by Laura Wolfe
Beth smiled. I sipped from my cup, the hot liquid bitter against my tongue.
The next morning, I wandered through the aisles of the farmers’ market drinking in the fresh air. I stepped quickly and lightly as if I was getting away with something. It always felt dangerous and exciting to walk down the middle of a street where traffic had been blocked. I’d invited Beth to join me, but she and Amanda had already made plans to try out an exercise class at a workout place in town. Even on my own, the energy of the outdoor market was contagious. The vibrant hues of the produce and the aroma of freshly cut flowers made my eyes pop. I hummed a hymn to myself, thankful for the warmth of summer. I’d finally escaped the grip of the previous winter when the endless shades of gray had chilled my bones and kept me pinned under my quilt alone with nothing but my circling thoughts.
I picked up a stalk of rhubarb, turning it over, and setting it back down. The six-dollar price tag was highway robbery. I was on the hunt for local ingredients to add to the new recipe I’d decided to make for Ethan, One-hour Paella. Paella was a Spanish rice and seafood dish I’d always wanted to cook, but had never had the patience to let it bake for an entire day. This “one-hour” recipe was the perfect solution. I’d hoped to locate some fresh fish or organic green onions at the market, or anything else I could add to the mix, but being early June in northern Michigan, the variety of produce was lacking.
I continued down the line of tents, strolling past a booth selling local honey and another featuring freshly baked bread, its yeasty aroma causing my mouth to salivate. A high-pitched squeal and giggle cut through the hum of the shoppers. A booth toward the end of the aisle drew a small crowd. A few people paused, gawking as they continued past, others were immediately pulled in. Curiosity lured me closer. I had to see.
“Mommy, can we get one? Please?” a little girl’s voice said as I approached.
Beyond a makeshift wooden gate, five black-and-white puppies leaped and rolled, clamoring to climb on top of one another. The girl stuck her pudgy hand through the slat encouraging one of the puppies to lick and chew her fingers.
“Ha, ha, ha!” she squealed. “He likes me!”
A sign on the table above the puppies read: Humane Society Adoption Mobile: Puppies looking for good homes. In smaller print below, $185 adoption fee, spay/neuter & vaccinations included.
“Can we, Mom? Can we?” The girl turned her round eyes toward her mother, who crouched down beside her daughter.
“We already have two dogs, Lila,” she said. “We’ll let other people adopt these guys.”
“Oh, but I love him. I love him.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears.
“Not today, honey.”
Lila’s hand gripped the wooden slat of the gate as her mom attempted to pull her away. “No. No!” she screamed.
My heart wrenched for Lila. I knew exactly how the little girl felt. These roly-poly puppies might have been the cutest things I’d ever seen. I stepped closer, amazed by their tiny noses and paws. One puppy tumbled off the top of the pile and sat down, revealing a white stripe down the center of its round belly. It stared directly at me, and—I’d swear on Charlie’s grave—it winked.
“What breed are they?” I asked the woman who stood nearby wearing a purple Humane Society shirt.
“Our best guess is a Black Lab mix, but we don’t know for sure. Someone dropped them at a farm out in Pleasantville. They were brought to us a few days ago.”
My eyes traveled back to the winking puppy with the white belly. It now wavered on four stubby legs staring and me and wagging its tail.
“Look at the puppies!” A woman wearing a leather jacket and too much perfume shoved in next to me. Her eyelashes were thick and black like spiders. “Mike, we have to get one.”
“Can we hold it?” asked the woman’s husband or boyfriend. He leaned over the gate, chomping on a piece of gum and reeking of cigarettes.
The woman from the Humane Society entered the enclosure, bending over to collect a puppy. My muscles tensed, a terror ripping through me as she scooped up the dog with the white stripe on its tummy.
“I’d like to hold that one.” The sound of my own voice astounded me. I lunged forward to fill the space between the couple and the woman from the Humane Society. I’d been there first. They couldn’t just cut in front of me and steal my puppy.
