just a lot.” I took a deep breath in, held out, pushed it out, held it again. Just like Teddy had taught me. Several cycles and I started to feel better. But only just.

Worry flickered in Teddy’s eyes but he said nothing as he let me breathe. We motored along and after a few minutes of scanning the road, he pressed on the brake and flicked on his turn signal.

“Here we are.”

“Where’s ‘here’?” I craned my neck to see out the window.

“You’ll see.”

Moments later, Teddy and I were standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring up at a sign reading “Mothman Mini Golf.” A giant cutout of the cryptid crouched on top of the sign, only one of its eyes glowing red.

---