Seeking Refuge

by Alana Terry

  Joe shook his head, thinking. “Ok, so what if I just bring it in myself—promise to protect your floors and rug—and clean it all up when you’re done.” He threw her a winning smile at her as if to clinch the deal.

  “That’s ridiculous. It’s faster, easier, and more comfortable to do it myself—in the bath.”

  He strode to the linen closet and brought out a few towels. As he placed them around the floor at her feet, he smiled. “Then pretend I have a deep need to wash the saints’ feet or something, because I have questions for you and I can’t leave until I get them answered.”

  Twenty minutes later, her feet, toasty and tucked beneath her, no longer threatened to give her a chill. Joe flipped open a notebook with names written on each page and demanded to know everything each one had ever said about her writing. “Ok, so I have...” he read each name slowly and then began scrawling. “Add to those your mother and sister—what about your friend Suzy or her husband.”

  Alexa shook her head. “Suzy reads them of course. She enjoys seeing what I did with plots we hashed out together. Mike doesn’t read anything lengthier than Sports Illustrated.”

  “What about Darrin Thorne. Lorie reads your books, but what does Darrin think of them?”

  “I think Darrin has read them too. He stood in a long line in the snow to get a book autographed for his daughter. He loves Lorie and sacrifices a lot for her, but I don’t think he’d miss lunch with her if he objected to the genre.” Her mind wandered back to conversations she’d had with him before and after his house explosion. Darrin had joked once that he had details if she needed them for a future book. “No, Darrin doesn’t object.”

  “Ok, have you thought of anyone else? Someone in your hometown, some anonymous thing. Does your agent or editor ever receive letters? Has Tom Allen ever mentioned anyone? I’ll call him, of course.” He jotted a note to himself as he waited for her to answer.

  “I just don’t know. People have said things at signings or in emails. I’m sure Martine or Elise—one or the other of them—have copies of any not-so-fan mail. James probably wouldn’t. If somehow, he got anything, I’m pretty sure he’d forward it to me or Martine.”

  “Email? You get email from readers?” Joe reached for her laptop and handed it to her.”

  “Sure. There’s a contact button on the site. Suzy weeds out the spam and everything, forwards anything requiring a response to my private email, and I take it from there.”

  “Suzy handles your fan mail—from Arkansas?”

  Alexa opened the Cpanel of her website and found the email section. “It’s all in here. Suzy can just go in and make any changes she wants. I write something new for the “Author Notes” section every month, and she does updates and adds press releases and stuff as it comes in.”

  “Why Suzy?”

  Alexa didn’t like the way Joe seemed fixed on Suzy’s involvement in her web world. “Well, she knows how to design and maintain it all. She took a class to get it going back when I first started and it clicked with her. So, she maintains the site and the correspondence for me.”

  “Does she write software?”

  Alexa shook her head absently as she copied a sentence and pasted it into an email with a word bolded and a note for corrected spelling. “No, she tried reading a book about it once, but she says that without an html tag, she’s lost.”

  She watched, frowning, as Joe made a note to learn the difference between software programming and html. Great. She’d created a bigger problem. Before she could tell him he was looking in the wrong skeleton closet, Joe said, “Ok, so can you see if there are any emails from disgruntled readers?”

  “Well, I’m sure Suzy would have—”

  Alexa stopped midsentence. A folder in the Cpanel sent a chill down her spine. She pointed to it. “Hate Mail.” After a nervous glance at Joe, she opened it. There weren’t many emails, but the few that half-filled the page had ominous subject lines.

  Four of them she immediately identified as not-so-subtle attempts by her sister to convict her to stop writing. Five were several years old, but three or four had been sent in the past year. “I never—I mean—Wow. She’s such a good friend.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Protecting me from this garbage—she did that even in college.”

  “It’s hard to imagine you needing protection.”

  Still reading the emails, Alexa hardly heard him. “See this one? Something about it is familiar, but I can’t place why. It’s like I’ve heard it before, but this one is almost two years old.”

  “Close your eyes. Listen. I’ll read it. Maybe you can remember if it’s a man’s or a woman’s voice.”