The woman in the purple shirt nodded and handed me the furry bundle. “This one’s a male,” she said as she bent down to corral another puppy for the couple next to me.
“How old?” the perfumed woman asked.
“We think about nine or ten weeks.”
The warm mound lay in my arms, tail flapping up and down. He rested his head back and gazed at me, docile and sweet. I noticed white markings on his two back paws as if he’d trudged through wet paint. With my free hand, I scratched behind his ears, my fingers sinking into the silky fur. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning down and kissing him on his fluffy head. It had only taken a moment, but I’d fallen in love.
The Humane Society worker smiled at me. “Should we get the paperwork started?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I glanced away, the rational area of my brain slamming on the brakes. I’d never owned a dog before, at least not since Barkley, the beagle we’d owned when I was in grade school. The puppy squirmed in my arms, his tongue stretching toward my face.
My empty farmhouse and the rolling acres of land would be a dog’s paradise. Plenty of room to run. I thought of all the years Ethan had begged me for a pet, only to be denied because of Charlie’s allergies. This puppy could be his dog, too. Ethan would be over the moon at the surprise. And at the end of the summer, after Ethan had returned to San Francisco, and my renters had moved south, I’d be all alone for the long winter. A dog might provide some security and deter trespassers. It would be comforting to have a constant companion.
The puppy wriggled in my arms and sneezed.
“Bless you,” I said. He wagged his tail and blinked at me. I laughed.
My exercises from The Thirty-Day Life Coach workbook circled in my mind. Do something irresponsible. Do the opposite. Adopting a puppy wasn’t the most responsible thing in the world. It would certainly be the opposite of what I’d normally do.
“I like the one she’s holding.” The heavily scented woman pointed to the puppy in my arms.
Her gum-chomping boyfriend shoved in next to me. “Yeah. He’s cute.”
My hackles went up. They were trying to steal my puppy! I stepped back and squeezed the dog tighter, my arms refusing to part with the warm bundle.
I turned toward the woman from the Humane Society. “Yes. Let’s get the paperwork started.”
My new puppy lay asleep in his crate, which I’d positioned next to the sofa. He had a knack for getting into trouble, so I’d named him Rascal. The woman from the Humane Society hadn’t let me take my puppy home the morning of the farmers’ market. She’d said I had to wait two days to allow time for them to neuter him and give him his shots. I’d been disappointed, worried I’d talk myself out of my decision, but I’d rushed straight home and told Beth the whole story. She’d been delighted by the news, reassuring me that adopting the puppy was the right thing to do. So, I’d stuck to my guns. That puppy had been intended for me, not for that awful couple. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Ethan’s face when he arrived tomorrow and saw the adorable creature.
The TV hummed in front of me with the voice of a local newscaster, a white-haired man in a charcoal suit:
A local woman has gone missing. Her family is asking anyone who’s seen her to contact the police immediately.
I straightened up, causing Rascal to roll over and groan. The picture on the screen sent a dread prickling through my bones. The photo had been taken a while ago, but I recognized the missing woman. She wore a black V-neck sweater and a silver necklace. It was my former tenant and Beth’s new friend—Amanda.
“Oh, my Lord,” I said under my breath. Beth had just been out for dinner with Ama
nda a few nights ago. They’d gone to an exercise class together the morning I’d found Rascal at the farmers’ market.
Amanda Jenkins was last seen leaving The Castaways Bar and Grill in Petoskey late Friday night. The entire community, along with law enforcement, is hoping the young woman hasn’t met the same fate as Ella Burkholter, the twenty-six-year-old woman who was discovered strangled to death last month on the public beach. No suspects have been named in that case.
I gasped for air, my throat constricting. The Castaways. That was where Beth and Amanda had gone for drinks. They’d met there on Friday.
The handle on my front door rattled and I knew without looking that Beth was on the other side. Rascal yipped. I ignored him, my shaking hand opening the door.
“Something horrible has happened.” Beth’s hands flew to her face.
