Em and Em

by Budzinski, Linda

  “I see.” He scowled and his eyes flashed with anger.

  Ember braced herself. Here it came, and she supposed she deserved it. She’d broken the number one rule of Witness Protection. But when Deputy Steuben spoke, his voice was soft, kind. “They’re just words, you know.”

  “What?” She blinked.

  He pointed to her screen. “Sticks and stones and all that. Ignore it.”

  Ember snorted. “Right. I don’t care if people make fun of me … said no one, ever. At least, not honestly.”

  “Yeah, well, screw ’em. You’re better than that. You’re one of the good guys, Ember. Don’t forget it.”

  Ember turned and wiped her eyes. She refused to cry in front of him. Anyway, he had to say those things. He was being paid to take care of her, to make sure she kept her promise and took the stand next month. “So, what now? Am I in bigger trouble because of … her? I mean, it’s not like she knows where I am or anything. And her message is hardly a threat to come after me. In fact, she’s telling me to stay away.”

  “We’ll see.” Deputy Steuben opened his car door and slid in behind the wheel. “I’ll have the Jersey office look into her. Probably not a big deal.” He shut the door and rolled down his window. “Stay out of trouble, okay?”

  Ember nodded. She turned to walk away, but then turned back around. “By the way, how’d you find out about all this?”

  Steuben gave her a wry grin. “The phone call.”

  Ember’s eyes widened. “Oh my gosh. I completely forgot about that.”

  “Did you also forget who owns the phone? Who do you think pays your bill?”

  Of course. She’d never even thought about it. But in that case, shouldn’t they have known earlier? “So wait. You didn’t find out until you got the bill?”

  Deputy Steuben scowled. “The call should have been flagged as soon as you made it, but the idiots over in tech never caught it. Fortunately some of the folks in accounting have their heads screwed on straight. First thing we did was grab your buddy’s phone. Mysteriously disappeared from his pocket a few hours ago while he was eating lunch at a hotdog stand on the boardwalk.”

  “Did it still have my number stored? Because I told him to delete it. He said he deleted it.”

  Deputy Steuben shook his head. “It was clean.”

  She gave a sigh of relief. Zach had at least taken that seriously.

  “Remember, we’re doing all this for a reason. It’s not just to torture you.”

  “I know. I haven’t forgotten.” She waved goodbye and watched as he pulled away.

  How could she forget?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Nine weeks earlier

  Emily fluffed the bow on the little girl’s dress and peered into her huge brown eyes. “What’s your name?”

  “Manta.”

  Her mother laughed. “It’s Samantha.”

  “Beautiful name for a beautiful child.”

  Her mom and dad beamed. They were a beautiful family. Emily congratulated herself on picking out the perfect cowboy hat for the dad. She could tell he loved it. If she played her cards right, she might make a premium package sale and a nice little commission.

  “I’m Emily, by the way.” She held out her hand.

  “Dominic. And this is my wife, Jen.” He shook her hand and tipped his hat.

  Emily smiled. “You know, you sort of remind me of a young Clint Eastwood in that.” They all wanted to be Clint Eastwood.

  He squinted and placed his hand on his holster. “Go ahead. Make my day.”

  Emily laughed. Oh, yeah. Easy sale.

  For the first set of shots she posed Samantha on her dad’s lap, with her mom standing behind them. She could tell by the way Dominic smoothed his daughter’s hair and tickled her legs and fussed over her that he was a great dad.

  Had her own father treated her like that? She couldn’t remember. He’d split when she was seven, and most of her memories consisted of him being passed out drunk on the couch or fighting with her mom about bills. Still, there must have been a time when her mom and dad were happy and in love. Maybe when she was Samantha’s age he did fuss over her.

  Sure enough, once Dominic saw the shots, he sprang for the premium package. He paid in cash and even threw in a twenty-dollar tip. “You do good work.”

  “Thanks. I’m planning to study photography in college.”

