Page 142 of Dying to Meet You
“Mom? What are you doing?”
She glances up, clearly exhausted. “I got some new information. Tim asked a friend to run some background checks before he died. She’s good at that. Today she gave me the names he wanted her to check, so I’m doing some research.”
The mess makes more sense now. Natalie’s own bed looked the same way during finals. “Did you learn anything?”
“Yes and no. There are a lot of names, and they’re mostly partials. But I have some ideas.” She lifts a sheet of paper from the coffee table. “Tim didn’t reveal where all these names came from. But his friend cracked the code. These at the top”—she points to a section of names that she’s circled in pink highlighter—“were found in news stories via regular Google searches. And the names below are from the birth ledger I found at the mansion—the ones Tim took off my phone.”
Natalie scans the list of mothers’ names, noting the gap between the early years and the eighties. “But I thought you’d found Tim’s birth? In 1979?”
“I did—but later,” her mom says with a wave of her hand. “Tim only saw the sample pages—plus four names in back.” Her mom hands Natalie her phone so she can look at the photo. It’s a picture of four names: M. McNamara, T. O’Neil, B. Jones, and C. Vespertini.
The four names are printed at the bottom of the paper list, as well.
“Wait, do you think B. Jones...” Natalie glances at her father.
“Is my mother?” her dad finishes the question. His elbows are propped on the back of the sofa as he leans over to listen.
“Possibly.” Her mother takes the phone back, squinting at the photo like it might reveal more details. “The first time I saw this, it didn’t occur to me.”
“Why would it?” he asks, perching on the back of the sofa. “Jones is, what, one of the top hundred most common names?”
“It’s thefifthmost common surname in America,” Mom says. “And you weren’t exactly top of mind when I found the ledger.” She picks up her list of names again and stares at it. “I’m trying not to see things that aren’t there.”
“Hey.” He puts his hands on her mother’s shoulders and digs his thumbs into the muscles there. Her mother visibly tenses. But he doesn’t let go. And after a second, she relaxes. “I know you’re doing good work here, and that this is important. But what if you and Natty drive over to your dad’s house, so you could forget about this for a few hours, and get a good night’s sleep?”
She squints up at him. “You think I’m losing it.”
“I think you’re tired,” he says carefully.
“My life has been taken hostage by a freak who wants... vengeance? I don’t even know what he wants. Of course I’m tired.”
He digs his thumbs into her shoulders again. “Do you feel safe in this house?”
“I don’t feel safe anywhere right now,” her mother says. “We could wake my father up and sleep there. But for how many nights? The wallet was meant to scare me, and it did. But it’s not the only thing I’m scared of. I can’t let yet another man control my life.”
Natalie’s dad winces. Like he knows he’s at the top of her mother’s short list of men who make things difficult.
“Look,” her mother says, casting the papers off her lap and onto the mess on the table. “Quick family meeting. Harrison, you’re looming. Move somewhere that isn’t there.”
Her father walks around the couch, shoves the papers aside, and perches on the corner of the coffee table. “Talk,” he says. “How can we get you out of this mess?”
“All we can do is be careful. Natalie”—her mother places a hand on her knee—“there’s a cop driving by our house every fifteen minutes. But do you want to sleep at Grandpa’s?”
“No,” she says immediately. “I want to stay here with you.”
“I bought you some pepper spray,” her mother says. “It’s up on your bedside table. I need you to carry it, and keep your phone on and handy atalltimes. If you don’t, swear to God I’ll microchip you like Lickie until they catch this guy.”
“Gross, Mom.” She’s pretty sure that isn’t even legal.
“And if your father isn’t working the same hours, I’ll pick you up. No exceptions.”
“Or Dad can get me on his motorcycle,” she says.
“No,” her mom says immediately.
“We’ll walk,” her father says.
“Or I’ll pick you up in the car,” her mother counters. “I just don’t want you on your own at night until this is done.”
