Secrets of Redemption Box Set

by Michele Pariza Wacek

  Louise deserved compassion, not accusation.

  And what if I was wrong? What if it was someone else, someone close to Louise, like a good friend or a different family member, who was doing it for Louise without her knowledge?

  I didn’t want to accuse an innocent person … especially one who had suffered more than her share of tragedy.

  No, I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even Daniel. Not until I had proof.

  You don’t know who you can trust.

  It was too risky to tell. So many things could go wrong, not the least of which was the anonymous email sender realizing I had told and deciding not to share his proof with me. I could blow my chance of ever finding out the truth.

  I needed more than a few cryptic emails before I told anyone. More than shadows, and feeling like I was being followed. More than Maude telling me to be careful, so I wouldn’t disappear.

  I needed more than the growing sinking feeling inside me that there was something bad brewing right beneath the surface.

  Something that couldn’t be seen ... yet ... but that was getting bigger and stronger every day.

  You don’t know who you can trust.

  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I had no choice. I had to meet with the anonymous email sender. I had to get to the bottom of what was going on. I had to do whatever I could to save my reputation. This meeting was the fastest, best way to do it. And I had to go alone. I couldn’t risk jeopardizing the opportunity by telling someone.

  Besides, I would be meeting him in a public place. I would have my phone with me. I would be perfectly safe. Once I heard his proof, whatever it ended up being, then I could take everything straight to Daniel.

  On top of that, if Louise was behind it, which seemed more and more probable, I had no indication that she wanted me hurt or harmed physically. So, there was no reason for me to worry about being attacked. And CB didn’t want to hurt me. So, even if I wasn’t meeting in a public place, which I was, I should be perfectly safe.

  Chrissy pushed a styrofoam container in front of me. “Chicken potpie,” she said. “It was the special today. I made it from scratch. I thought you might want to try it.”

  I flipped open the container and inhaled the savory aroma of chicken, rosemary, thyme, carrots, and onions. “It smells wonderful,” I said, although my stomach was in so many knots, I wasn’t sure I could get anything down. However, I knew it would be good for me to eat something.

  Chrissy beamed and handed me a fork. Mia poured herself a glass of wine, watching my face closely. “Becca? Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded, cutting off a piece of the flaky crust and putting it in my mouth. It was so buttery, it practically melted. “Wow, Chrissy, this is wonderful.” To Mia, I said, “I’m fine. Really. I’m just taking a little break from making tea all afternoon. It was nice sitting here in the quiet.”

  Mia didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Both of them wore white shirts and jeans, the standard uniform for Aunt May’s employees. Both looked wrinkled, and Chrissy’s was covered with sweat stains. Wisps of her black-and-pink hair had fallen out of her ponytail and curled around her flushed and sweaty face. Her makeup was smudged, but her skin had a warm glow, like she was finally regaining her health.

  Mia, on the other hand, looked even more pale and exhausted than she had that morning. She picked up her wine glass and joined me at the table, slumping down in her chair.

  I took another bite. “Hard day?”

  “Just busy,” Mia said, taking a sip. “It’s my third double shift in a row, and I’m feeling it.”

  “Maybe it’s time to back off,” I suggested. “I know the money is good, but you don’t want to be this exhausted when classes start.”

  Mia checked a yawn. “You may be right. Tomorrow, I’m back to normal shifts for a few days. Maybe I’ll adjust my schedule.” She eyed me over her wine glass. “Daniel coming over?”

  I had taken careful pains with my appearance, fixing my hair and adding some makeup. “I’m meeting him for drinks tonight,” I said, praying Mia hadn’t run into him in the past couple of hours. I had already texted him to tell him I wasn’t feeling well and might be coming down with something. He asked if he should bring me some chicken soup, but seeing as I was trying to make sure he didn’t stop by for any reason while I was gone, I insisted Chrissy had me covered, and likely all I needed was a good night’s sleep.

  I had no reason to think Mia would suspect anything, other than her practically supernatural ability to know the latest gossip.

  “Sounds fun,” Mia yawned. “I’ll probably head off to an early bedtime.”

  “Smart plan,” I said, moving a couple of pieces of chicken around on my plate, trying to ignore the niggling feeling inside me that I was making a mistake by not telling Mia the truth. Not to mention I didn’t like lying to her. But what were my choices? I didn’t have enough time to explain everything that had been going on. And what if she insisted on calling Daniel, who would definitely insist on coming with me, thereby messing everything up?

  No, I decided, scooping up a fork full of food. It was too risky to tell. I could share everything with her after. Once I had the proof, everything would change.

  I was meeting the email sender in a public place, I reminded myself again. It would be fine.

  ***

  The Grand Slam Sports Bar and Grill was roughly a twenty-minute drive from my house, located between Redemption and a couple other towns off the main highway. It was large enough to house a pretty big crowd, which made it a popular destination even on a weekday night, especially when there was a big Packers, Brewers, or UW Badger game on.

  I figured it would be safe enough meeting my unknown email sender there.

