“Mornin’ there, Belle Bailey.” Hank Detcher walked in on schedule.
“Morning, Pastor.” Bailey smiled at him, automatically reaching for a middler-size cup to make his double latte. Hank was in his fifties, a good-ol’-boy, love-everybody kind of guy, and the only man in town who could get away with calling Wilbur old. Bailey thought Hank’s brown eyes, even with their early crow’sfeet and tendency to squint nearly closed when he laughed, were the kindest she’d ever seen.
“How’s the blogging going?” he asked.
Bailey had recently started a blog about Kanner Lake, posting Monday through Friday. Her goal was to introduce more people around the country to the town, subtly encouraging them to come for a visit. More tourists meant more business for her — and she needed that.
“Good. Don’t know whether anybody out there’s reading the thing yet, but people are having fun posting. You’ll be seeing all kinds of stories from various townsfolk. It’s fun. I’m determined to get a post from you up there soon.”
“All right, keep houndin’ me.” Hank touched the bill of his faded red baseball cap and slid into the stool next to Wilbur. “Hey, old man, how ya healing?”
“Pretty good.” Wilbur leaned away from Hank and pulled his shirt up high, revealing his gray-haired chest.
Hank inspected closely, drawing down the sides of his mouth, then nodded.
“Been four weeks now and my heart’s stronger ’n a bull pup.” Wilbur lowered his shirt with pride. “Can’t keep a good man down, I’m telling ya, not even with a triple bypass.”
“That’s the truth.” Hank turned to Bailey. “How’s John today?”
Unexpected tears bit Bailey’s eyes. She focused on her work and blinked them away, then forced a smile. “He had a mild seizure last night and passed out. He’s extra tired this morning. I gave him breakfast in bed, and he was still resting when I left.” She set the latte before Hank.
Wilbur grunted. “Sorry, Bailey, I didn’t know.”
Hank gazed at her with concern. “Bailey, I’m so sorry. I know you hate to leave him on a day like this. How about if I drop in on him before lunch?” He pulled out his typical four dollars to pay for the three-dollar drink.
Bailey nodded, her throat tight. “I would appreciate that so much.”
A familiar thump sounded at the open door. “Shnakvorum rikoyoch!”
“Oh boy, here he comes.” Hitching his shoulders, Wilbur sank lower over his coffee.
“Hey, S-Man.” Hank turned to greet him.
“Hi, Ted.” Bailey watched the logger-turned-author gimp inside using his single crutch, his casted leg thunking on the tile.
The two Ts in the shop watched him curiously. Over his shoulder hung the ever-present black computer case. S-Man’s shaggy brown hair and wide mouth lent him a Stephen King kind of look, further bolstered by his intensity when he talked about his science fiction world. From that world — Sauria — had come his nickname. “You want donuts or cinnamon rolls today?” Bailey asked.
“Rolls, and heat ’em up.” Ted made his way over to his usual table against the far wall, a man on a mission. He muttered to himself as he slid the computer bag off his shoulder and placed it on the table.
As Bailey fetched a biggie cup, she saw Bev and Angie roll their eyes at each other and giggle. Ted paid them no heed.
Wilbur shot Bailey a mischievous look. “So S-Man.” He swayed toward Ted. “How’s Sauria today?”
Ted held up a hold-on finger, still muttering to himself. He unzipped his black bag, withdrew the computer, and turned it on. At its musical tone he clumped to the counter, crutchless. “We got major trouble today on two fronts.” He sank against a counter stool, hands waving. “This Saurian character keeps insisting his name isn’t Gruln when I know it is, and that he’s only three aboyoch old — mighty young for a shopkeeper. And he informs me he has just one leg — ” Ted’s eyes widened, his hands hanging in the air. “Wait!” he blinked rapidly. “The hatchling Rathe saved during his training had its leg bitten off, and he would be about three aboyoch right now!” His mouth rounded, possible consequences of the new story twist flitting across his face. Pushing away from the counter, he gave Bailey a grim look. “Oooh, Rathe isn’t going to like this one bit.”
