“I think I have a stalker.”

CHAPTER 7

Before she explained, Antonia felt the need to get dressed. She slipped behind the curtain that separated the sleeping alcove from the rest of the cottage and pulled on fresh clothes. Lightweight sweatpants, sweatshirt, athletic socks and sneakers. It was cool in the cottage now that the sun had gone down. She’d never gotten spooked out here by herself—until she’d heard Hank whistling his Disney tune.

She sat on the bed and tried to collect her wits, staring at the pillows and blankets. She’d never spent an entire night with Hank. But he wasn’t going anywhere tonight, especially now that she’d told him she might have a stalker.

He’d want to know everything.

Well, she thought, there wasn’t all that much to tell.

She rejoined him in the outer room. He was fully dressed and making tea, pouring boiling water from a dented pan into two mismatched mugs. The wind and rain had died down, and Antonia wondered if they were a leading edge of the hurricane or an entirely separate weather system. Hank had the National Weather Service radio on. A static-filled report indicated that Hope had picked up speed but lost a bit of its strength as it hit colder northern waters. It probably would be downgraded to a Category 2 storm by morning, but was still a powerful, dangerous hurricane. A tropical storm watch was up for the Cape and the islands—it would undoubtedly be upgraded to a hurricane watch before morning.

So much for her island refuge, Antonia thought as she sank onto a rickety chair at the table. Hank glanced at her expectantly, and she took in a breath and began. “I’ve tried hard not to jump to conclusions.”

And she told him, as if she were reciting a patient’s vital signs to a colleague, about the instant messages, the whispers in the garage, the billowing curtains. Hank didn’t interrupt. He just went on making tea.

Finally, she sat back in her chair and sighed. “It’s probably just a series of unrelated coincidences.”

Hank glanced at her. “Have you ever had strange instant messages?”

“No. I normally don’t have instant messages at all. I don’t even know how I ended up with that feature on my computer.”

He brought her a mug of tea, the tea bag still dangling over the rim. “Have you ever had someone whisper your name in a parking garage?”

She shook her head. “But I could have imagined it—”

“Did whoever it was whisper Antonia or Dr. Winter?”

“Antonia…Antonia Winter…Dr. Winter. At least, that’s what I heard.” She winced, touching the end of the tea bag with one finger—it was one of her tea bags, not one of the ones left in the cottage. “Or think I heard.”

“And the curtains—you don’t have a cleaning service?”

“No.”