  “If you make it to college.” He smiled and waved as he followed his wife and Samantha toward the exit.

  What was that supposed to mean? Did she seem like the kind of girl who couldn’t get into college? Emily shook her head and headed into the changing room. She heard the Bzz-Bzz of the door as they left.

  Seriously, what a weird thing for him to say. She could still feel the pressure of his hand as he placed the money in her palm, but now, instead of making her grin, it gave her the creeps. Something was off. She picked up the brown suede shirt he’d worn and hung it on the rack. As she began buttoning it, a noise startled her.

  She turned to find Dominic standing behind her. His face was hard and cold, nothing like the sweet father she’d just photographed. She reached for a nearby parasol, but he grabbed her wrist.

  “You might want to check the pocket.”

  “What?” Her voice came out as a yelp.

  He nodded toward the shirt. “I may have left something in the pocket.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Dominic was gone.

  Emily’s knees felt weak, and she had to sit down on the bench against the wall. Her mind flashed to a scene that had played out that day at school. She was in the cafeteria, getting some juice out of the vending machine, when someone bumped into her hard from behind. She’d turned to find Jimmy d’Angelo glaring at her. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

  His glare sent a shiver up her spine. Should she tell someone? Her mom? The cops? No. Jimmy was a jerk, that was all. The police had promised confidentiality when she’s called them the night before and told them about Rosa’s blue beer. No way did he know she’d talked.

  But Dominic’s glare held a threat, and now she felt certain Jimmy’s had too. Crap. As if she didn’t have enough trust issues, now she couldn’t even trust the cops.

  She took a deep breath. Dominic had said to check his pocket. She grabbed the shirt. Its only pocket was on the front right. She noticed a slight bulge, and her hands shook so badly it took her several tries to unbutton it. Inside she found a neatly folded piece of paper. It looked vaguely familiar.

  Emily slowly peeled it open. When she saw the image, she shrieked and dropped it. No, no, no. Please, God, no.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “I’ll have a venti hazelnut latte.” Ember paid for her coffee and made her way over to her friends’ table.

  The Starbucks in the grocery store was a poor substitute for the coffee shops back home, but it felt good to be out of the house. She’d been stuck inside with no phone since Saturday. They had Monday and Tuesday off for Veterans Day and a teachers’ in service day.

  “Lamest long weekend ever.” She set her cup down next to Claire’s.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you lost your phone?”

  “Well, if someone would check her email … ”

  “Who checks email?”

  “How else was I supposed to tell you?”

  “Ever heard of Twitter? Facebook?” Marissa butted in.

  “Ember doesn’t do social media, remember?” Claire ripped open at least five packets of sugar and poured them into her coffee. “My gosh. Four days without a phone. I’d die. You’re getting another one, right?”

  “Of course. Not sure when it’ll get here, though. Maybe not for another few days.”

  “That’s weird.” Marissa’s eyes narrowed. “When I broke my old phone, my new one arrived practically the next day.”

  Ember took a sip of her coffee. Why did she always have to be such a know-it-all? “Yeah, well, with the holiday and all … ” She stood up. “Can you guys wa
tch my cup for a minute? I’m going to buy some gum.”

  She headed over to the checkout counters. She did want gum, but mostly she wanted to stop talking about her phone. Next thing she knew, Marissa would grill her about how she lost it, where she last saw it, who she’d called or texted, and on and on. She was getting tired of the lies, and Deputy Steuben was right. She needed to be careful. She was doing all of this for a reason, a very good reason.

  She closed her eyes and forced herself to remember. The PhotoPro cover of her sister flying her kite had been stuffed into the shirt pocket that day in the Shoot ’Em Up. It was a shot she’d admired a hundred times, only on this copy someone had meticulously drawn a bullet hole through the middle of her sister’s forehead. She’d immediately dialed Trina and her mom. When neither of them answered their phones, she ran all the way home, panicked and desperate. When she found them in the kitchen blithely cooking up a pot of spaghetti sauce with Justin Timberlake blaring on the stereo, she hugged her sister so hard she knocked the breath out of her. Later that night, when she showed her mom the photo, it took about two minutes for her mother to get the U.S. Marshals on the phone.

