N. Walters: Craig's Heart

Evie Pelowski stared at the check the owner of Espresso Yourself—a local coffee shop that carried her artwork—had just handed her. “He bought all three of them?” She was sure she couldn’t have heard right the first time.

“Yes, and asked if we knew how to contact the artist.” Amy pushed a heavy lock of black hair out of her face. “Of course, it’s policy not to give out the address of any of the artists we carry.

According to Karen, who did the deal, he said he really liked your use of color.

She told him she’d try to get some more of your work.”

Her head spinning, Evie tucked the check in her front pocket for safekeeping. Not only did this money mean she could pay her rent on time, but she could also buy groceries and some art supplies. “Did he leave his name or a card?” She was still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the idea that someone liked her work enough to buy three pieces. One, sure. She’d been supporting herself solely with her art for several years now. It sold well from this coffee shop and a few other local businesses that carried her.

Amy shook her head. “No, he didn’t leave a name.”

Evie shrugged. It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was three of her larger pieces had sold. She’d been afraid Amy was going to tell her she wanted to remove the paintings from the shop because they’d been there so long.

The last thing she’d expected was cold hard cash.

“How about I buy you an espresso to celebrate?” Amy slipped behind the counter and began to make the coffee drink.

Evie slid onto one of the stools at the window bar, basking in the sunshine coming in from outside. She dumped her bag onto the empty seat next to her and then pulled out the check Amy had written her. She stared at it. The number didn’t change. The corners of her mouth tilted upward.

Maybe her luck was changing.

But a week later, Evie was sure that her luck was definitely not changing for the better. She was late for a friend’s gallery opening and it seemed every light on the way there was red. Her phone started ringing and Evie dug it out on the second ring. The light changed and she, along with a dozen other people, stepped off the sidewalk and across the road. “Hello?”

There was silence.

“Hello?”

“I love the sound of your voice.” The person on the other end was male and his voice has a slight accent. It also wasn’t familiar.

“You have the wrong number.” She should have checked the number before she answered, but she was in a hurry.

She was about to end the call when he spoke.

“No, Evie, I don’t.”

She stopped dead in her tracks and a man walking behind her almost bumped into her. He muttered an apology and hurried by her.

“Who is this?”

“A lover of your art. Soon to be your lover.” He laughed and it raised the fine hairs on the nape of her neck. This was beyond creepy.

She ended the call and hurried toward the gallery two blocks away. Her phone rang again. Even knowing she shouldn’t, she answered it. “What?”

“Do not hang up on me again, Evie. I don’t like it.” There was anger in his tone. She was getting totally freaked out.

“I don’t know who you are or how you got my number, but this isn’t funny.

Leave me alone.” She ended the call and breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the gallery. Several friends saw her and waved. She went toward them, grateful for anything to take her mind off what had just happened.

Evie would have written it off as nothing more than a slightly obsessed fan of her work—something to be cautious of, but nothing to really worry about—

but two weeks had gone by since the night of the first phone call and the mysterious caller wouldn’t leave her alone. Furthermore, his actions had escalated.

Evie glanced over her shoulder but kept walking down the sidewalk. It was just past seven in the evening, but it was dark. Night came early in November.

But there were other people out and about so she wasn’t alone. Nothing to be afraid of.

Breathe.

There was no one following her.

She hurried up to a building that housed a clothing boutique on the first floor and a bunch of tiny studio apartments on the remaining two. Evie unlocked the entrance, stepped inside and pushed the door shut behind her.

Thankfully, the lights illuminating the stairs were bright. No one was lurking.

No one was waiting for her.

She needed to head upstairs to her apartment, but her feet refused to move.

There was no safety to be found there.

Twice in the past two weeks she’d walked in and found a red rose waiting for her on her bed. The lock hadn’t been tampered with and the window was undamaged. Then she’d started getting notes. They were short but to the point.

He loved her artwork and wanted her exclusively for himself. There was no doubt whoever her mysterious patron was he was following her. He not only knew her phone number, he knew where she lived, and somehow he’d found his way into her home.

She’d filed a report with the police, but there was really nothing they could do to help her. She had no idea who was leaving the roses. Sure she knew it was the same man who’d purchased her paintings. There was no one else it could be. But for some reason, Karen at the coffee shop couldn’t really give the police a good description of him. Her memories were vague even though she’d tried really hard to remember him. Evie couldn’t blame her. Karen saw hundreds of people every day. Why would she remember some guy she’d only met once? Brown eyes, brown hair and well-

dressed was the best she could do. That described half the businessmen who went through Espresso Yourself every day.

The nice officer she’d spoken with had told her to change her lock again, to make sure she was always aware of her surroundings and to keep her cell phone handy at all times.

She’d done all that, even added two more locks, but they hadn’t made her feel any safer. She was considering moving, though she couldn’t really afford to.

Evie shifted the tote bag on her shoulder, hitching it higher, and took the stairs one at a time, her boots clicking against the scarred hardwood stair treads. She stopped on the first landing and went down the short hallway to the second door on the right. Her new locks gleamed against the bright blue door.

Her keys jingled when she pulled them out of her pocket and unlocked all three locks. She opened the door, reached in and turned on the lights. She could see the entire apartment from the doorway. The tiny kitchenette took up one corner of the room, the daybed took up another. Bookshelves covered one entire wall and housed her small television. The tiny café table and two red metal chairs sat in front of the lone window. The only other room was the bathroom.

Evie stepped inside and shut the door, making sure it was secured before she set her bag down on the floor. She made herself look at her bed and sighed with relief. No red rose waiting for her this time. No note either.

She took off her coat and hung it by the door before wandering to the refrigerator. What would she have for supper? She wasn’t really hungry, but knew she should eat something. Maybe she’d call for takeout. The Asian restaurant down the road delivered. No way was she going back out there tonight. Not with her unknown stalker out there.