by Hinze, Vicki
She wasn’t alone.
Knowing loss, knowing grief, how in the world could she cope with not being alone?
* * *
Two blocks off the beach, third in a strip mall of a dozen stores, Della spotted the sign for The Shipping Store. The stalker had chosen well. It was a high-traffic area peopled with tourists: perfect conditions for self-absorption, noninvolvement and fast turnover. Odds weren’t looking good for getting solid information here.
Della walked in with her cell phone in her hand, and approached a long gray counter. A woman standing at it wrote a check and then passed it and her driver’s license over to the young uniformed clerk. A toy poodle bobbed its head out of the purse swinging from her arm.
The male clerk, a redhead with freckles and a flat nose who couldn’t yet be twenty, scribbled down something and then passed back her driver’s license and receipt. “Thank you.”
The woman smiled at Della on her way out, and Paul, who’d dropped Della at the door and then begun the search for an elusive parking slot, came in.
Della pulled up the email on her phone and waited for the clerk to put the woman’s package behind the counter.
He looked at her and smiled. “Hey, you’re back.”
A chill ran through Della. “Excuse me?”
“You’re back. We don’t get many return customers. Tourist town, you know. Well, except maybe year to year.”
“You’ve seen me before?”
His smile faded, and uncertainty replaced it. “I’m sorry. Weren’t you in here a few days ago?” He sounded confused.
Paul seemed troubled by the recognition. So was she. She looked at the clerk’s name tag. “What did I do here a few days ago, Sammy?”
He stammered, sputtered and then clammed up. “My mistake. What can I do for you?”
“You can answer my question.” She smiled and removed her sunglasses. “There isn’t any trouble, and I’m not a cop.”
“You mailed a package.” He lifted his hands. “That was it. But if it wasn’t you...”
She passed her phone. “Can you tell me if this is the package I mailed?”
He looked at the photo Beech’s team member emailed her. “Looks like. That’s my code on it, so I took it in for shipping.”
Paul stepped forward. “The shipping originated here, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You handled it personally?”
“Yes, sir, I did.” The young man swallowed, bobbing the knot in his throat. “Like I said, my code’s on it.”
“And the person who brought in the package for shipping was this woman?” Paul lifted a hand, signaling Della.
“I’m not saying it was her. But it sure looked like her when she had her sunglasses on. She had on a big floppy beach hat, too, but her hair was the same color.”
Della stayed quiet, but a sinking sense of dread dragged at her.
Paul continued pressing the clerk. “Same height, weight, general build?”
Sammy nodded. “She’s not a cop, but are you? Because if you are, I already told the cops everything I could remember one time already this morning.”
Chills swept up her back. Della looked at Paul. He frowned. “Call NBPD.”
Della stepped away, made the call and soon returned. “It wasn’t them.” She turned to the clerk. “Sammy, was it Panama City Beach police?”
“No, ma’am. I know them. This guy was plainclothes. He didn’t actually say from where. But he had a badge and everything.”
Della jotted down his description, and then Paul asked, “Is there anything else you can tell us about the woman? Did she pay with a credit card?”
“No, sir. From the code, it was cash.” He looked at Della. “You bump your head or something?”
“Or something.” Her mouth was stone dry.
“It wasn’t you, was it?” Sammy’s lips flattened.
She didn’t answer.
“If it wasn’t, then you got a twin running around here.”
“What name did she put on the return label?”
He pulled the paperwork and looked. “None. But she signed the receipt.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sorry. I can’t let you do that.”
Della stepped forward. “If you think I shipped it, you can let me see it.”
“Was it you?”
“I’d like a copy of the form that goes with this shipment, please.” She pointed to the photo on her phone.
“Okay.” He ran a copy and passed it to her. “Since it was you.”
She put the copy in her purse, then looked him right in the eye. “It wasn’t me, Sammy.”
“I’ll make a note on that,” Sammy said, swallowing hard. “And I need that copy back.”
“No.” They’d both covered their bases in case of testimony. “Can you describe for me again the policeman who came in this morning?” Often, the second time revealed more specifics.
“Well, there were actually two of them.”
“Tall, short?” She tilted her head. “How’d you know they were cops if they weren’t in uniform?”
“I told you. They had badges. I didn’t catch the print on them. They were just average-looking guys in suits. Short hair, sunglasses, nothing special about them to recall.”
Nondescript. Infamous for FBI, but OSI was possible, too. Beech might have followed up. Or Talbot and Dayton. Likely she would never know. “Thanks, Sammy.” Della walked out of the store, stopped under the black-and-white-striped awning and clutched at her stomach.
Paul met her outside. “He really believes you shipped that package, Della, and after giving you the copy—”
“I know. To cover his backside for breaching someone else’s privacy, he’ll say it was me, which is why I made a specific point of saying it wasn’t.”
Paul touched her upper arm. “Are you all right?”
