At the coffee shop, he had told me he hadn’t seen or spoken to the woman—who I didn’t know was Jennifer Bates at the time—in several weeks. But the text exchange showed they’d traded messages just that morning. And Blake wanted to come over and see her before she left for work because he wanted the letters back. And he didn’t want her to show them to anyone. The messages were terse and blunt, but when Blake said he was coming over to see her, Jennifer responded: It’s a free country.

She didn’t exactly tell him not to come, but it didn’t sound like she wanted him there either.

It was safe to assume Blake had gone to her house after the message. And what had happened then . . . ?

Then my phone began vibrating, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

I fumbled my phone when I tried to pick it up, and it fell into my lap.

As I finally corralled it, I wondered if the message was coming from Jennifer. Or whoever was controlling her account. And whoever was controlling her account and sending requests must be the killer.

Right?

But when I checked the screen, I saw it wasn’t from Jennifer.

It was a text from Amanda.

I know you’re at the game. But if you get this can you give me a call?

She knew I sometimes brought my stuff to the gym floor with me. There’d been a few break-ins in the locker room, especially late at night, and some of the guys I’d played with brought their valuables—wallets, keys, phones—to the court, where they were safer.

My throat was dry as dirt, and I swallowed as I called her.

I told myself to keep my voice steady. Calm.

“Hey,” I said when she picked up. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt the game. Can you talk?”

“I can talk.”

Would she notice the lack of noise in the background? No cheers or shouts? No bouncing balls?

“Look, I’ll make this fast, okay? Hell, maybe I shouldn’t have even called.”

“Go ahead. I’m glad you did. It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. Well, I just wanted to tell you something.”

Once again, I was amazed at how calm Amanda could be, how coolly she could step back from her own feelings and speak clearly about them.

“I just wanted to say . . . I wish you hadn’t gone to that game. I know I said it was okay, but after you left, I really wished I’d asked you to stay. Maybe it’s silly, but I started kicking myself.”

“I wish I’d stayed too,” I said.

“Really? No fun?”

“No fun at all.”

“Well, then, why don’t you come home? Why don’t you just grab your stuff and walk out?”