  Nevertheless, I made sure to pack a full bottle of pepper spray and a flashlight with fresh batteries. I also made sure my phone was fully charged. I was taking no chances.

  I had left myself plenty of time, arriving at ten minutes to eight. As expected, the parking lot was about a third full, and there was a decent crowd inside. I spent a few minutes loitering in the lobby, unsure if I should get a table or just wait, but finally decided I was likely calling more attention to myself if I didn’t get seated.

  I got myself a booth facing the door and ordered a club soda and lime. And waited.

  And waited.

  I watched groups and couples enter and leave. Every now and then, a single person would walk in and scan the crowd. I would hold my breath, wondering if this was finally the person, but then he or she would smile and wave and head over to another group.

  Over thirty minutes later, my club soda was gone, and I was reduced to playing with ice.

  How long should I wait? I had zero experience with this type of thing. It was past eight thirty, the sun had set, and darkness was descending.

  At quarter to nine, I decided I had waited long enough. The waitress had even apparently forgotten about me, as she hadn’t been back since depositing my club soda. I threw down a few bills, figuring they should cover everything, and slid out of the booth.

  Long shadows stretched across the parking lot. A pale moon had risen in the distance. I pulled my keys out of my purse in the doorway of the bar, fighting feelings of disappointment and anger. What a waste. I drove all this way for nothing. Those emails were probably nothing but spam. The joke was on me. I had been so desperate to get to the bottom of Gwyn’s stalker situation, and I had been so sure it had to be Louise (or someone connected to her), that I had allowed my emotions to override my common sense.

  I unlocked the car and slid inside. All was quiet and still. Not a soul around me. I twisted the keys in the ignition and maneuvered my way through the long, curvy road that connected the parking lot to the main highway. I had to turn sharply to avoid a pick-up truck parked on the side of the street.

  Why would anyone pa
rk a car there, I fumed to myself. Talk about unsafe. As I passed, I glanced over at it, wanting to see if the driver was inside, so I could tell him how unsafe it was to park there.

  Well, in the mood I was in, maybe it would be less “telling” and more yelling.

  However, it seemed I would be thwarted even from that small victory. The truck appeared to be deserted.

  Argh! Would nothing go right for me at all?

  Although ... I thought back to the glimpse of the truck I had gotten when my headlights fell on it. My blood suddenly turned cold.

  Was it ... blue?

  I whipped my head around, searching the side of the road and the parking lot frantically.

  All was quiet. Deserted.

  Was the anonymous email sender here after all? Is that what this meant? Did something spook him, and that’s why he didn’t approach me in the bar?

  I was making a lot of assumptions, I knew. Even if it was a blue pick-up truck (and with how dark it was, I couldn’t be sure), who cares? There were probably hundreds, no thousands, of blue pick-up trucks in southern Wisconsin.

  It certainly didn’t mean it was the same one I kept seeing over and over.

  And, even if it was, it still didn’t mean I was being followed.

  But, regardless, what was I going to do? Park on the side of the road and try and search for the driver? By myself? In the dark?

  And what if I found the driver—then what? Ask him if he was the one sending me emails?

  Yeah, that would go well.

  No, the smartest thing I could do would be to drive home and call Daniel and confess everything.

  Yes, that sounded like a plan. A solid, good plan.

  I slowed down to make the sharp left turn back onto the highway. As I turned, my headlights swept past an intersecting road.

  A figure was standing there.

  I slammed on the brakes. The figure darted backward, disappearing into the dark shadows.

  I threw my car in reverse, and after looking around to make sure there were no cars, I did a quick three-point turn.

  It was probably someone who lived here, I told myself, as I started driving down the road where the figure had retreated.

  Or maybe a hitchhiker, I reasoned with myself. It probably had nothing to do with that pick-up truck at all. Or me.

  But ...

  What if this WAS my anonymous email sender? What if he had intended to meet me, but got spooked by something or someone he saw in the bar? What if this was his way of getting my attention, so we could meet privately?

  It was such a long shot. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to drive down the road a bit. I had come all this way, after all, and I was safe inside my car with the doors locked. It made sense to at least check it out. I could take a quick detour, see if there was anything back there, and if there wasn’t, no harm no foul. I would go back to my first plan, which was to head home and tell Daniel everything.

  The road quickly narrowed, transforming with a bump from asphalt to dirt and gravel. Trees pressed in on either side, the sharp branches scraping the side of the car as I bounced around, trying to keep control of my steering while searching the area. A pair of eyes glowed green in my headlights, peering out from behind a bush. Some sort of animal. A raccoon, maybe. The eyes disappeared.

  There was no sign of any dark figure.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. The road was really bad. Was there even enough room for me to turn around? What if I got stuck?

  What a mess.

  “This is officially the last time I chase any unrecognizable figures down a road I’ve never been on in the dark,” I muttered to myself as I braked. The more I thought about it, the stupider I felt. Even if I was right and that figure was my unknown email sender, was I really going to get out of my car to meet with him here? In the dark? In the middle of nowhere?

