The guy looks me up and down then shakes his head as he looks over the money again. “What are you, some kind of cop?” he asks.
“I’m her locksmith,” Max replies, deadpan. Like he might actually be thinking about returning to his old job.
“Yeah, I can do that. And next time, maybe ask before scaring the bejesus out of a man, huh?” he sighs, and Max offers his hand, apologizing again before the guy makes his way out past us again. Muttering something about just doing his job, getting too old for this shit.
Max looks at me, asking if I’m okay. His jaw still tense and something tells me he knows a lot more than I do somehow.
He’s normally so calm, in control.
But since we got to the city he’s been tighter than a coiled spring and I’m worried what’ll make him snap next.
Chapter Twenty
Maxwell
I should be relieved the delivery guy is just who he claims to be. But a part of me, a big part of me wants him to be Phoebe’s stalker.
Wanting it to be him so we can just get on with our lives after I nail him to the wall and hand him over to the cops.
But he’s legit. His story checks out and so does his truck full of the packages we bought yesterday.
Phoebe looks more scared of me than she does about going back into her apartment, but once she sees another telltale yellow envelope next to the card the delivery guy slid under her door, I feel her hands clutching at my arm.
“Max. Please tell me this is a mistake. Tell me that’s not another message,” she whines, a tremor in her voice that I hate hearing when I know she’s scared.
“I’m right here. Phoebe. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, okay?” I ask her, bending down to pick it up and the card the delivery driver left, noticing he’s left all his personal and company details on it so we can arrange delivery of our goods.
He’s not the guy, so then who the hell is?
Someone’s coming into this building and treating it like a game. They know Phoebe’s with me, and they knew we were coming back. Hell, they even tried to have all our parcels delivered here to prove their point.
I straighten thinking for a moment, wishing I had answers. Wishing I knew what to do next. Phoebe closes her front door and sets Trixie down, who seems as confused as the rest of us, sniffing the floor in two different spots where the envelope and the delivery card were.
Two different smells, huh Trixie? I thought so too.
But nothing I can sense apart from that.
Phoebe starts to arrange some boxes from against the wall, and I tell her we can come back if we need to. “We’ll take everything if you want.”
Wracking my brain for answers that just won’t add up, we both freeze and Trixie lets out a low growl when we hear a key in the door, the lock snapping open.
I press a finger to my lips and switch out the light, Phoebe scoops up Trixie in an instant and makes for the bathroom for cover.
I wait behind the door, ready to welcome whoever it is who’s behind all this once and for all.
A familiar voice saves them from a beating at my hands, and as the lights flicker on again I’m left even more confused.
“Well, at least this key fits…” The old man mumbles to himself cheerily, letting himself in.
My hand’s balled into a fist and poised to strike, but as the door closes I can see exactly who it is.
“Dad! What the hell are you doing here?” I ask, watching him jump out of his skin, a hand to his chest.
“Jesus Christ! Max, it’s you… I should ask what the hell are you doing here? In the dark too. Weren’t gonna slug me were ya?” he asks, looking as confused as I feel, Phoebe comes out from the tiny bathroom, clutching Trixie as I breathe out, trying to make sense of everything that’s happened today.
“Phoebe, this is my Dad,” I tell her. “Dad, this is Phoebe Gold.”
“I know, I know,” he tells us both, laughing nervously and extending a hand to greet her but shaking little Trixie’s paw instead.
“And this must be your little baby girl,” he adds with an exaggerated tone. “Very pleased to meet you both,” he says, turning to look me up and down with a frown.
“I spoke to Mrs. Peterson, brought up my master keys to try and see if one would work. I was trying to find out what happened to you both. I was in the area so I stopped by,” he explains.
“You just happened by huh?” I ask, creasing the side of my mouth.
“I did,” he replies instantly, honestly. “The owner of the building across the street called me up. Someone jimmied their door open sometime yesterday,” he says. “I was on my way over there but decided to come here first while I waited for the owner to arrive.