“I know. I heard.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“You saw Amanda the other day, didn’t you? At the exercise class?”
“Yes. No.” Beth closed her eyes and shook her head. “I was supposed to meet her there but she didn’t show up.”
“Did you call her?”
“I texted her. She never responded. I thought she was still mad at me.”
“Mad at you?”
Beth grimaced. “When we went out for dinner on Friday I said something stupid. She ended up storming out.”
“What did you say?”
“It was nothing.” Beth bit her lip and stared past my shoulder.
“Well, it must have been something. Why did she storm off?”
Beth waved her hand in the air. “I said something negative about the town. She took it the wrong way.”
“And you haven’t seen her since then?”
“No.” Beth’s body quivered, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rascal yipped again and I lifted him from his crate and carried him out to the front porch. Beth followed me, placing her hand on the puppy’s head for comfort.
I turned toward her. “You need to go to the police. Tell them everything you know.”
Beth nodded through her sniffles, glancing at Rascal then out at the trees.
I suspected the unsolved murder in town was adding to her fears. “I can’t imagine what’s taking the police so long to catch the person who killed Ella Burkholter.”
Beth’s eyes were fixed on something in the distance. “They’ll never catch the person who killed her.”
My feet staggered backward at the certainty of Beth’s words. “Why would you say that?”
Beth shook her head, her eyes snapping out of their trance. “I guess it’s just a bad feeling. Small-town police aren’t equipped to solve murders.”
“Oh.” I rubbed my palms on my pants, wondering how Beth knew anything about small-town police. “Maybe they’ll surprise you.”
“I won’t hold my breath.”
“But you’ll go down to the station and talk to them about Amanda?”
Beth wiped her eyes. “Of course. I want to help,” she said, her voice cracking.
I set down the puppy, who scrambled toward the grass, and patted Beth’s shoulder. “I bet Amanda is fine. Maybe she wanted to get out of town for a few days.” I motioned toward the tiny house. “She’s probably jealous of how you can pick up and leave whenever you want.”
Beth nodded.
“Let’s hope she caught a last-minute flight to Maui. I bet we’ll be laughing about this tomorrow.”
Beth didn’t respond. We stood shoulder to shoulder, observing Rascal who frolicked in the grass. Beth forced her hand into the pocket of her tight jeans. “I’ve been meaning to give you this.” She held out a key attached to a plastic purple key ring and dropped it into my palm. “You should have a key to my tiny house. You know, just in case.”
My fingers curled around the jagged metal object. “That’s smart. You never know when you’ll lock yourself out.”
Beth stared at me, her face stained with tears. I shifted toward my front door. “Let me grab an extra key for you, too. Especially now that I might need help with Rascal.”
As I stepped inside to retrieve a copy of my house key from the junk drawer, I envisioned the spare key pinned underneath my herb pot on the side of the house. My chest heaved, overcome by a wave of empathy for my former self. That was where lonely people kept spare keys, hidden in some secret spot in their yard. Peering through the window, I spotted Beth hunched over and stroking Rascal’s head. Despite Amanda’s mysterious disappearance, at least I wasn’t on my own anymore.
I returned a minute later, handing Beth my house key. “Would you like me to go to the police station with you?”
“Thanks, but I can go on my own. I’m sure you’re busy getting ready for Ethan.”
I squeezed her arm, feeling the weight of her anguish. My fingers tightened around her key ring. Beth was a true friend, a next-door neighbor who’d come to my rescue if I was ever locked out. I hated seeing her so upset. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that Amanda would turn up soon.
Eighteen
Elizabeth
Before
“This will be close to your natural color, but a little bit richer.” Caroline sprayed warm water from the detachable faucet. “The dye is all-natural and non-toxic.”
I balanced on a bar stool, head tipped back over the kitchen sink, as she massaged the water through my hair. When the last of the dye had been rinsed away, she wrapped my head in a towel and guided my head up with her hands.
“I feel like I’m in the salon,” I said, admiring my sister’s efficiency and the way she explained each step as she went along.