  It was like a bad Lifetime movie waiting to happen.

  What had I been thinking?

  That was my problem. I hadn’t been.

  I sat in my idle car, debating my options. Maybe I should just back up rather than try and mess with turning around. The road didn’t seem like it was used all that much.

  I put the car in reverse, when I saw a flash of light in front of me.

  Like a flashlight blinking.

  I paused and waited. There it was again.

  Definitely a flashlight.

  Was that a message? For me?

  I swallowed hard, hearing a click in my throat. The hairs on the back of my arms were standing on end.

  The flashlight blinked again.

  Every part of me screamed to floor it. Get out of there as fast as possible. It wasn’t safe.

  On the other hand, what if this was my chance to finally get to the bottom of everything? Was I really going to abandon it without, at the very least, trying to see who the person was?

  Was there a way I could drive forward just a few more feet and angle the car toward the source of the flashlight, using my headlights to get a look at the person?

  It was worth a try. I wouldn’t drive far, just a little bit. And if it didn’t work, I would put the car in reverse and get the hell out of there.

  I made sure all my doors were locked again before putting my car back into drive and slowly creeping forward, turning the wheel toward the side of the road.

  Something glinted in my headlights. A car. Parked half in, half off the road.

  I stopped, studying it, straining to make out the figure.

  But as far as I could see, the car was deserted.

  Now what?

  Leave? Come back and check it out in the morning? Or just try and forget the whole thing, chalking it up to a dead end?

  I searched the area one last time, when I suddenly realized there was something black smeared on the rear bumper. I leaned forward, trying to see what it was.

  It was definitely some sort of liquid, and I could even see a couple of clumps.

  I wondered what sort of liquid would make such a stain. Was it oil?

  Unless ... it only appeared black in the glow of my headlights.

  My heart was starting to pound in my chest, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded as the realization of what it looked like slowly dawned on me.

  Blood.

  Why would blood be on the side of the car like that?

  I put my hand over my mouth, trying to keep myself from screaming, as I searched the area again, looking for any sign of the figure.

  But it was quiet and still. Deserted.

  I took one more look at the car and noticed something sticking out of the trunk. I stared at it. Was it material? I could just make out a pattern, like on a shirt. Or a dress.

  Oh my God.

  I slammed the car in reverse and jammed on the gas, backing out of there as quickly as possible. I had no idea what was in that car, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good.

  The tires spun and the steering wheel jerked out of my hands. Careful, Becca, I said to myself, fighting to keep my seat as I bounced around on the rocky road. Slow down. You don’t want to get stuck or, God forbid, crash.

  But it was like my body had taken over. I was desperate to get back to the main road, desperate for people.

  What was in that trunk?

  There was a particularly loud bump as the road transitioned back to asphalt, and the car skidded again. I fought for control, both of myself and the car, and forced myself to ease up on the gas and press on the brake.

  I could see the main road behind me. Oh, thank God. I forced myself to slow down enough to make sure no one was coming before I backed into the street.

  All I wanted to do was drive as fast as I possibly could away from there, but instead, I pulled over to the side and parked, keeping the car running.

  My hands were
shaking. My whole body was shaking. I could see the lights of The Grand Slam and the parking lot behind me.

  I had to call someone. Daniel. I had to tell him about the car. What if there was someone in it who was still alive? I had to get help.

  My trembling hands dropped my cell phone twice before I was able to dial. I still didn’t feel completely safe, but I also didn’t want to leave. It might be a crime scene. I had to stay.

  As I listened to Daniel’s phone ring, my other hand located my can of pepper spray. It wasn’t much, but it made me feel a little better.

  Chapter 13

  For the second time that night, I was back in the bar. But this time, instead of drinking club soda with lime, a mug of hot coffee, loaded with cream and sugar, was in front of me. My hands cupped it tightly, trying to suck as much warmth out of it as I could. I was so, so cold. My body wouldn’t stop shivering.

  It had taken a few minutes for Daniel to calm me down enough for me to tell him where I was. I had been babbling—about the car, the figure, the shadow, the emails—all in one jumbled mess. When he realized I was parked on the side of the road twenty minutes away from him, and that I was alone, he ordered me to return to the bar and wait for him.

  “Drive back to the parking lot,” he said. “Now. Park under the lights and wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  I did what he instructed, angling the car so I could see the winding entrance and exit road. I turned the ignition off and sat there, my phone clutched in one hand and my pepper spray in the other, trying to keep my eye on every single person who (and car that) came in or left the parking lot.

  It was probably nothing, I told myself. The car had likely been abandoned there for weeks, if not months. The stain was probably nothing. Whatever I saw sticking out of the trunk was surely nothing.

  But the blinking flashlight ...

  … it was probably just a kid playing a prank, who just happened to be standing by that car, I told myself firmly. That was all.

  Chances were, I was wasting Daniel’s time and had worked myself up over nothing. That was the most logical explanation.