  “You can’t go wrong with wintergreen, you know.”

  Ember opened her eyes to find Charles standing on the other side of the candy rack, a bemused smile on his face. Her cheeks grew warm. How long had she been standing there? And how long had he been watching? “Hi,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  He laughed, a warm, teasing laugh. “Trust me. You stand in the checkout lane at Super Saver long enough, you’ll run into everyone in Boyd County.”

  Ember grabbed a pack of wintergreen—because it was her favorite, not because he’d suggested it—and got in line. She waved toward the Starbucks. “I’m having coffee with Claire and Marissa and some others. Want to join us?”

  Charles picked up a packet of Skittles and fell in line behind her. “Actually, I want to talk to you about something. Do you have a minute?”

  She glanced over toward the Starbucks. Claire was watching them, and she gave Ember a thumbs-up sign. Oh, jeez. Claire had such a wrong idea about her and Charles. And if they slipped away even for a few seconds, it would only encourage her. Still, she was curious to know what he wanted. “Sure. What’s up?”

  Charles paid for her gum and his candy and led her to the produce aisle. He leaned against an apple bin. “I need some help with my story.”

  “Your story?” So this was about work. Ember felt a mixture of disappointment and annoyance—disappointment that he wanted to talk about work and annoyance at herself for feeling that way. They were in the Co-worker Zone. That was how it should be, and she was lucky it wasn’t more complicated than that.

  Charles lowered his voice. “Yeah. The computer hacker story. I’m getting nowhere, and I need someone to do a little digging.”

  She picked up an apple and studied it. It felt smooth and solid, but a brown spot near the stem marred its shiny red surface. Eventually the whole thing would be rotten.

  “So what do you think?” Charles asked. “Can you help me?”

  Ember shook her head. Digging was the last thing she wanted to do. “Sorry. Not happening.”

  “What? Why not? You’re perfect for this.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because you hardly have any friends.”

  Ember dropped the apple back into the bin. “Gee, thanks.” She started to walk away, but Charles blocked her way.

  “No, wait. That came out wrong. Very wrong. I just meant … you’re still new here, so it’s not like everyone already knows everything about you … and your family, and your family’s family.” He sighed. “When I ask people questions, it comes off as weird. Like I’m prying and suspicious. With you, it’ll seem more normal.”

  Ember frowned. She’d avoided asking questions since she’d arrived in Boyd County because she didn’t want people prying into her life. She saw no reason to start now. “Sorry. I’m a photographer, not an investigative reporter.”

  “Right.” Charles stepped aside, and Ember headed back toward the Starbucks. He called after her. “You know, sometimes I think you hide behind your camera.”

  Ember stopped. She turned and glared. What was that supposed to mean? True, she did feel safer behind the camera. When she peered through the viewfinder, it became her world, blocking everything else out. Best of all, she was never in the shot. She could disappear. Still, Charles had no right to say that. He didn’t know anything about her. She walked back up to him. “What makes you think I want to hide?”

  Charles met her gaze. “Oh, maybe … everything. It’s like you’ve wrapped this huge veil of secrecy around yourself. Anytime anyone asks the simplest question, you change the subject. Do you realize I don’t even know the name of a single friend of yours from back in Philadelphia? I don’t even know your boyfriend’s name—that guy from the photo. Assuming he’s your boyfriend. Or was.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Hell, I don’t even know if you have a boyfriend.”

  “Would it matter?”

  Charles shook his head. “There you go again, avoiding the subject, answering questions with questions. Why can’t you just tell me? Do you or do you not have a boyfriend?”

  “Fine. Yes, I have a boyfriend. At least I did. I still might, but things are … complicated. His name is Zach. He is the guy from the photo. He’s a pitcher. He’s sweet and funny, and he treats me like a princess. And he’s bigger than a bread box but smaller than an elephant.”

