Jonathan turned the ignition off in his car and slowly got out. Clyde quickly walked up the sidewalk to greet him. His face was solemn. Jonathan stiffened and waited for Clyde to approach.

  “Jonny, I . . . I swear I didn’t know what it was. I guess it came in the mail yesterday, but I didn’t check my mail till this mornin’. It was addressed to me.” He flipped it over to show him the front. “I didn’t know—I mean, I just started readin’, and then I figured it out.”

  Jonathan stared hard at Clyde, whose eyes were wide and voice was trembling. He slowly reached out and took the envelope from Clyde.

  “How much did you read, Clyde?” Jonathan asked, his jaw muscles tight as his teeth clenched together.

  Clyde dug his hands deep into the pockets of his Wranglers. “Enough.”

  Jonathan backed away from Clyde, down the sidewalk, and toward his car. Though two stamps were stuck to the upper right corner of the envelope, it didn’t have an ink stamp indicating it had gone through the mail system. Jonathan’s eyes lingered a bit longer on that, then he looked back at Clyde with narrow eyes.

  “How long did you think you were going to get away with all of this, Clyde?”

  Clyde took a step forward but Jonathan backed up more. Clyde stopped and held out his hand. “Wait a minute. You don’t think . . . Jonny, I didn’t. . . . You don’t think I’m sendin’ that stuff to you?” Clyde swallowed.

  Jonathan felt his throat swell and his eyes sting. “I don’t know what to think.”

  Clyde fumbled over his words. “I’m sorry I read it, Jonny. I didn’t know it was for you. I wasn’t expectin’ to get anything like that at my house.” He shuffled his large boots. “And why didn’t you tell me you and Kathy were havin’ troubles?”

  Jonathan felt like someone just squeezed all the air out of his chest. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, the book said that—” Clyde stopped and seemed to crawl inside himself when he looked up at Jonathan. “I’m sure that’s just a bunch of garbage, right? ’Course it is.”

  Jonathan was completely unaware that his shaking hand had moved itself up and over his mouth. His only indication that he might be as white as a ghost was Clyde’s sudden move toward him. Clyde grabbed his elbow.

  “Jonny, for heaven’s sake, sit down.”

  Jonathan yanked his arm away from Clyde. He opened the door to his vehicle and grabbed the lighter. Before he could stop himself, the envelope and its contents were on fire. He threw it to the cement ground and sucked the smoke through his nostrils as if it were a pleasant fragrance. In some ways, he felt a sudden surge of power over the situation. But his emotions contradicted one another, because in that same instant, he felt he might have just thrown away his only real clue.

  Clyde stood silently by his side and watched with him as the fire quickly engulfed it until all that was left were a few charred pieces. Clyde moved away a dry leaf that the fire had hoped to attach itself to, and without anything else to burn, the flames disappeared.

  Clyde raised his heavy body to a tall stature. “You know I ain’t writin’ this, Jonny.”

  “Do I? Do I?” Jonathan turned and walked to his vehicle.

  As he lifted himself up and into his SUV Clyde called after him. “I think you and your family might be in—”

  Jonathan never heard the rest of it. He had rolled up his window and driven off.

  ------

  Jonathan felt sick inside. He was disappointing his family—Meg had cried when he left the house to see Clyde this morning—and now he was battling an invisible enemy. As he’d watched the flames engulf the pages of that manuscript, a sense of danger had overwhelmed him. The fact that they revealed he and Kathy had been having trouble meant that whoever the writer was had walked the halls of their house. And Clyde had walked the halls of their house hundreds of times.

  Chills crawled his spine and the hair on his arms stood straight up as he meticulously checked every lock in his house. Could it be possible someone was watching every move he made? He had talked himself in and out of the idea that Clyde was the author. Clyde knew them better than anyone, yet why would he write something so brutally eerie? He knew Clyde too well to believe he would want to harm his family. Yet if it wasn’t Clyde, then who? No one knew them better.

  He unscrewed every telephone receiver and checked it for a tiny microphone or something. He saw nothing that looked out of place. As he descended the stairs of his basement, his pulse raced with fear. If someone had been in their house, perhaps they stayed in the basement. Predictably, the single light bulb that hung from the ceiling midway down the stairs popped and went out when he flipped the light switch. Nevertheless, there was enough illumination from the small window in the back of the basement to allow him to search. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A pad of dust lined nearly everything; boxes piled to the ceiling crowded every corner. Still, though everything looked in place, Jonathan found a hammer and nailed the tiny window—barely big enough for a child to fit through—shut.

  “What are you doing?”

  Jonathan’s foot slipped, and he tumbled off the ladder and hit the cement floor with a thud. He heard two feet scurry toward him, and when he rolled over and opened his eyes, Kathy was bent over him.

  “Jonathan! Are you okay?”

  Jonathan moaned and slowly tried to move each of his limbs. Everything seemed to be functioning normally, though his back felt as if someone had hit him with a two-by-four.

  “I’m okay. You scared me to death.”

  Kathy grabbed his face, still worried. “What were you doing up there?”

  Jonathan tried to get up, but his body seemed to weigh a ton. “Kathy . . .”