Her stomach quivered like a swarm of angry bees buzzed in it. “No, I’m not all right.” She dropped her hands to her sides and looked up at him. “I’m being stalked and set up, Paul.”
“Yes.” He grabbed her arm and guided her toward the car. “But for what?”
“It depends on who came in here posing as police.”
Paul opened the car door. “Maybe Beech. He does have the evidence in his possession. He could be covering his back.”
“I thought of that.” Della slid into her seat, buckled up and dropped her handbag onto the floorboard.
Paul walked around and got in. The door hinges creaked. He looked haggard as if he’d aged ten years since walking into The Shipping Store. “What?”
“I do think you’re being set up, and I’m wondering if it isn’t for the security breach at the Nest.”
“So the stalker and the car bomb and the package—that’s all...what—from their perspective? I sent myself the package? Why would I do that?”
“To shift the focus from you to a phantom stalker you created so you could get out of the limelight on the Nest breach.”
Della gasped. “Paul Mason, I know you don’t believe that.”
“Of course not.” He clasped her hand. “But what I believe isn’t significant. What matters is what we can prove.” He frowned and cranked the engine. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make sure that clerk identified you as the package shipper, Della.”
“I didn’t do it. The package was shipped on the eleventh. I was in the office all day on the eleventh.”
“All day?”
“All day. I was reviewing files, updating them, trying to see if I could peg my stalker.”
“The stalker would know that.”
“You would think.” He seemed to know everything else.
“So maybe he’s trying to prove that you’re not you.”
“He’s stalking me and giving me an alibi after he fakes a shipper that looks like me? Why on earth would he do that?”
“That’s a good question. Unfortunately, I can’t answer it. But he made sure we’d track the package
to this store through the oddity on the return address and shipping label. And he made sure the woman looked enough like you to be taken for you. How’s the copy signed?”
She pulled it from her purse and passed it to him.
“Della Jackson.” He grimaced. “Whatever the reason, this proves we better find out.”
It did.
“But first, we need fuel.” He checked his watch. “Let’s grab some lunch on the ride back. Then we’ll meet Ken at the cottage.”
The locksmith. “You drive. I’ll update Mrs. Renault.” Della dialed, got Mrs. Renault on the line and briefed her on the odd events at The Shipping Store.
“I don’t like the sound of this, Della.”
True to form, in Mrs. Renault’s understated way. “I know. Why would someone make out like they’re me when I’ve got an airtight alibi for that time miles away?”
“I’m not sure. But everyone at Lost, Inc., being under suspicion of the security breach won’t help. It undermines the veracity of your alibi. I’m going to brief Madison and Grant on this, but my instincts say this is a deliberate assault on you, to undermine your character and put a strike on your Class-C license.”
“You think he’s doing this to create enough doubt to get my license yanked?”
“Perhaps.” Mrs. Renault paused, then added, “I’ll check with Madison, but it’s probably best for you to lie low for a time and let us sort some things out.”
Della’s eyes felt gritty and the early afternoon sun glaring off the cars on the road in front of them wasn’t helping. Paul braked for a red light. Mrs. Renault’s suggestion made sense, but... “We’re grabbing lunch and then meeting the locksmith at the cottage,” Della told her. “Then we’re going to get some rest.”
“Good idea. Stay put until you hear back from me.”
“I’m not going to find answers...there.” She didn’t say the ranch. If the stalker had hired someone to impersonate her, and if there was a connection between these incidents and the security breach at the Nest, the odds were high her phone was tapped. Lost, Inc.’s, too.
“Park and stay on the sidelines, Della. We’ll move as quickly as possible.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Renault. Is Doc having any problems on my cases?”
“We’re progressing there, as well.”
“Okay.” Della ended the call, feeling deflated. For three years, she’d given her job her all, everything, holding back nothing and giving nothing to anything else. Yet in less than a day, her cases were progressing well without her. So much for making a difference. Being indispensible. Doing anything important. That rattled her to the core.
Just what kind of purpose was there in her life? Was there any? Did anything mean anything? Or was she just treading water, taking up space?
“Hey, you okay?” Paul sent her a worried look.
“I’m fine.”
“Fine. Again.” He sighed. “When are you going to say what’s really going on in your head?”
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She put on her sunglasses and looked out the window, feeling small and insignificant. Helpless and more than a little hopeless.
“I want to know or I wouldn’t have asked.”
She exaggerated a sigh. “I’m wondering why I’m here. I’m wondering if my life is worth anything at all. And I’m wondering if after I get some sleep I’ll still be wondering.”
“Ah.” He turned off the highway and onto the road leading into North Bay. “That’s pretty heavy thinking considering the night and morning we’ve had.”
“Yeah. It is.”
“Well, set it aside for now and let’s get lunch. Boat House okay? You love their pecan-crusted grouper.”
She did. “Do you notice everything?”