  Joe began reading with an exaggerated falsetto, sending Alexa into a fit of giggles. “Warn a person before you do that! Oh, and never try to go to a masked party as a woman.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Try again.” This time, Joe read it in a flat generic tone, hardly adding any inflection to the reading, hoping some phrase or sentence would sound familiar.

  “There—‘Glory in the destruction of human lives.’ That’s it. I’ve heard someone say that. A man’s voice.”

  “Recently?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t tell you when or where.” She closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch cushions, trying to relax, but it didn’t work. “Maybe it’ll come to me later. If I keep trying now, it’ll become more elusive. Sorry.”

  Joe watched as she closed the laptop, stress filling her eyes. She stood and left the room, but he remained seated on the couch—thinking. The stress in her voice, the weariness around her eyes. The case would slowly break her.

  Chapter 27

  ALEXA CHANGED THE SHEETS on her spare bed, sighing as she found a stray sock stuffed between the top sheet and the mattress. Wes had left that morning—another assignment in a place she’d rather not know about. The phone rang, causing her to jump. Heather. “Wes asked me to call you. He says he forgot to tell you that Nolan said he’d be available next week. Monday is MLK day, so he can come then, or if you’ll be gone, he’ll come Tuesday.” Heather took a deep breath. “Whew. I never thought I’d get all that out.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. And tell Wes to write it down for you next time.”

  “Or he could write it down for you.”

  “I think he has other things—or people—on his mind these days.” Alexa thanked Heather and disconnected the call.

  Immediately, she contacted Joe to tell him of the latest development. “He had Heather call. Isn’t that adorable?”

  “Adorable.” Joe sounded amused. “I’m pretty sure he’d find that word insulting. I’m glad she found someone worth knowing, though. Hunter Lloyd is in enough trouble with the law to keep him out of her life for some time.”

  Excited, Alexa stammered, “D—do you mean—I mean is he—”

  “No. But Martinez caught him weaving his way out of the M.A. last night. Thanks to a rolling bottle from under the passenger seat, he was able to search the vehicle and found the R-2s that Heather thought she saw.”

  “M.A.?”

  “Mighty Aphrodite—some fool’s idea of a good name for a bar.”

  “How is it that Fairbury has a bar called the Mighty Aphrodite and I’ve never heard of it or seen it?” She repressed a chuckle at the name. The names some people gave their businesses often amused her, but Mighty Aphrodite had to be the worst.

  “It’s down by the lake at the edge of town. There’s that steakhouse with the buildings behind that look like cabins?”

  “Yeah... I’ve been to that steakhouse. They serve a good steak.”

  “Well,” Joe added, sounding like he thought she was nuts, “the buildings behind it hold the M.A. and the Billiard Room.”

  “Does Colonel Mustard play billiards there with a lead pipe?”

  Joe laughed and then choked. “Aaak. I’m supposed to meet Shannon at Posh Tots in five minutes, and I’m not even dressed.”

  “Go
! Blame it on me. I kept you yakking—have fun!”

  As she hung up, Alexa smiled. Her house was empty and quiet, Joe had a date with his half-girlfriend, and life felt as if it had resumed its normal rhythm. She grabbed her pile of dirty sheets and carried them out to the mudroom, singing her favorite song at the top of her off-key lungs

  SHE HATED HEARING THE pain in Lorie’s voice. As Alexa pulled out her clothes for the day, she listened to the girl’s troubles, hating that she was the source of them. The loss of a beloved pet and a dear friend—Alexa couldn’t imagine it.

  “Is it silly to have a funeral for a dog? I feel so dumb, but Coyote was my best friend—next to Brooke.” Lorie’s voice caught on the edge of a sob.

  “It’s not silly at all. Wouldn’t Brooke want you to remember your dog?”

  Lorie sniffed. “Yes.”

  “What kind of dog was Coyote?”

  “Cocker spaniel—black as midnight. I loved that dog. You’re right. I’ll do it.”

  Alexa fought the inclination to laugh at the incongruous picture of a black doe-eyed cocker named Coyote living in Chicago. “I wish I could be there.” She hesitated and added, “I could, you know. I could fly in if you like.”

