Look Closely Read Free

first, just a bil and a few obvious pieces of junk, but I stopped when I came to the flat, business-size envelope with no return address. The envelope looked as if it had been printed on a personal computer, and there was a postage stamp with an antique car on it.
    Inside my place, I dropped my purse, my briefcase and the rest of the mail on the front-hal table, then slit open the envelope. I pul ed out a piece of folded white paper, and strangely, al my senses went on alert. The apartment was suddenly warm and stuffy. It smel ed dusty and stale, and my skin itched from the uncharacteristic heat. Holding the envelope and the stil -
    folded paper, I walked to the windows and cranked them open for the first time that year. Balmy, fresh air seeped into the room.
    I sat on the couch and unfolded the paper. Only two typewritten lines appeared there.
    There is no statute of limitations on murder.
    Look closely.
    “What?” I said the word out loud, but as I read the note again, some odd glimmer of comprehension began to ruffle my mind. It wasn’t that I recognized the words or the type. I was sure I’d never heard those exact sentences before, and I had no idea who’d written them, yet there was a flicker of understanding.
    The breeze from my windows felt too cool then, yet I didn’t move to close them. In fact, I hoped the air would help me breathe. Al at once, my chest and throat felt constricted, my lungs making shal ow movements. I told myself to stay calm and put the note down. But I couldn’t let go of the paper. I read the words over and over until I felt light-headed, and the words swam in front of me.
    Murder, statute, closely…
    The ring of the phone rattled me away from the letter. I blinked rapidly, final y getting that deep breath, and grabbed the receiver off the end table.
    “Hailey, it’s me,” Maddy said. “I’m early, and I’m two blocks from you, so I’m coming over.”
    I dropped the letter in my lap. “I need a few minutes.”

    “Why? What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing. It’s… It’s nothing.”
    “Whoa,” she said. “I know that voice. I’l be right there.”
    Five minutes later, she buzzed from the lobby.
    “What’s up with you?” she said when I opened the door, the letter stil in my hand. “What’s wrong?”
    I handed her the note. “I’m not sure.” I felt both sickandelated,asifonthevergeofsomediscovery.
    Maddy read it. “What in the hel is this?”
    I shook my head and took the note from her. I read it again, letting that flicker of comprehension grow brighter.
    “Hailey, what’s going on?” Maddy said, her voice cautious, slightly alarmed. She flicked her dark, ringletted hair over her shoulder.
    “I just got it in the mail,” I said inanely.
    “Who sent it?”
    I shrugged.
    Maddy groaned. “Why are you being so difficult? Give me the envelope.”
    I turned toward the couch and pointed to where it had fal en off my lap. It was now almost hidden between the cushions. Maddy’s heels tapped on the wood floor as she crossed the room. For some reason, I noticed that she was wearing an expensive-looking tan suit, one I hadn’t seen before.
    “The letter was sent from here in the city,” she said, lifting the envelope and pointing to the postmark. “Do you have any idea who sent it to you?”
    “No.” I looked down at the page, although I knew the words by heart already.
    “Wel , who was murdered? I mean, do you know who it’s referring to?”
    I felt that nauseous elation again, a sick swoop and dive of my insides. “Yeah, I think so,” I said. “My mom.”
    My lungs ached, but I ignored the feeling. I ran faster, heading south down Broadway, then rounding the corner at Union Square West, just barely avoiding a ful -frontal col ision with a falafel vendor. I kept running, my shoes making dul slaps on the concrete, until I hit University, where I turned toward my apartment. Almost there, almost there. My breath sounded ragged to my own ears, but I pushed past it.