Page 94 of Ethan & Grace

[Outgoing call—unanswered]

Me:

Ethan? Are you OK?

Me:

Please talk to me.

Me:

Ethan???

The fact that he wasn’t replying had my stomach in knots. Even Henry, who was in full crisis-management mode, was managing to keep Kate updated.

I tapped the green call button again, but once again, Ethan didn’t pick up. Without stopping to think, I called Wallace. After the pub incident, Ethan had given me his number for emergencies.

He answered on the first ring. “Hello, Grace.”

“Hey, Wallace. Is Ethan with you?”

“No.”

“Do you have time to pick me up and take me to the hotel?” Taking the Tube probably would have been quicker, but I couldn’t shake what Kate had said about the journalists outside the hotel. I didn’t want to risk running into any of them.

“Of course. I’ll need about half an hour.”

“OK, I’ll wait. Thanks.”

We hung up, and I tried Ethan again. He still didn’t answer, so I sent him a message saying I was coming to check on him. I pocketed my phone and headed downstairs to wait for Wallace.

My dad was in the kitchen, drinking coffee. He had the day off too and was opening the mail. He looked up when he heard me.

“Hey, why the rush?”

I was already at the door, slipping on my shoes. “I need to get to The Darlington. I’m meeting Kate, and I’m running late.” Now wasn’t the right time to tell my dad about Ethan.

“Say hi to her from me,” my dad said with a smile. “This came for you, by the way. Should I leave it in your room?” He held out an envelope, and I stopped in my tracks—the last letter I’d received had terrified me.

“No, I’ll take it now.” I took the envelope before grabbing my jacket from the crowded coatrack and leaving the flat.

Wallace wasn’t there yet, of course, so I took a closer look at the letter. My suspicion was confirmed: There was no return address and no stamp. My pulse spiked. I tore open the envelope. Like last time, it contained photos.

I nervously glanced around, but I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary, so I turned my focus back to the photos. Again, there were three. One showed me through my bedroom window, the second in a café queue, and the third at the pub with Rose and Kate. The last one had clearly been taken in the middle of our argument. My hands began to shake, and I wondered if the man who had followed me from the pub was the same person who had taken these photos.

I flipped the photo over. The message written on the back was clear:

What did I tell you, Miss Claymore?

Stop asking questions. This is my final warning!

Shit! It didn’t surprise me that whoever had sent the letter knew I hadn’t called off my investigation. It seemed like they were watching me night and day, or had at least got someone to do it for them. It was messed up. I felt like I was stuck in some bad thriller, and I didn’t have a clue what to do. Giving up my investigation was out of the question, but I couldn’t keep ignoring the letters. I’d dismissed the first one as a relatively harmless threat intended to scare me, but this one cast things in a different light. Whoever had sent it clearly meant business.

The limousine pulled up, and I shoved the photos and envelope into my bag. Without giving Wallace a chance to get out and open the door for me, I yanked it open myself, slid into the backseat, and buckled up. I took several deep breaths, pushing the panic about the letter aside so I could focus, for now, on Ethan.

On the way to the hotel, I checked my chat with Rose and Kate again. According to them, in the two hours since the video had gone online, five employees had already quit, and many more were considering doing the same.

Half an hour later, Wallace parked the limousine in The Darlington’s underground car park. I thanked him and jumped out of the car as quickly as I’d got in.