  “What?”

  Jonathan let his head drop back onto the floor and he closed his eyes. Everything was spinning, and it wasn’t because of the fall he’d just taken.

  “What are you doing down here in the basement on a ladder?”

  He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to grab her and hold her and make her hold him. His body trembled. But his instincts kicked in and told him not to frighten Kathy with the circumstances.

  Kathy grabbed his hand. “Does this have to do with the phone call from Clyde this morning? You rushed out of here so quickly, honey.”

  Jonathan swallowed. Though Meg had begged him not to leave, Kathy seemed more understanding. And even now her voice was concerned, not angry. Maybe things were changing between the two of them. Maybe he needed to tell her everything.

  After one final sigh, Jonathan managed to sit up with his wife’s help. He looked into her concerned eyes and said, “Yes.”

  “Is Clyde okay?”

  “Remember the manuscript I told you about?”

  “Yes . . .”

  “Remember I told you that the manuscript never mentioned you and the kids? Well—” Jonathan could hardly get the words out. “It mentions you, Kathy. The whole event surrounding how we met was in there.”

  Kathy stood, her eyes never leaving Jonathan’s, and dusted herself off. “The library?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why isn’t the light working in here?”

  “The bulb burned out.”

  Kathy walked up the stairs toward the light from the kitchen, then sat down on a step, facing Jonathan. Her hands were clasped together as if in prayer.

  Jonathan stood slowly and took a few steps up toward her. “Kathy, have you told anyone about . . . about the problems we’ve been having?”

  Kathy frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. Have you told anyone we’re having problems?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What you’re meaning to say is, have I gone around blabbing our problems all over town?”

  “Have you told Clyde?”

  “No!”

  Jonathan took a few more steps toward her. “Kathy, I’m not angry. I just need to know. Have you told anyone?”

  Kathy looked him in the eye. “Is it in that stupid book?”

  Jonathan pressed his lips together. “I’m not sure. I burned the pages this morning without reading them.” Kathy looked at him curiously. “That’s why he called this morning. Clyde supposedly received more pages at his house, but I never opened the package.”

  “Then why are you asking who I’ve told about our problems?”

  Jonathan reluctantly said, “Because Clyde read a few of the pages and . . .” Jonathan couldn’t even finish. He suddenly felt intense frustration building inside him, and the very thought of having to explain it all exhausted him to the point that he couldn’t say another word. He stood and walked past Kathy.

  As he reached the top step, Kathy said, “I told Pastor Gregory.”

  Jonathan didn’t turn around. He didn’t have the energy. “You told him what?”

  “I told him we’d been having some problems. That it seemed our marriage was falling apart right before our eyes. I asked him to pray for us.”

  “He’s the only one you’ve told?”

  “Yes.” She paused, then said, “He told me not to give up.”

  Jonathan turned around. “Give up?”

  She had tears in her eyes. “He said you were worth fighting for, and that I should do everything in my power to save our marriage. If I did that, God would take care of the rest.” Kathy didn’t even bother wiping the tears that now flowed from her eyes. Her eyes searched him intensely.

  Jonathan smiled a little. “Well, I guess I’ll have to go see if Pastor Gregory has written any books lately.”

  He started to leave, but he heard Kathy say, “Jonathan, I’m scared.”

  “Honey, I’m taking care of this. I’m going to go see Clyde this afternoon and find how much he read of those pages and what was in them. Then I’m going to go see Pastor Gregory. I swear to you I’ll find out who is writing this.”

  Kathy stood. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  Jonathan shook his head, not understanding.

  “I’m scared you’re going to walk out the front door one day and not come back.”

  Jonathan lowered his head, wanting to say something, but instead he continued out of her sight.

  ------

  Jonathan played everything over and over in his head. If Clyde had really received the manuscript in the mail, it would’ve been metered. But there was the chance someone had stuck it in his mailbox after his mail had arrived. Either way, Clyde was a suspect.

  Even so, he knew he had to find out what those burned pages contained. What was in there could hold the only clue to who was writing this, whether it was Clyde or someone else. The problem was, the only person who knew what was in those pages was Clyde.

  “Can I get you some tea?” Clyde asked precariously as they stood on his back porch. “I promise I won’t poison it.”

  Jonathan looked up at him, gave an uneasy smile, and declined the offer. He leaned against the wood railing that circled the back porch and took in the view. The sun’s bottom just touched the horizon, setting the land on fire with an orange light. Its warmth glowed on his face, but a soft, cold wind tickled his back and threatened to grow stronger as night approached. So many times he’d sat on this porch, relaxing in the swing or sitting in the wicker chairs, talking to Clyde about books or many other things, watching the kids swim in the small lake a couple hundred feet away. But now the tall, lovable teddy bear of a man he’d come to think of as a father seemed as much a stranger to him as his real father. A wall of uneasiness separated them, and Jonathan could do nothing to change that. Clyde was a suspect, and he had every reason to believe he was sending those pages. Jonathan just didn’t know why.