He swung toward his table, forgetting the latte and cinnamon rolls Bailey placed on the counter. Wilbur watched, slowly shaking his head, as if Ted were some mental patient on the loose.
“Hey,” Hank called to S-Man, “you said trouble on two fronts. What’s the second?”
Ted halted. “Oh yeah.” He turned, clomped back to the counter, and leaned against it, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Edna San is missing.”
Bailey stared at him. Only Ted, preoccupied with his Saurian world, could forget such stunning news. “Huh?”
Wilbur screwed up his face. “Boy, what are you talking about?”
“It’s true.” Ted checked over his shoulder, making sure no tourists were in earshot. “I just came from the post office. Saw Taylor Hodges there. He’d just been to the IGA, where Marge O’Reilly told him. She said Lester just got a call from the police to bring his dog out to Edna San’s estate. Edna’s assistant — you know that woman Francesca something-or-other — apparently called 911 this morning and reported she’s flat-out gone.”
Silence. Bailey, Hank, and Wilbur exchanged nonplused glances. Marge O’Reilly’s husband, Lester, and his dog, Trace, formed one of the best search and rescue pairs in north Idaho. If they’d been called, something was wrong for sure.
Wilbur shook his head. “Yeah, well, let’s not get our hopes up.”
Bailey shot him a disapproving look.
Hank hit a knuckle against the counter. “Hope she’s all right. Not like Edna to — ”
“Hey, everybody!” Sixty-five-year-old Jake Tremaine scurried into Java Joint, skinny arms pumping. His bug-eyed gaze danced around the shop, registering the presence of Ts. With an oops hitch of his shoulders, he made a beeline for the counter. He flattened both palms against the Formica and swayed in close enough for Bailey to smell garlic sausage on his breath. “The ol’ bat — she’s gone AWOL.”
“We heard.” Bailey was too busy trying to make sense of it to frown at his favorite name for Edna San.
Ted regarded Jake absentmindedly, then picked up his rolls and drink and clumped back to his table. Enough of the real world — his mind had apparently returned to Sauria.
Jake sagged, clearly disappointed he’d been beat out as first news bearer. Then gathered himself for a second round. “Well, I just talked to Maude, who just saw Marge at the grocery store. And Marge had just been on the phone for the second time with Lester, so this is the very latest.” His tone turned deadly serious.
“Lester wasn’t sure of the details, but he heard something about Edna San’s dog being missing too.”
“A dog?” Wilbur shook his head. “Now that’s sad.”
A couple of Ts drifted in, and Bailey moved down the counter to wait on them. Wilbur, Jake, and Hank continued to discuss the situation in low tones. Bailey knew Hank wouldn’t say any thing against Edna, even though the woman had disdained his every move at friendship, muttering how she hated “hypocrite preachers.” Only Bailey herself had somehow gotten through to the actress. Maybe it was the free mocha Bailey offered the one and only time Edna showed her face in Java Joint, shortly after she’d moved to the area. Not that the woman needed any kind of charity. But Bailey had seen the sadness behind her suspicious eyes, a world-weariness that spoke of an aesthete, a life hard lived and hard loved. Despite their vast differences, chemistry had sparked between them, Edna staying a few minutes to talk about the town. For Edna, Bailey had since learned, that was a lot. Six months later when the Kanner Lake Times ran a story about John’s turn for the worse with epilepsy, Edna’s assistant had appeared on Bailey’s doorstep, shoved an envelope embossed with Edna’s name into her hands, and left without a word. The envelope contained a thousand dollars in cash. Eve
ry month since then, Francesca had shown up with an identical gift, and none of Bailey’s protests had been able to stop her.
Truth was, what would she have done without that money? With John’s spiraling medical costs and the coffee shop’s slim profits, those gifts had helped keep them afloat.
More tourists and townsfolk on their day off entered Java Joint in a sudden rush. Bailey hurried about, pasting a smile on her face, trying to wait on them all at once. As she frothed milk again in the espresso machine, she wondered where Edna San could have gone. Please, God, keep her safe. Another thought nudged its way into her head, one that shamed her for its appalling selfishness. Immediately she pushed it away, but it refused to go far.
