TweetyGram

31 - #Moonlight

Alright. This is it.

My pulse raced in anticipation. Holding my breath, I flipped the book open. The thrill of victory rushed through my veins for a millisecond as I spotted the author's autograph on the title page.

To my dearest Harriet.

A sigh of disappointment escaped me when I read the handwritten message the author had left under the signature. The book wasn't the same one Trish had given the Wolf.

I carefully put the book back on the shelf and glanced around the room.

Harriet was smart. If she had the book Trish had given the Wolf, she might keep it somewhere people wouldn't look. After all, even serial killers wouldn't display their trophies in their living room.

I crossed the room and checked the nightstand drawer. Inside the top drawer were a glasses case, a TV remote, a bottle of sleeping pills, three bottles of vitamins, hand and body lotions, a phone charger, a copy of The Punching Booth, and a stack of credit card bills.

Hmm.

Curious, I took a peek at the bills.

Paris was right. Harriet was deep in debt. All twenty of her credit cards were maxed out—at least until two weeks ago. Being a TweetyFluencer and Malibu, 90265's pet wardrobe designer wasn't enough to cover her lavish lifestyle. Strangely, she began to make large payments three weeks ago, and by now, she was left with a $50,000 debt.

I couldn't help but wonder how Harriet managed to gather $30,000 in such a short time. She could've gotten a third job or a loan from a friend. Or perhaps she'd sold her expensive stuff online. Nevertheless, suspicion lingered in my mind. Something didn't feel right.

Come on, Lindsey. How she got her money is none of your business.

I placed the bills back where I'd found them and continued searching for the signed Moonlight book. The second drawer held several hair and beauty devices—a blow dryer, a hair straightener, a curling wand—some questionable toys, and a hammer.

It was odd how she kept a hammer inside her nightstand. Then again, it had nothing to do with my investigation, so I shrugged it off.

I spent some time searching through the room, checking her huge closet and even under the bed, yet the book was nowhere to be found. If Harriet was the Malibu Wolf, she must've sold the book already, perhaps to pay some of her mounting debts.

Or maybe, Nat was wrong and Harriet wasn't the Malibu Wolf.

I was about to leave the room when the large, leather jewelry box in the vanity caught my attention.

The Malibu Wolf wore a distinct charm bracelet in one of their photos. If I could find the bracelet here, it would be solid proof that Harriet was the Wolf.

Cautiously, I opened the drawers one by one. The first and second drawers held tons of gold rings and fashionable earrings. The third drawer, however, was filled with different kinds of bracelets; bangles, cuffs, and charm bracelets—and one of them had a sunglasses-wearing pineapple charm.

The charm was similar to the one on the Wolf's bracelet, but this was brass-gold, unlike the Wolf's silver one. The rest of the charms on the bracelet were also different from the Wolf's.

Harriet's bracelet wasn't the same as the Wolf's, but my gut told me they were connected.

I checked the rest of the jewelry box and the vanity drawers, yet I couldn't find the bracelet. In fact, Harriet didn't own any silver jewelry.

Harriet was fluent in fashion. She knew what looked good on her and what didn't. The fact that she didn't have any silver jewelry in her possession meant it didn't suit her skin undertone—and that meant the chances of her being the Malibu Wolf were now slim.