She goes on to explain that the audio file is consistent with the others I’ve received since the first day of fall.

“Cheesy rhymes, insulting, and promising your death,” Lucy says.

In each of them the Italian-speaking voice has been synthesized. The lyrical baritone sounds like my father, who died when I was twelve.

SHE FINDS THE AUDIO file on her phone and turns up the volume as high as it will go, touching PLAY. The familiar computer-manufactured voice begins loudly:

Torna di nuovo, K.S. A grande richiesta!

The rhyming cyber-threats greet me with the same opening line every time. Translated: Back again, K.S. By popular request, no less! And as I listen, I feel blood vessels dilate in my face. My pulse picks up.

I don’t want to hear a voice that sounds like his because then he’s in my mind again. As if my father’s still here. As if he’s still alive. But he’s not. What I’m hearing isn’t him, and he would never talk to me unkindly. He would never wish me dead, and pain flares. I go hollow inside.

“I don’t have time to deal with this now.” I tell Lucy to stop the recording, and she does. “You think Tailend Charlie is Carrie Grethen. That’s what you’ve come to tell me,” I address the elephant in the room.

“I think she’s behind it, that it’s part of something else she’s up to. Yes. That’s where I am in this.” Lucy’s face is defiant.

“You’ve decided it.”

“Because I know.”

“And I needed to be told immediately because if Carrie is Tailend Charlie?” I fill in the blanks. “Then maybe she’s also the one who disguised her voice and called nine-one-one about me. Maybe she’s doing everything that’s going on right now including magically interfering with the damn tent so I can’t work the damn scene.”

“Try not to get so irate. Especially not in this heat. It’s not good for you.”

“You’re right, it’s not.”

“I believe she’s in league with whoever Tailend Charlie is.” Lucy’s green eyes are unblinking. “Carrie’s found someone to help her. It’s her MO. It’s what she does when she’s mounting her next major offensive. She builds her army of two.”

“Her latest Temple Gault, Newton Joyce, Troy Rosado.” My mouth is as dry as paper, and I take another swallow of water, careful to keep my sips small so I’m not constantly looking for a piddle pack.