  The expression in Charles’s eyes softened. “See. Was that so hard?”

  “Now will you tell me whether it matters?”

  His face grew pink. “Of course it matters. It means … ”

  He paused, and Ember’s heart seemed to pause along with him. Please don’t let him say something stupid and sappy and sentimental here in the produce aisle. She didn’t think she could handle that.

  “It means you’re a real person, with a real past. It means you’re just like everyone else after all.”

  Oh, crap. Tears pricked her eyes. Why did he have to say that? How she wished it were true. She heard a burst of laughter from the direction of the Starbucks, and she looked over at the table full of her friends all joking and giggling and cheerfully sipping their coffees. If only she could be like that.

  “What’s the matter?” He put his hand on her arm. “Is this about him—Zach? Because I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d realized it was such a sore—”

  “Tell you what.” Ember shrugged off his hand and blinked away her tears. “You stop talking about this, and I’ll help you with your story.”

  Charles nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry. Listen, you don’t have to—”

  “I’m in.” She took a deep breath. She was Ember O’Malley now—a smart, sweet, talented girl from Philly with nothing to hide and no shameful GIFs to haunt her every waking hour. Maybe if she started acting as though that were reality, it would become reality, at least for the next couple of weeks. “Tell me who you need me to talk to, and I’ll talk to them.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “You’re a fake and a phony, and I wish I’d never laid eyes on you!” Claire burst into tears, turned, and ran.

  Ember smiled. She was good. Really good. And the way Ryan gazed at her—either he was a heck of an actor as well, or he was into her. They made an adorable Sandy Olsson and Danny Zuko. She zoomed in on Ryan’s face and captured his wistful puppy dog eyes. Maybe Claire would finally admit he liked her when she saw this.

  She removed her flash and packed up her camera case. This had been fun, though not very productive. Ember had convinced Charles that the only way she could meet people and ask questions was if he let her shoot more than football games, so he’d assigned her to just about every activity in school this week—the 4-H Club rally, the debate team competition, the math club meeting, and now the Grease rehearsal.

  None of it was getting her anywhere. It reminded her of surfing—she couldn’t even get u
p on the board. Once she found out someone’s name and grade and what they liked most about whatever activity she happened to be shooting, what else could she ask? By the way, how much do you know about computers, and would you have any reason to want to hack the school’s system? It didn’t exactly come up in normal conversation.

  Not that she was complaining. It felt great to take photos of something besides a bunch of guys running around in helmets and pads. Like that picture of Ryan—she could actually capture people’s expressions for a change. Plus, she had a feeling that seeing the assignment board with her name all over it Monday had made Marissa nervous. So that was kind of fun.

  Ember noticed a girl sitting on the floor at the side of the stage, leaning against the cutout of Greased Lightning and studying her script. She walked over. Might as well give it a try.

  The girl glanced up as she approached. She had dark frizzy hair pulled back with a huge butterfly clip and wore the brightest pink lipstick Ember had ever seen.

  “Hi. I’m Ember, from the Bulletin. Sorry to interrupt, but—”

  “I’m Sarah, a.k.a. Rizzo.” She waved her script.

  “Rizzo? Great part.”

  Sarah sighed. “I guess. But it’s also hard. She’s so … different from me.”

  Ember nodded and sat down next to her. “Well, that’s probably a good thing.”

  “You mean that I’m not a bitch? And a slut? And possibly pregnant?”

  Ember winced. “Well … yeah.”

  Sarah pointed to the page she’d been studying. “Thing is, there’s a lot more to her than that. If she was all bitch, I could go to town with it. But she’s not. She’s also … a girl. Like us.”

  Ember nodded. “It’s been a while since I saw the movie, but I remember feeling bad for her. She seemed … misunderstood.”

  “Yes! Misunderstood. Did you know Rizzo is actually her last name? Guess her first name.”