was forced to agree. She’d come home to lick her wounds postdivorce. A threatening note—it was weird.
“Is it possibly a joke?” her aunt said after a beat of silence.
“I thought so at first,” Liv admitted. “I’ve never been one to inspire this much drama, but the police think it’s something more.”
“The police may be wrong.”
“True. And if they aren’t?”
“You need a man around here,” Marie said. “And that isn’t me trying to meddle. Maybe put out some big shoes so that people think you have a boyfriend or something. A male presence might help.”
Useful. Except she did have an officer making his services available in that department. Maybe she should take Jack’s offer more seriously.
“Anyway,” Marie went on, “we’re having a family barbecue at our place and wanted to invite you. Unless, of course, you’re too full—” She looked toward the paper plates again, and Liv’s irritation simmered back up. She was tired of the constant nagging when it came to what she ate. Yes, she was plus-size, but how on earth did that make her lunch anybody else’s business? It had been like this since she was young and well-meaning extended family tried to be a “good influence” on her.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Auntie. I’ve been reading some articles on dementia,” Liv said, fixing her aunt with her most concerned look. “And there are brain exercises you can do to ward it off.”
Marie coughed, the color draining from her face. “I’m sixty.”
“I know.” Liv held the eye contact meaningfully. “Should I print off the articles for you?”
Marie turned for the door. “No, you should not.”
“Because if you change your mind, I’ve saved them all!” Liv called after her aunt, who hauled open the door. “There are some games that your children can play with you to help keep your mental faculties sharp, as well—there’s one with a brightly colored ball.”
“Hilarious, Liv. Point made.” Marie shot her a scathing look over her shoulder. “I hope you’re advising your mother of these mental exercises, too!”
“Only when she criticizes me for eating lunch,” Liv quipped.
“Fine. I’m sorry if I offended you, but I do care. Are you coming tonight or not?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Liv said with a sweet smile. “See you.”
Marie stomped out of the store, and the newly installed bell tinkled cheerily at her exit. Liv smiled to herself, enjoying this brief victory. She was tired of explaining herself, her food choices, her divorce...all of it. But did she really want to attend this barbecue just to have her aunt mentally tally up her calories? She was tired of being the big girl who nibbled carrot sticks while everyone else gorged on ribs, only to make up the difference when she got home again, ashamed of herself on too many levels. No more faking it. She had to start trusting her own observations and stop worrying about everyone else’s. Easier said than done sometimes, but she had a feeling that, like most things, it was a matter of practice.
Liv stood motionless for a few beats as her aunt disappeared down the street, and Liv’s irritation slipped away, leaving her feeling mildly guilty. It was stupid—her aunt had been insulting her, and yet she felt bad for having given her a taste of her own medicine. But that’s how she’d always felt when she stood up for herself—guilty. That needed to stop, too. The door swung slowly shut but stopped a couple of inches short of closed.
Liv sighed and headed over to see what was blocking the door. It was a small package wrapped in brown paper, Mrs. Kornekewsky written in black marker across the front. It seemed to have tipped from the corner into the doorway as her aunt left.
Kornekewsky wasn’t her name anymore—she’d been quite happy to shed it. But someone was clinging to her marriage...
Liv bent and picked the parcel up. She held it for a moment, wondering whether she should call Jack now or open it herself. Curiosity won out. If someone was going to all this trouble to scare her away, she wanted a clue as to who it was.
She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut the tape, peeling back the paper to reveal a small teal-colored box. The lid came off easily, and she looked down at what seemed to be a collection of photos.
She tipped them onto the counter, careful not to touch them this time—they were a collection of grainy pictures that looked like they were taken on a cell phone, and they showed Liv in various places about town. The grocery store, the library, at a street corner... And nothing else. No note. No explanation. She eased the pictures back into the box, clamped the lid back down and swallowed against the bile rising in her throat.
Mrs. Kornekewsky. Her heart hammered, but under the panic was a certainty—this was connected to Evan. Somehow, maybe even in someone’s fevered mind, this was connected to her cheating ex. Was there no getting rid of him, or had their marriage entangled him in her life irrevocably?
Liv pulled open the drawer where she’d put Jack’s card and rummaged around until she came up with it. She fumbled as she dialed, and it rang three times before he picked up.
“Detective Jack Talbott.”
“Jack. It’s me... It’s Liv. I got a package. Not last night...sometime today. I didn’t see anyone, but when Marie left—” She swallowed, knowing she wasn’t making sense.
“Liv. Slow down. What’s happened?” Jack said.
“I received a package at some point after I came down at nine this morning,” she said, trying to compose herself. “It was addressed to Mrs. Kornekewsky, and it contains pictures of me.”
“Okay.” Jack’s tone turned curt. “Don’t touch it again. I’ll be right there.”
“Thank you.” She sucked in a breath, and she suddenly felt better. She wasn’t alone in this. And while Aunt Marie might think this was only a joke, Liv was now convinced otherwise. It would take a sick person to joke around like this.
“And lock the door until I get there,” Jack said. “See you soon.”
Liv ended the call. All of her earlier bravado had evaporated, and she stared at the box on the counter with a shudder. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out who’d hate her this much or what it had to do with Evan. Jack seemed to think it might be Evan, but while he might be a cheater, he still had some respect for her as his ex-wife. Maybe Jack could figure this out faster than she could. Her aunt was right—she needed a male presence around here, and a pair of decoy shoes wasn’t going to cut it.
* * *
CHIEF SIMPSON EXCHANGED a look with Jack as he hung up his phone. A few officers in the bull pen were typing away on their paperwork; the coffeepot gurgled to one side. Jack tucked his phone into his pocket and rested a hand on his belt.
“It would appear that the pictures worked, sir,” Jack said. “Kudos to Buchannan for the drop-off.”
This was the most adventure this precinct had seen in decades, or would