“I’m a quarter of the way through cosmetology school.” Caroline used the towel to squeeze the excess water out of my hair.
“Should you be there right now?” I asked, suddenly feeling guilty. I’d been so trapped inside myself, so focused on making it through each breath, that I’d barely asked her about her life.
“No. We’re on a break. I’ll start up again next month.”
“Do you like it?” I asked as she ran a wide-toothed comb through my tangles.
Our eyes met and she lowered the comb to her side. “Yeah. I really do. I want to open my own salon someday.”
“I’ll be your first customer,” I said. “For real.”
“Maybe wait to see what your hair looks like first.” Caroline stretched her eyes into a shocked expression, followed by a giggle.
“Good point.”
Mom and Dad had left four days ago to fly to Miami for their cruise. Eliminating my unnaturally blonde hair had been Caroline’s idea. “Screw Jason,” she’d said, “you looked better with dark hair.”
Caroline held a hand mirror in front of my face. “What do you think?”
I studied my reflection; my wet locks were an intense hue of molasses. The new hair color had drastically altered my appearance. Although the darker shade was nearly identical to my natural color, I almost didn’t recognize myself. That’s what living a lie for so long did to a person. Jason had buried my authenticity. Now Caroline had excavated it. The woman staring back at me in the mirror was changed, hardened. She was someone who’d reclaimed a piece of herself.
“Wow.” My fingers touched the strands near my face as if they might not be real. “Thank you.”
“I’ll go get the hairdryer. You’ll look like a million bucks.”
Darkness descended outside the living room windows as the local news droned on TV. The screechy voices of the two newscasters on Channel 7 annoyed me, but I couldn’t be bothered to pick up the remote.
Caroline leaned forward from her seat in the armchair. “What are you doing?”
“I’m searching for evidence.” My hands flew through the receipts that Jason and I had kept in our “paid bills” box. I couldn’t stop thinking about my recent phone call with him, about how nonchalant he’d been about taking another woman into our bed. He was obviously a cheater, but I needed to know how big of a liar he really was. Had he only purcha
sed two Fendi bags? What other presents had he bought for Sarah? If I could find a receipt for a piece of jewelry or a bottle of perfume—anything that hadn’t been for me—then I could piece together the true timeline. I’d see if the proof matched the story he’d told me. He was holding things back. I was sure of it.
Something in my brain needed specific answers, not only the date he’d met Sarah but what had he been wearing? What had she been wearing? What had they talked about? Had he told her he was married? Who else knew about them? What was so great about her? I had to know everything about how my life with Jason had turned into a lie.
My eyes scanned each piece of paper, frantic. There had to be clues in this box. He must have gotten lazy somewhere along the line. But my zeal deflated with each itemized receipt that didn’t back up my theory. Receipt after receipt showed purchases of groceries, gas, tennis shoes, smoothies from the café at the gym, and tools from Lowe’s. Last February there’d been a purchase from Woodward Jewelers. I bit my cheek, inspecting the line item. I threw the slip back in the box, realizing the necklace had been a Valentine’s Day gift for me, not her.
“Um.” Caroline shifted in her seat. “Not that I’m an expert in relationships, but I don’t think what you’re doing is healthy.”
“He’s not telling me the whole story.” The familiar sensation of heat rising through my body overtook me again. The tears waiting behind my eyes, ready to push through.
Caroline stood up and walked over to me, nodding toward the box. “I doubt you’ll find what you’re looking for in there. Jason wouldn’t have been that careless. He probably has a separate credit card that you don’t even know about.” She paced toward the blackened window.
I peered up at her, a pulse of dread coursing through me, my muscles stiffening. Of course, she was right. She’d lived most of her adult life trying to hide her addiction from the ones she loved. I’d been so stupid to not have thought of a secret credit card before. So naive. I probably hadn’t even scratched the surface of all the things Jason was hiding from me. I squeezed my hand into a fist, my fingers ice-cold.