God forgive her, but Bailey couldn’t help but fear for herself and her beloved John if those gifts stopped coming.
TWENTY-FOUR
The police calling? Paige turned to ice as she locked eyes with Sarah. How could they possibly have any reason — and so soon?
“They asked about me? I have no idea why.” Paige’s voice felt brittle.
The anchor chain rattling in the back of her Explorer. Edna San’s body thunking onto the rutted road.
Sarah gave a little shrug. “Well, who knows? It was Officer Frank West who phoned. Know him?”
Paige shook her head.
“Young guy, only a few years older than you.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Not married, and really a looker. He’s tall, with short brown hair and big green eyes. Tell you, makes me wish I was a younger woman.” She grinned. “Maybe he’s seen you around and is interested.”
Hands twisting in her lap, Paige tried to smile. A cop, interested in her? That was crazy. But under the circumstances it was the best reason she could imagine.
“My, what a shy smile.” Sarah looked askance at Paige. “I’ve seen plenty a young man wander in here and give you a second look, but you never seem to notice. You already have a boyfriend? Back in Kansas?”
More questions. That’s the way it had been with vivacious Sarah from day one. Where was Paige from? What was her family like? Why had she moved to Kanner Lake all alone? Sarah never apologized for her curiosity. A naturally trusting soul, thanks to a loving childhood and supportive husband, no doubt, she had no clue about the seamier side of life. When Paige had reluctantly told her a few chosen details, Sarah was clearly astounded. Orphaned at three? Six foster homes? How could such things happen? And in Kansas?
Paige studied the floor, her gaze landing on a stray little piece of blue ribbon. “No, no boyfriend.”
“Hmm, a girl as pretty as you? You want one, don’t you?”
Paige’s eyes fastened on the ribbon, its edge so keenly cut. She licked her lips. “I had a boyfriend once.” Her voice was low.
“What happened?”
Paige’s lips firmed. Shadowed sequences played through her head. She dared a look into Sarah’s face, hoping her own frayed expression would preclude any further probing. “I lost him.”
She held Sarah’s gaze, watched the woman’s mouth open, then close. Sarah looked away, sadness brushing over her face. Then it was gone, replaced with determined optimism. “Well, you’ll find one in Kanner Lake, I predict.” She waved a hand. “That’s why you’ve come here, Paige Williams. You just don’t know it yet. You came to the right place to find a boyfriend, and friends, and a whole new family. That’s what Kanner Lake’s all about — community.”
Paige searched for a response but found none. She was saved by a customer entering the store.
“Marie!” Sarah bustled from around the counter to hug the woman. “I haven’t seen you for so long!”
As the women fell into lively chatter, Paige sat on her stool, tuning them out, wanting to fade to nothingness. Her eyes returned to the bit of ribbon. Why had a policeman called about her? Today?
She slipped off the stool, bent to pick up the piece of trash, and threw it away.
The woman named Marie said something in a low voice. Paige caught “Edna San” and “missing.”
Paige stilled. The word was out.
And police had already called.
Edna’s eye gleaming in the arc of the flashlight.
Another fleeting vision whisked through Paige’s mind: herself, digging up the metal box buried in her backyard and fleeing Kanner Lake before life beat her down once more. Maybe she should leave work right now. Claim a headache. Go home, clean out her belongings, and run.
Paige, you thought about this last night. How far do you think you’d get before the police found you?
She’d been fortunate when she fled her past two months ago.
Four weeks on the road, traveling through states and gathering pieces of a life, until she’d found quiet little Kanner Lake. She could rest here — as long as she stayed out of the public eye.
The police. What did they want?
More customers wandered in — a couple and their little girl.
Somehow Paige collected herself. Stood to greet them, smiling, ready to chat and appear helpful, while her limbs shook and her insides withered like blossoms under scorching sun.
TWENTY-FIVE
Rosa has a new pair of expensive designer jeans.
