“Let’s put a pin in that,” I interrupted. “Anyway, I’ve been avoiding being alone with him at work, but yesterday he came up to me, chatting like nothing had happened. I snapped at him a bit—not as much as I wanted to, of course, since we were standing in the gallery in full view of patrons, but enough that he seemed upset.”

“Upset enough to do something like this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” A thought suddenly came to me, and my spine straightened, each vertebra tingling. “Wait. You know what? Rosalind got headless flowers, too.”

“The doll? Someone sent the doll headless flowers?”

“In one of the dioramas,” I clarified, grabbing my phone and opening the museum’s Instagram account. I quickly found the photo I had in mind: the little blonde doll standing in her doorway, looking befuddled as she held a paper-wrapped bouquet of stems.

“Here. Look at this.”

Cat’s eyes widened. “Audrey, you posted this yesterday. That can’t be a coincidence.”

“I know,” I said, nodding. “I’m wondering if Lawrence used it as inspiration.”

“Have you talked to Lena?” Cat asked, taking the phone and beginning to scroll through the comments. “Hasn’t she had problems with him, too?”

“Yeah, but …” I trailed off as I saw the color drain from Cat’s face. “What is it?”

“Have you seen this?” she asked, turning the phone to face me and pointing to a single comment: Roses are red, violets are blue, some flowers are headless, you could be too.

“Jesus Christ,” I gasped, my hands shaking as I snatched the phone from her. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

“Missed it? Do you have to approve the comments?”

“No, but part of my job is to read them all and delete things that are inappropriate. You’d be shocked how many morons think our posts are the best venue for a dick joke. I delete hundreds of trash comments every day. But last night I blew them off because Nick was over, and then this morning I was exhausted when I was reading through them. I must have just glossed right over this.”

I tapped the name of the offending commenter, someone calling themselves “zoomie098.” They used an avatar of a sunglasses-wearing wolf as a profile picture and a Chris Farley quote as their bio, and their grid was a mishmash of reposted memes in a bad imitation of FuckJerry. I relaxed slightly. I was almost certain this was just a lame attempt at a joke. Almost. I screen-capped the profile for reference and then deleted the comment.

“Nick came over?” Cat asked sharply.

I looked up, surprised. “That’s what you’re focusing on right now? Someone posted a rhyme about cutting off my goddamn head and you’re on my case about Nick?”

“I just don’t understand why you waste your time with him, especially since I thought you were interested in Max.”

“Nick just dropped by to hang out,” I said with a shrug.

Cat gave me a dubious look.