  Lorie continued to chatter, grief overriding her discretion. “I wish you could, but Dad would kill me. He doesn’t want you to see the house. He’s really worried about you—says you’ve been under too much mental and emotional strain and that you feel responsible for things that aren’t your fault.”

  The balm of knowing her friends didn’t blame her for their losses soothed Alexa’s heart. “I could at least fix a meal while you went over there or—”

  Lorie’s voice changed. A slight lilt interjected itself into the conversation, and after a couple of minutes of dodging the reason, she confessed that Jeremy was home for the dog funeral and the weekend. “They’re so nice to let us stay until the insurance works out temporary housing. Dad really likes John, and I think he likes that Jocie is here—to distract me, you know.”

  “Well, if Jeremy is there, go talk to him. I’ll talk to you next week. Is the move date still next week?”

  Lorie, distracted by a conversation around her, barely mumbled a coherent “yes” before she hung up the phone. Alexa smiled. Their lives would soon be back to normal; maybe hers would be next. She needed to get back to her normal routines.

  She slipped a Spencer jacket over her Regency gown and tied on a bonnet. Above the front door, she retrieved her marketing basket—time for shopping. She needed a special meal, some fresh flowers, and a new book or movie. Neighbors waved and smiled as she strolled past. Alexa had missed that. The merchants around the square smiled through their shop windows, some beckoning her inside to see how she was doing with her next book, if she’d enjoyed a nice Christmas, to show her new merchandise, or just to talk. No one asked her about the murders. Everyone seemed genuinely interested in her.

  She spent more than she usually would have. She bought gifts for people, more food than she could eat, and all while amusing a few tourists at the incongruous sight of someone dressed in period attire purchasing a DVD with a credit card. It was the first normal day since she had left Chicago. It felt good.

  By the time she reached Sycamore Court, Alexa had forgotten the evil that had enshrouded her life over the past two months. The sight of a luxury SUV in her neighbor’s driveway suffocated her. The same SUV had been parked in the Harris’ driveway just weeks earlier. What was it doing parked at the Rittenbachers?

  She tried to stroll down the sidewalk—nonchalant. Feigning interest in something at the Harris house, Alexa turned her head that direction and glanced sideways at the SUV on her way past. A reflection in the back window showed someone in the car.

  Fury gripped her. Her peaceful afternoon was destroyed—the moments of familiarity and contentment, gone. With each step nearer the vehicle, Alexa grew angrier and bolder. Once she stood in front of the grille, she snapped. Setting her basket and reticule on the ground, she charged over to the vehicle and jerked open the passenger door.

  “Get out of there, you cowards. If you want something from me, ask! If you’re the jerk who murdered my neighbors, kill me instead. I’ve had it!”

  Alexa stepped back as the back hatch opened and a man raced to the driver’s door, opened it, and jumped into the seat. Hardly pausing to shut the door, he started the car, yanked the shift into gear, and tore out of the driveway, the door whacking Alexa and knocking her down as he drove away. She stared, stunned, at the back of the vehicle as a blond-headed woman scrambled over the backseats and into the front.

  She raced home, holding her skirts out of the way of her flying feet, barely missing a skid at Mrs. Malone’s corner. At her door, she spun in circles, trying to remember what had happened to her keys—reticule. She snapped her fingers, ran back to the abandoned items on the sidewalk, and grabbed her things. Minutes later, Judith drove up to Alexa’s house and ran into Alexa’s house.

  “Joe is going to kill you, girl! What were you thinking?”

  Alexa sat in her favorite corner of the couch, her knees drawn up to her chest, and feeling very much like a little girl. “I was thinking that I’m sick of this. In books, murder is something you fix. You figure out whodunit, you enjoy the feeling of justice served, and no one truly gets hurt. You can hate the antagonist. He’s not real. It’s not a sin to hate sin, but I’m dealing with very real hate toward a very real person that Jesus created, loves, and died for.” She choked, tears filling her voice. “I can’t chalk this up to another interesting story. This man is real and he’s messing with my life, my town, and my friends. He’s ruining everything. I hate sin!”

