Page 48 of Archer

“Same pattern. Usually after performances, but not always. Delivered to wherever I was staying.”

“Any cards? Messages?”

“Never. Just the flowers and music boxes.”

“Have you noticed anyone following you? Watching you at shows?”

Harper shook her head. “I’ve looked. But when you’re performing, there are always people watching. It’s impossible to pick out one face. And on stage it’s hard to see anything through the lights.”

Nash nodded, writing. “What about stagehands? Do you have the same crew every time?”

“I don’t know the crews. They sometimes come with the venue. Other times, when I tour with larger names, the artists have their own teams.”

Nash thought for a moment. “How about your ex-boyfriend? Knox mentioned he’s been trying to contact you.”

“Blake. He was in LA when the music box was delivered here.”

Nash made another note. “Anyone else who might have reason to target you? Professional rivals, angry fans, anyone who’s made threats?”

“Not that I know of.”

The questions continued for another twenty minutes. Nash was thorough, professional, treating Harper’s case with the seriousness her home department had failed to provide.

When he finished, he closed his notebook. “I’m going to coordinate with Nashville PD, make sure everything’s properly documented. Looks like these guys have your home covered, and I’ll add a patrol to the neighborhood. If this guy shows up again, we’ll be ready.”

“Thank you,” Harper said. “You have no idea how much this means.”

“Sheriff, if I may?” Colton rose and carried his laptop toward us, a look of consternation on his brow. “I’ve been analyzing Harper’s performance schedule against the delivery dates. I’m picking up a pattern.”

Harper’s eyes widened. She looked at me then back to Colton as he placed the device on the table.

Nash leaned forward, studying the screen. Knox moved closer as well.

“This is the performance schedule Harper sent me,” Colton said. “I’d like to walk through it.”

“First, the Bluebird Café,” Colton said, pointing at the screen. “That was your first big break, right?”

She nodded. “I had the opening slot. It was a small crowd, but that gig led to a lot of big opportunities.”

“And two weeks later,” Colton said. “The first music box arrived.”

Harper crossed, then uncrossed her legs. She set the glass on the table, then picked it up for another sip. “I didn’t realize it was that close.”

Colton scrolled through the timeline. “Every delivery after that corresponds with a public appearance. You played the Listening Room, got a music box three days later. You opened at the Ryman, roses showed up.”

Knox leaned over to look. “He’s following her career.”

“Yes.” Harper poured a glass of sweet tea and sipped. “The gifts typically come after a performance. It was especially unnerving when I got the first delivery here. He broke the pattern, and he followed me. Again.”

“The bigger problem is that he always knows where you’re staying,” Nash said. “The deliveries didn’t show up at the venues. They came directly to you.”

“How would he find that information?” Knox asked.

Color drained from Harper’s cheeks, leaving her freckles stark against white skin. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“It’s what we need to figure out,” Nash said, making notes. “You haven’t posted your location on social media?”

“No.”