“Don’t I know it. A tourist family came in here just yesterday. They were traveling and ended up passing through town, so they stopped by for breakfast. They complained because we don’t have something called snowman pancakes on the menu. Apparently, some big chain restaurant has them as a holiday special. Their little boy threw a royal fit over it and his parents were up in arms because we weren’t offering the same thing. You ever hear such nonsense? What can I get for you for lunch?”
She never brought us menus, but I order the first thing that comes to mind. Sam follows up with an order for a bacon cheeseburger and Pearl walks away.
“Remember me,” he says. “There’s no punctuation. Is it supposed to be ‘remember me?’, like the question? Or ‘remember me’ like the command?” He hesitates for a second. “Or the name.”
“What do you mean?”
“This feels like Catch Me. The taunts. The riddles.”
I shake my head. “No. Anson is in prison, and everyone in and out of Leviathan loyal to him and to Jonah are lying low. I don’t think they would risk getting weeded out and tossed in with their leader just to play some Christmas joke on me. This isn’t about that. This is about Julia.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“Julia?” Sam asks. “Your friend from college? Emma, I thought we already talked about this. You looked into it and couldn’t find out anything. She was never declared missing. Her family didn’t even think something happened to her.”
“I know that,” I tell him. “I was nineteen years old. I had no idea what I was doing. And just because she wasn’t declared missing doesn’t mean she isn’t. Nobody knows where she is, Sam. Nobody knows why she left or even how. They don’t know where she went or what she’s been doing since.”
“Were they ever able to trace anything about her? Any movements on her financial accounts? Use of her social security number?” Sam asks.
“For a few days after the last time she was seen, her bank account was used a few times. Minor transactions. Then all the money was taken out of her bank and the account was closed,” I say.
“Probably because she had no intention of still being in the state,” Sam says. “And that tells you what happened.”
“No,” I say. “It doesn’t. But this does.” I point to the card. “The last time we talked, we made plans to study and make Christmas cookies together. This isn’t a name or a question. It’s not even a command. It’s a plea. Hoping I haven’t forgotten. And that email. We used to have lunch together at least a couple times a month. That was our way of making sure even if we were really busy and had packed schedules, we had a chance to see each other.”
“What does this have to do with someone trying to get your information from the University?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe nothing. I do know this is about her. You always say there are no coincidences. Thirteen years to the month that she went missing. Someone riling things up at the school. These cards. What does that sound like to you?”
“If this is Julia, why would she do this? Why wouldn’t she just reach out to you? This person obviously knows your email address and where you live. She could just as easily send you a message telling you who she was, or she could have come to Sherwood. Just showing up at the house would have been a lot less disturbing than these cards. Why the games?” Sam muses.
“Just because it’s about Julia doesn’t mean it IS Julia,” I add, the words feeling bitter in my mouth. “You said there was a package. Was it with the card, or did it just come at the same time?”
“I think it was with it,” Sam says. “The labels look the same.”
I nod and get up. “Can you get our food packed up and bring it home? I need to go find out what it is.”
“Sure. I’ll see you there.”
I kiss him and rush toward the door, shrugging into my coat as I go.
The card sitting on the seat beside me, I drive home as fast as I can. Sam put the package right on the side table next to the couch and I grab it. Just as he described, the address label on the front is the same as the one on the blue envelope. Still no return address, but another sticker on the back.
I set the package down on the coffee table and use my phone to snap a few pictures of it from different angles. When I’m done, I pick it up and sit down on the couch. The package is a thick, heavily padded envelope. It’s not very heavy, but it has enough heft to it I know it’s more than just another card or piece of paper inside.
A thick piece of packing tape holds the end of the envelope closed, so I go to my office for a letter opener. I use the blade to carefully slice open the end of the envelope and tilt it to slide the contents out onto the coffee table.
It’s a small balsa wood frame, with little doors along one side. Each has a number faintly etched into it. The whole thing is so plain it takes me a few seconds to put it together that it’s an advent calendar. One of the simple kits sold at craft stores meant to be painted and decorated. It looks as if it was just assembled to the most basic level and sent.
I take a couple pictures of it, then stand it up on the table to look at it. There’s no note, no instructions. I try to connect it to the messages in the cards, but I don’t see how they link up. The only thing left to do is open a door.
I open the first door