  Judith handed Alexa her shawl and then stoked the fire. She talked about the vehicle, the make, the model, and the license plate. Alexa grabbed onto that excitedly. “It was an out of state plate—white. I didn’t get the state. By the time I realized that they were getting away, it was too far to read, but I got the last half. 2HBY. Tell me that will help. Lie if necessary.”

  Before Judith could answer, Joe burst through the door. “You confronted them? What were you not thinking?”

  Judith excused herself, saying she’d start a search for the vehicle in their data system. “Joe, go easy on her.”

  Alexa glared at Joe—livid. He preempted her. “Do you realize what kind of risk you took?”

  “Joe, do you realize that they ruined a perfect day? For the first time in two months, everything was normal. I went to town, saw friends, bought stuff to make me a nice roast, and walked home as if I hadn’t endured the worst holiday season ever. Then I saw that stupid SUV in the wrong driveway.”

  “When the chief called me, all I could think of was that he’d finally gotten to you and we weren’t there to save you. I was out having a burger with a girl who couldn’t say anything remotely interesting, the chief was ordering those stupid policeman’s ball tickets, and Judith was at the high school giving another lecture on how to report an accident to kids who would probably cause any accident they have. No one else is even on duty.”

  “And your point is?”

  “We weren’t around to protect you. You risked a confrontation without asking for help!”

  “What do you mean, ‘we?’ Don’t you mean me? Joe wasn’t around to be the hero. Joe wasn’t there to save the day. How dare I make a move without his approval?” The shock on Joe’s face would have made her laugh had she not been so angry.

  “Oh, Lex. I—” Joe’s voice dropped a notch.

  Alexa stood, mustering every ounce of self-confidence she could. She knew how to appear imposing when the occasion called for it—years of dealing with cocky jerks taught her well. “Go home, Joe. Go back to Shannon and apologize to her for me. I ruined her lunch date, and I’m very sorry. Oh, and I’ll be sure not to call the next time I think I’ve found who has been murdering our citizens.”

  “Alexa...”

  “Go, Joe. Just go.”

  SHANNON’S EYES LIT wit
h surprise as Joe strode into the shop. “Hey, stranger. What brings you in here? Can I offer you booties? Maybe a yellow polka dot in a size 2T?”

  “They make bikinis for kids? In January?”

  Shannon grabbed the diminutive swimsuit and wiggled it in his face. “Spring shopping season is upon us!”

  Joe took the suit and flipped it around, trying to figure out how someone could reasonably charge forty-dollars for a couple of scrap pieces of fabric. The sight of a duck’s face on the suit bottoms disgusted him. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Who would buy something like this?”

  “It’s our best seller. Moms think it’s cute. Grandmas go nuts. I guarantee you that if that woman comes into this shop, she’ll buy three for her granddaughters.”

  “Where are the fathers?” Joe muttered.

  Shannon didn’t answer. She took the suit from his hands and jiggled it for the woman on the sidewalk. A delighted expression lit the woman’s face and she hurried inside. “Isn’t that darling!”

  Joe stepped back and watched, amazed, as Shannon sold four suits, with duck faces on the bottoms, at forty dollars a pop—while snow decorated every inch of the ground and trees outside. The moment the woman stepped outside, Joe shook his head, impressed. You’re good. I’m not sure it’s really a compliment, but man, you’re good.”

  “Just wait until you have a cute little girl in piggies and—” Shannon stopped herself. “I’m sorry. I—What brought you back? Is Miss Hartfield okay?”

  Joe adjusted his hat and hooked his thumbs in his pockets. She’s fine. Sorry I ran out on you like that. I thought—”

  “I saw your phone screen, Joe. Alexa confronted someone? Anyone would have rushed out over something like that. Everyone in town keeps trying to pretend that it hasn’t happened, but there is still a killer out there.”

  She watched him. Joe tried to hide his emotions but failed. After several awkward seconds she asked, “What happened, Joe?”

  “She’s ticked at me. I can’t afford to alienate her and I did. It’s my job to protect her, and I can’t do that if she avoids me.” He knew he failed to keep the hurt and confusion from his face and his voice. It made things worse.