Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  A loud horn jolted me out of my thoughts, and I dropped the phone on the passenger seat. The light was green. I quickly pressed on the gas, waving apologetically to the cars behind me.

  What I really wanted to do was pull over right then and there, so I could call Daniel and insist he tell me right now what was going on.

  Instead, I restrained myself. I could wait a few hours and meet him for dinner. I didn’t need to call him and demand answers on the phone. Just like I could also wait until I drove home before texting him back to accept the invitation.

  I didn’t always have to assume the worse, I told myself, after parking, texting him, and heading into the house. Maybe it had nothing whatsoever to do with Gwyn or the memorial service. Maybe it was good news, even. Oh, who was I kidding? Since when did anything that started with the words “Need to talk” turn out to be good news? A more reasonable explanation was that it had nothing to do with me at all, and he actually just needed to talk.

  That was probably it.

  I put my keys and purse away, feeling even more edgy than before. Clearly, my pep talk wasn’t working. Maybe what I needed to do was focus on something else. Something physical. Like getting The Studio ready. That was a good idea.

  I started hauling boxes down to the basement. Eventually I was going to need to go through everything, but not today. It felt more important to get the space ready, so I could actually start the business. Sorting through old boxes would likely send me down a rabbit hole and actually keep me from getting the business up and running.

  I didn’t need any more distractions. I was nervous enough as it was.

  I had to shift things around the basement to make the boxes from The Studio fit. I had forgotten the basement was already filled with junk—a couple of tables, what looked like an old still to make alcohol, even an ancient looking chest freezer shoved in one corner. I wondered if it even still worked.

  As I pushed boxes against one of the walls, I noticed a crack in the basement floor. My heart sank. Did that mean there was a problem with the foundation? A problem that would cost me a lot of money to have fixed? Tentatively, I touched it. It seemed solid, like it had been there for a while. I’d keep an eye on it, but hopefully, that was a good sign.

  It took me the better part of an hour, but I got the rest of the boxes and old furniture out of The Studio and into the basement. My back ached and my knees were weak and shaky, but I felt triumphant. The Studio felt so open and spacious.

  Like a fresh start.

  Now, I just needed a little help moving the desk, the filing cabinets, and one of the love seats from the family room up all those stairs, and I’d be set.

  I still had a little time before my dinner with Daniel, so I decided to send an email to Jackie. I fetched my laptop, opened it, and clicked on my email program.

  Before I typed out the email to Jackie, I took a moment to clean out my inbox. Most of it was spam, although I did have a couple from friends in New York. One of these days, I was going to have to let them know I wasn’t coming back. But, after glancing at the clock, I decided today was not that day.

  I continued clicking through—delete, delete, delete—thinking how crazy email had gotten. Like the one with the subject line, “I have a secret.”

  Clever, I thought. I’m intrigued.

  I noticed it was from ‘Friend.’

  Surely, if I clicked on it, it would notify me that I’m now in line to receive a million-dollar inheritance from someone I’d never met. Or maybe that I had been “caught” watching porn, or some other spam.

  I clicked on it to delete it, but I accidentally opened it, and my hand froze.

  There was only one sentence.

  The evil that was done.

  The icy touch of fear crawled down my spine as I stared at the words. There was nothing else. No signature. No links. No nothing.

  Who could have sent it? And why?

  It had to be someone who knew me. There was no way some spammy stranger could have happened upon that sentence by chance. Besides, what would be the point? There was no link to click on, so if it was spam, it was pretty lame.

  So, who did I know who knew about that sentence?

  Chrissy had said it. Of course, she was sleepwalking at the time, and I wasn’t sure she remembered saying it. And, even if she did, would she realize the significance? That Jessica had said it years ago, the night she had disappeared? I didn’t think so.

  Speaking of Jessica, everyone at the party had heard her say it that night. Mia, Daphne, Rich, Daniel, Barry.

  And CB.

  CB had also said it to me the day I visited him in prison, along with a bunch of other stuff … like how he had spent his life “protecting” me, although he never did specify precisely what he had been protecting me from.

  I studied the subject line. I have a secret.

  CB had made it clear he knew things I didn’t. Things that he was “protecting” me from.

  Could he have sent this from jail?

  That made the most sense. It seemed clear he wanted to keep me beholden to him, and let’s face it—making me afraid would certainly help do that.

  Well, if that’s what he thought, he had another think coming. I was done allowing my fear to control me. I was taking control of my life.

  I deleted the email, then thought the better of it. Maybe it was better to keep it in case I needed it later for proof. I dug it out of the trash and stuck it in my CB folder. To cheer me up during my first divorce, CB used to send me funny, inspirational emails. I created a folder to save them, so I could read them during my “dark nights of the soul.”

  Somehow, it seemed fitting to add this email to that folder.

  I glanced at the clock, did a double take seeing how late it was, and was about to sign off to jump in my second shower of the day when I remembered why I had turned my computer on in the first place. Quickly, I sent Jackie an email, then closed everything down to get ready to meet Daniel.

