Haunting-Adeline

It’s not hard to put Daya back into hacker mode. She slides her laptop
towards her and immediately starts tapping away on the keyboard. The
quickness of her fingers gives me a run for my money when I’m in a
par cularly good part in wri ng my book. She’s been known to have to
replace a few keys from how hard she types.
“So, me of death for Gigi was es mated about 5:05 P.M. Your greatgrandfather
claimed that he had run to the grocery store and when he
came home, he found her dead in their bed. I found some witness reports
claiming they did see John in Morty’s grocery store around 5:35 P.M. But
they didn’t specify if they had seen him walking in or out of the store, or if
they just saw him shopping during that me.”
I nod my head, twis ng my lips in contempla on. “In her last few journal
entries, she was fran c and kept saying that he was coming for her. She
never said who he is. But it has to be Ronaldo, right?
“So, maybe he waited un l John le and snuck in and killed her while he
was gone. He stalked her a er all, he’d know exactly when my greatgrandfather
would’ve le .”
Daya shrugs a shoulder, looking a li le unconvinced.
“But don’t the diary entries say that John was ge ng aggressive, and
Gigi said she was going to divorce him, right?” she ques ons.
I frown. “Well, yeah, but I don’t think he would’ve killed her. He loved
her too much.”
“Couldn’t the same be said for her stalker?”
No ng my expression, Daya sighs and rests her hand on mine.
“Addie, I love you and I’m going to say this with all my love. But don’t
project. I’m star ng to get the feeling that you want Ronaldo to be the
killer because in your head, that will criminalize your stalker, too. Please
tell me that’s not why you’re seeking jus ce for Gigi. Because you’re
looking for a reason to hate your stalker when in actuality, you don’t.”
I pull my hand from under hers and look away. Uncomfortable feelings
invade my body, preven ng me from speaking right away.
“I don’t need to look for a reason to hate him,” I grumble.
Daya cocks a brow, unimpressed with my a tude. I sigh, a headache
blooming right between my eyes. I rub at the spot, stalling as I try to figure
out what I want to say.
Because she’s not en rely wrong.