“About you?” He smiled and the look in his eyes warmed. “Now and then something slips by me.”
Too intimate. And she liked it too much. Wary, she quipped, “Then I don’t have to wonder about my life. I can just ask you.”
“I work with vets in crisis every day. To do them any good, I have to be aware and observant. I wouldn’t be much good if I couldn’t answer a lot of those kinds of questions.” He sent her a loaded look. “You ready for my answers?”
She wasn’t. She really wasn’t. That teasing comment about marrying her had changed everything. She didn’t see him the same, and she couldn’t hide from the fact that he saw her differently, too. A new awareness simmered just beneath the surface between them. She didn’t want it. But she did like it—and she hated liking it. Absolutely, she was not ready for his answers. “Can we just eat instead?”
“Of course.” He pulled into the Boat House parking lot, then into an empty slot. “Della, you’ve got to stop worrying about what I said and about us—no, don’t deny it. I see it in you.” He cut the engine. “Everything will work out.”
Would it? Could it? A glimmer of hope that it would work out had her fighting not to run as fast and far away from him as she could. “You’re bent on protecting me from everyone, including myself, aren’t you?”
“I’m bent on seeing you happy. All of this will sort out. You enjoyed the festival party. I find that encouraging.”
“I’m having an identity crisis in the middle of a stalking crisis and a setup and you’re encouraged?”
“Yes, Della.” He clasped her hand and squeezed. “For the first time in three years, you’re admitting you have an identity and you’re finally—I’ve prayed hard for this—getting personal. We’re actually talking about us. That’s progress.”
Us. That had her shivering. “Quit analyzing me.”
“Just observing, not analyzing.”
“Well, stop it, okay? Your timing is really bad, Paul.”
“You’re ticked.” He smiled. “I like a woman with fire in her eye—though I have to say, I’d rather it wasn’t searing the skin off me.”
“Then back off and it’ll stop.”
“All right. But ask yourself if there’s ever a good time. You’re the one who said don’t wait, say what you have to say because it might be your only chance.” He cut the engine and got out of the car. “You don’t have to answer me. I promise that I won’t bring up us or your life again—until you do.”
“Fabulous.” She rolled her eyes because it was expected but seriously felt relief—and worry. What exactly was Paul doing? Why? She’d not intruded into his personal life, but if he could intrude and put comments out there about marriage, then she could ask questions. “Your parents were friends first. Did your father just announce to your mother that if their friendship got in his way of finding the right wife, she could just marry him herself? Is that why you did that?”
“Actually, my mother told my father they were getting married and when and where to show up.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. She decided, he agreed, they got married and that was that.”
“Well, it’s worked out fine for them.”
“That was my thinking.”
So that’s why he’d tossed out that volley. To gauge Della’s reaction. “When you were growing up, were they happy?”
“With each other?” He grunted. “Definitely.” His expression sobered. “They’ve always been crazy about each other.”
What wasn’t he saying? “But...”
“But they were so crazy about each other that they never had room for Maggie or me. I pretty much stayed out of their way. I thought it was me. You know what I mean. Then Maggie came along and they didn’t make room for her, either.”
The mother in Della rebelled. “They didn’t embrace their own children?”
“They liked to pull us off the shelf when it was convenient and then put us back on it and ignore us when it wasn’t.” He reached for the car door. “It mostly wasn’t convenient.”
Della’s world had revolved around Danny. She couldn’t relate to this. “That must have hurt you and Maggie both.”
He gave her a resigned look. “It was normal. When something
has always been that way, it’s normal. You don’t miss what you don’t know and have never had.”
The pain behind those words floated to her on the warm air. It had hurt. It still hurt. “But you made sure Maggie never felt that way. You made her the center of your world.” Maggie and Madison McKay had been best friends their whole lives. Madison often talked about Paul’s devotion to his sister—and how she wished her brother and she could have been as close.
“I made sure Maggie always knew she was loved. I always will.”
Simply stated. Elegant and heartfelt. Della stretched across the center console and hugged him. “You’re a good man, Paul.”
He grinned playfully. “It’s about time you start appreciating me.”
Della sat back. “I’ve always appreciated you. I’ve been lost with you. I can’t imagine going through all we have without you.”
“You’re not lost. You never have been. We’re just taking the scenic tour.” He touched a fingertip to her jaw, dragging it to her chin. “You’re a good partner for the journey.”
“You, too.” She smiled. “It’d be a better one if we knew what this stalker is trying to do to me and why.”
“We’ll get there.” He lifted the door handle. “But first, let’s eat.”
FIVE
Inside the restaurant, the hostess seated them against the back wall. It was the best table in the house, facing the bay. Several boats bobbed at the pier, boaters who’d ridden in for lunch. In North Bay, it was common to take boats rather than cars on jaunts to waterside businesses.
The waitress took Della’s order. “Pecan-crusted grouper, hush puppies and salad with blue-cheese dressing.”