  ***

  I stood outside Mario’s, nervously smoothing down the gold tunic I had paired with black leggings. Leggings seemed like the best choice for these unspecified outings I kept having with Daniel.

  Was this one a date? Or ... what?

  Yes, I was meeting him for dinner. But it was because he needed to talk, which sounded official and not at all like a date.

  On the other hand, what “official” business would he have to talk to me about now?

  My mind went back to him and Gwyn, heads together at the memorial service. Maybe he had changed his mind about dating me after all. The thought depressed me, even as I tried to tell myself that it would likely be for the best.

  Still, if that was the case, why would he bother meeting me at a restaurant? He couldn’t possibly think I would make a scene. Right?

  Well, rather than stand outside and speculate, I could go in and have him tell me. That would make sense.

  But I didn’t move. It felt ... safer outside. Not knowing.

  Despite my earlier knee-jerk reaction to immediately call him and demand he tell me right then and there, maybe I didn’t really want to know after all.

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the rich, delicious scents of hardy, made-from-scratch Italian dishes. My stomach rumbled. It felt like I hadn’t eaten in days, but I remembered having a chicken salad sandwich before the memorial service. Man, that seemed like a long time ago … especially as I stood there smelling the delectable scents of fresh basil, oregano, garlic, onion, and pasta.

  Yet, even the lure of a wonderful meal wasn’t enough to entice me to open the door.

  I’m not sure how long I would have stood there in the dark, cocooned in a pocket of moist, flavorful, humid air, if the sound of a car door slamming and laughing voices from behind me didn’t jolt me out of my stupor.

  I gave myself a quick shake to clear
my head and opened the door to the restaurant. The last thing I wanted was for them to see me and start wondering if Aunt Charlie’s niece was as weird as Aunt Charlie was.

  I found Daniel waiting for me at a table. He wore a navy-blue polo shirt, which I loved … it made his dark-blue eyes pop. He smiled when he saw me. I did my best to smile back as I wiped my sweaty palms one last time on my tunic.

  “That shirt looks fabulous on you Becca,” he said, but the look in his eyes spoke a different story, about how much he would like to remove it. I could feel the heat rise in my chest and neck as my pulse started to race. Steady, Becca.

  “I took the liberty of ordering you a glass of wine,” he continued, gesturing to the glass sitting on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth by my place setting. The wine looked dark, almost black. “I can drink it if it’s not what you want.”

  “No, it’s fine,” I said, touched. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had ordered for me. “Thank you.” I smiled, more naturally this time as I took my seat, causing the flame from the centerpiece, which was a lit candle stuffed in a fat, wax-covered bottle, to flicker and dance.

  He nodded, giving me a crooked smile, and picked up his beer. “How are you holding up?”

  “Fine,” I said, picking up my wine. I hoped he would take the hint and get right to the point. I needed him to tell me what he wanted to talk about.

  He gave me a pointed look. “You don’t have to hide anything from me,” he said.

  I looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was there.”

  “Where?”

  He sighed. “At the memorial service. I heard.”

  “Oh, that.” I put my wine down. Is this why he wanted to talk to me? “I’m okay,” I said. “I mean, it wasn’t fun, but she did lose her daughter and her brother, so her reaction is understandable.”

  “No, it’s not,” Daniel said, his voice heated. “I talked to Bill. He was mortified. He invited you, after all. There was no excuse for her to treat you like that.”

  “Yeah, I wondered why he invited me, with Louise clearly still blaming me.”

  “He thought she was getting over it,” he said. “He thought this would be a good first step toward healing.”

  “Well, I guess he misjudged.” I gave Daniel a half-smile. “Really, I’m okay. It’s not a big deal. Is that why you asked me here, because you wanted to make sure I was okay?”

  “Partly,” he said, and paused to take a long drink of his beer. “Let’s order first,” he said, gesturing to my menu.

  “This sounds serious,” I said. I tried to keep my voice light, but my stomach was in knots.

  Daniel sighed. “I would categorize it more as ... unpleasant, I guess.”

  Unpleasant? Visions of Gwyn and Daniel at the memorial service danced in my brain. I wanted nothing more than to drain my wine and order another. Maybe then I wouldn’t see those images anymore.

  I reached over to play with the glass, but didn’t allow myself to pick it up. “Now you really have my curiosity piqued.”

  “It’s ... look. It’s going to be a super-awkward conversation, and I don’t really want to have it, but I sort of feel like I must. Trust me, it would be better if we ordered first.”

  Oh God. This definitely sounded like one of those, “It’s not you, it’s me” conversations. I must have imagined the sexy, bedroom-eyes look he greeted me with. The knots in my stomach tightened, and I started wondering if I should even bother ordering a meal, as I likely wouldn’t be able to eat any of it. The scents of oregano and garlic and pasta, that only a few minutes ago were so tantalizing, were now making me feel nauseous.

  Although ...

  The strange email flitted through my mind. Could that be what this was about? What CB sent me? Maybe the prison had somehow figured out he sent it, and Daniel wanted to talk to me about it.

