“Does your sister know where you work?” Opal asked.
“She shouldn’t,” I said. “I haven’t told anyone. I don’t have anyone to tell.”
I looked at the message again.
It had been sent from Monica’s phone. I knew that. But the photograph of my house could have been taken by anyone.
The gray sedan came into my head immediately. The man in the baseball cap with his phone pointed at the house.
“I think someone’s following me,” I said. “There’s been a car. Twice. A gray sedan, across the street. A man was taking pictures.”
I told her about the notebook under my mattress.
Opal didn’t panic. She didn’t gasp or grab my arm or tell me to call the police. She just took her phone back and looked at the message one more time, very calmly.
“Then keep everything,” she said. “Every message. Every license plate. Every phone call. We’re not going to hand them any information, and we’re not going to hand them any opportunities.” She put the phone back in her pocket. “And we’re not going to answer this.”
