Before she knocked on the door, Lucas opened it. “I’m probably overreacting, but...it’s just weird.”

“I’m glad you called,” she said. “This is my dad, John Merritt,” she said as they stepped inside. “Is your roommate home?”

“Troy’s at his girlfriend’s. I called him after I talked to you. He said the note wasn’t there when he left at seven.”

“I assume there are no security cameras?”

“No,” he said. “I don’t have a Ring or anything. This is a pretty safe neighborhood, you know—nothing much happens in Flagstaff.”

Of course, having grown up here Regan knew that wasn’t true. There were plenty of car thefts, burglaries, assaults, and rapes. Maybe to Lucas it just seemed that way because it was safer here than where he’d grown up in Phoenix.

“Where’s the letter?” she asked. “I assume you touched it.”

“I didn’t know what it was. It could have been from my landlord.”

Regan slipped on gloves that she’d had in her truck. Not that it would matter: Lucas’s prints were all over it, and if someone didn’t want to be identified, they would also have worn gloves. But it was a good habit to maintain, not touching potential evidence.

The standard white envelope was generic. The Sharpie and painstakingly formed letters helped disguise any distinctive characteristcs. It was difficult to tell if the writing was male or female.

The message brief and to the point.

LEAVE IT ALONE.

The author had put a period after alone, bold and larger than a dot, as if they held the marker down for a length of time. To punctuate the point? Or because they were angry? Thinking about writing more? Considering?

The red ink was ominous. Danger, a threat, blood. The method of delivery—at home, under the mat—sent another message: I know where you live.

The threat was subtle, but Regan was certain it was meant to coerce Lucas to end the podcast.

Regan asked Lucas for a plastic baggie, then slipped the letter and envelope inside so it could still be read. She handed it to her dad. “What do you think?”

“The police won’t do anything. It’s not a clear threat, but you should contact Detective Young and let him know about it.”

Lucas glanced at Regan. “How’d your conversation go?”

She should have called him after, but that’s when she’d received the divorce papers and she wasn’t in the mood to discuss the podcast. “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’ll take you to breakfast.”

“Okay,” he said.

She took the baggie back from her dad. “May I keep this?” she asked Lucas.

“Sure.” He glanced at John, then said to Regan, “I updated my website tonight. When I was at the studio, about an hour before I got home.”

“Do you think that’s relevant to this message?” she asked.