  That would make far more sense than wanting to talk about Gwyn. Right? I mean, he had broken up with her. It seemed far more likely that my insecurities were getting the best of me.

  The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that this was all another CB-related mess. And that meant I definitely should enjoy a decent dinner. Firmly, I turned my attention to the menu.

  After the waitress took our order (chicken parm for me, spaghetti bolognese for Daniel), Daniel picked up his beer and took a long swallow. I unfolded my red cloth napkin as I waited for him to break the silence.

  He put his beer down with a clunk. “Did you see Gwyn today?”

  I blinked. I had been so sure he was going to ask me about that email that it took me a second to reorient myself. “I saw her at the memorial service.” I almost added talking to you, but at the last minute, I swallowed the words.

  “I meant earlier.”

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Uh, yes. At A Good Yarn. Why?”

  “Did you call her later?”

  I frowned. “Call her? No. Why would I do that? I don’t even know her phone number.”

  “She claims shortly after she saw you, she got a call from a blocked number. She let it go to voicemail. Now she’s saying it was you. “

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. What was the message?”

  “Just one sentence. ‘Better luck next time.’”

  My eyes widened. “She thinks I left her that message?”

  He nodded. “She’s pretty upset.”

  “But I didn’t,” I exclaimed. “Why would she think that? Did it sound like me?”

  “She said the voice was disguised.”

  “Was it my phone number?”

  He shook his head. “She doesn’t know. The number was marked private.”

  “My number isn’t private. I don’t even know how to do that.”

  Daniel reached over and started twisting his beer mug. “What did you two talk about?” he asked, his tone mildly curious. I sat up straighter, instantly on alert.

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked, suspicious.

  He shrugged. “I have no idea, that’s why I’m asking.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  And there it was. My gnawing insecurities out in the open. It was all I could do to not add the rest of what I was thinking.

  Do you believe her over me?

  Do you still have feelings for her?

  Why were you talking to her at the memorial service?

  His eyes flickered to mine. “Why would I believe her?”

  My hand tightened on my wine glass. “Don’t give me that cop doublespeak—answering a question with a question.”

  He shot me his lopsided smile again. “Sorry. Hazard of the job. To answer your question, yes, I believe someone left her a message. No,” he raised his hand as I opened my mouth to protest, “I don’t believe it was you. BUT it has raised a lot of questions in my mind. Like why would she accuse you in the first place? And who would leave her such a message?”

  “And you think what we talked about is related?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea. But you have to start somewhere.”

  A woman at a nearby table broke into a loud, braying laugh, startling me and causing me to nearly knock over my wine glass. I quickly steadied it, but the wine still sloshed around inside it.

  “Did you ask her what we talked about?”

  “Of course. But I want to see if you remembered something she didn’t.”

  I wanted to ask him why he was so worried about his ex-fiancé when the waitress appeared to drop off bread and salads. Perfect timing, as it gave me an excuse to focus on my food and get myself under control. My emotions were teetering on the edge, and I didn’t want to cause a scene.

  I must have done a crappy job hiding my thoughts, because he took one look at my face, paused and frowned. “What’s the problem
?”

  Sometimes I hated that I wasn’t a better actress. Or that I always seemed to be attracted to observant men. Both of my former husbands could read me like a book. Not to mention CB. Ugh. I would have to work on that.

  He cocked his head. “Becca?”

  I made a face. “Are you sure that’s all?”

  He gave me a confused look. “What’s all?”

  “Why you’re asking me these questions. Why do you care about her voicemail? Why do you care if she’s upset?”

  He looked even more baffled. “Don’t you?”

  My eyes widened. “Seriously?”

  “Of course. Don’t you want to know what she’s saying about you?”

  “Well, I don’t know. It seems like half the town doesn’t have a great opinion of me. Why would Gwyn be any different?”

  “Well, maybe because she’s accusing you of stalking her.”

  “Stalking? Over a stupid voicemail?” My voice squeaked at the end.

  He shook his head. “I told her she was overreacting.”

  “Am I under investigation?” I tried unsuccessfully to lower my voice, but it still sounded too high and too loud.

  “Of course not,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly. God, was I really under investigation again in this town? I wasn’t sure if I could deal with it. “As you pointed out, there’s no crime. So, what would we be investigating?”

  “Then why are you questioning me?”

  “What are you talking about? I’m not questioning you.”

  He certainly sounded shocked. For that matter, he looked shocked, too.

  But ... yet ...

  “You’re asking me what happened today,” I said. “By definition, you’re questioning me.”

  “I already told you why. It doesn’t make sense why someone would leave Gwyn a voicemail like that unless that person was intentionally trying to tie it to you.”

  That stopped me. I hadn’t thought about it like that.

  “You think someone is trying to set me up?”

  Daniel shrugged. “It’s possible. It’s certainly the first thing I thought of. I mean, look at the timing. You and she talk for the first time since we broke up. Then she gets a message saying, “Better luck next time”? And it’s disguised? Who would do that? And why?”