  Clyde had disappeared into the house to fix himself iced tea, then emerged again wearing an old ragged cardigan that his wife had knitted for him when he was fifty pounds lighter. Jonathan smiled a little at the sight of the poor sweater stretched to its maximum, buttons missing and holes starting underneath each armpit.

  Clyde joined him at the railing, and for a while they just appreciated the picture Mother Nature was painting before their eyes, though it was doubtful either one of them was really thinking of that at all. Clyde finally spoke up.

  “I don’t think you’re here to shoot the breeze with me, are ya, Jonny?”

  Jonathan shook his head without looking at him.

  “And you think I’m the one sendin’ you those pages of that manuscript.” Clyde said that statement definitively, and Jonathan didn’t feel the need to add anything to it. After drinking his tea, Clyde continued. “Then why are you here?”

  Jonathan turned his head to look at Clyde. “I want to know what was in those pages.”

  “Why?” Clyde moved to a wicker chair as if he was too tired to stand any longer. He carefully lowered himself down and slowly bent his knees into position, wincing in pain at the arthritis that always flared up in the fall. “I mean, Jonny, if I’m the writer and you’ve found your man, why do you care what was in there?”

  Jonathan looked down and rubbed his temples. “Clyde, I swear if you’re doing this . . .” Jonathan looked into his eyes. “I want to believe you’re not. It’s just that things aren’t adding up, and now my family is involved.”

  Clyde set his tea down and pointed for Jonathan to sit across from him. “Whoever it is that’s writin’ this, Jonny, is messin’ with you. You understand that? They’re involvin’ people you know so you don’t know who it is, and you’re suspectin’ everyone, includin’ me.” Clyde wiped the condensation off his glass with his sleeve. “First it comes in the mail, and now it’s hand delivered to my mailbox. Don’t you get it? They’re hidin’ their tracks.”

  “Maybe that’s what you want me to believe. Make you an obvious suspect so I don’t suspect you.”

  Clyde cocked his head sideways. “Well, I suppose you can psychoanalyze this all ya want, Jonny, but the fact of the matter is that you got some real trouble on your hands. Someone knows everything about you, and they’re going to make sure you know it.”

  Jonathan stiffened. “They don’t know everything.” Clyde raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Whoever it is.” The fact that years were missing in the manuscript was the only clue Jonathan had that the writer wasn’t some supernatural, omnipresent being. Someone had a lot of information, but not all of it.

  “Well, they got enough.”

  Jonathan crossed his legs and tried to get comfortable in a wicker chair that seemed to warn with every little movement that it could collapse at any moment. “How many pages were there?”

  Clyde held up his pointer finger and thumb a half inch apart. “About that many.”

  “Where did it start? With what event in my life?”

  Clyde thought for a moment. “Well, it seems to me there was the story of your daughter’s birth—”

  “Which one?”

  “Meg’s. Said in there what hospital she was born at, what time—”

  “All public record,” Jonathan thought out loud.

  “And how blown away you were by the birth, that it radically changed your life.”

  “Shot in the dark.”

  “What?”

  Jonathan looked up at Clyde, almost forgetting anyone else was around. “Nothing. Continue.”

  “Anyway, then it went into some vague descriptions about your life between children. Kathy’s attempt to return to work. Your big break with Bromahn & Hutch. Basically just a lot of info.”

  Jonathan eyed Clyde carefully. “A lot of info. You said you were sorry to hear we were having trouble. That was in there.”

  “Yeah, toward the end. It seemed to all move chronologically, like someone was just outlinin’ your life. There was some detail, but I gotta tell ya, Jonny, the writin’ isn’t that good.”

  Jonathan smiled tolerantly at Clyde. “Yeah, well, maybe a really good writer is disguising that very fact.”

  Clyde pressed his lips together. “Maybe.”

  “Continue, please.”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I wasn’t payin’ close attention to detail, ’cause I wasn’t expectin’ you to burn it.”

  Jonathan sighed. “Clyde, just tell me what was in there about Kathy.”

  “Well, if I recall correctly, the story started with your weddin’—”

  “I thought you said it started with my child’s birth.”

  Clyde paused. “Nope, it definitely started with your weddin’. I remember there was a nice description in there about it and how there were hundreds of lilies everywhere. Lilies are my favorite flower.”

  “How convenient,” Jonathan sighed. “Clyde, let me get this straight. Basically the first few pages outlined my marriage to Kathy, the kids’ births, and our careers.”

  Clyde thought about it. “Yep.”

  “So where does it start in with our troubles?” Jonathan asked, embarrassed to even have to discuss it with anyone.

  Clyde circled his ice cubes around in his tea. “Well, I think it just sort of implied throughout the story that you two were growin’ apart. I mean, it never really gave details in that area, but it was apparent that trouble was brewin’. ”

  Jonathan placed his head in his hands and scratched his face. “So was it past trouble or present trouble?”

  “Well, like I said, it implied about it in the past, though there wasn’t anything specific. But it seemed the more toward the present it got, it started givin’ more details, specific fights—”

  “What fights?”

  “It talked about a fight you and Kathy had about three years ago, right after Sophie was born. You ended up cancelin’ a vacation or somethin’ because you had to work with a writer on her deadline.”

  Jonathan nodded. “That happened.”