Rachel climbs the two front porch steps after school, thinking about those jeans, nagging thoughts that chew on her mind. Rosa also bought a new blouse — made of silk. She’s never worn silk before because of its expense. How is she supposed to afford dry-cleaning it? But these things obviously don’t concern Rosa. She strutted like some vain lioness in her outfit this morning as she left for work.
Come to think of it, Rosa seems to have a lot of new things lately, Rachel realizes as she steps inside the house. Rosa’s even bought a few things for her — a new purse, a pair of earrings. Rachel knows her mother makes little more than minimum wage from her checkout job at the convenience store. So where’s the money coming from? Certainly not Tony, Rosa’s new live-in, who hangs around the house all day. Rachel can’t stand to come home from school and see him slouched on the sofa, beer in hand and a cigarette dangling from his lips. Tony is short and muscular, with a crooked nose, apparently once broken. He listens to country music all day long. That’s a new one. Rosa hates country music.
Rachel passes the back of the couch, Tony slumped on its cushions as usual. Her backpack weights her shoulders, and her stomach is grumbling. She had no time to grab anything for lunch when she ran out of the house this morning. She says nothing to Tony as she goes by, and he says nothing to her. Two people in the same house with zero to give each other.
Rachel heads into the kitchen, slips her backpack onto the counter. She makes herself a salami sandwich, trying to ignore the twangy croon of the stereo. She thinks about her creative writing assignment — a three-page paper about her plans for the future.What a laugh. Although she’s good in English, she can’t think of more than a few sentences to sum up her life plans. Graduate from high school. Get out of this black hole of a house. She finishes her task, washes off the knife, and puts the ingredients away. The sandwich goes on a plate. She slugs her backpack over one arm and awkwardly carries it, bumping against one leg, out of the kitchen and down the hall, sandwich in her other hand. She is almost to her room when the front door opens and she hears Rosa’s voice.
Rachel slows at her bedroom door, hearing Rosa’s high heels clatter over the worn bare floor of the entry. She and Tony exchange greetings as if it’s no surprise that she’s home at three-thirty, when she doesn’t get off work until five.
Fear trickles down Rachel’s spine. Something is happening here, and it can’t be good.
She stands still for a moment, gathering little pieces of strength scattered through her weary soul. She pushes through her bedroom door, thumps down her backpack, sets down the sandwich. Already the feeling is growing stronger — the sense that her unsteady world is about to be further rocked.
Back in the hall, she keeps her footsteps quiet.
In the den Rosa is perched on the edge of the couch, smack
ing Tony on the leg with rugged affection and talking animatedly. Her voice has that hard smoker’s edge and her laugh is almost caustic.“It feels so good to get out of that place! Why didn’t you tell me to quit sooner?” She leans over and play-strangles Tony, who’s grinning at her like an idiot.
The sight sickens Rachel.
“What are you doing home?” The words blurt from her, etched with anxiety. She hates that her tone has revealed her fear, and her jaw hardens. She stops at the door, distancing herself.
“Well, hello to you too.” Rosa turns to look at Rachel over the back of the couch. Her white-blonde bangs hang in her eyes, and her lipstick is worn off, leaving a jagged ring of liner around her mouth. She tosses her head with supreme satisfaction, and her loop earrings swing.
Rachel only glares, her silence demanding an answer. Rosa cocks her head and wiggles her plucked eyebrows. She’s apparently so very happy with life at the moment that even her daughter’s cynicism won’t bring her down.
A year ago Rachel wouldn’t have been so bold. But something happened when she turned sixteen three months ago. Rosa stopped hitting her. Maybe because she finally stood as tall as her mother. Or maybe because of the hardness Rachel pretended to have built around herself, like some fiberglass wall. Whatever the reason, Rosa has mellowed. Sometimes Rachel almost misses the beatings. At least Rosa was playing mother, however bad she was at the role. Now she treats Rachel more like an irritating little sister.
Rachel tries to tell herself she doesn’t care.
“What’s wrong with you?” Rosa makes a face at her.
Rachel holds her stare. She will not show any more weakness.
“You quit your job?”
Rosa lifts her arms in the air, as if thanking the heavens. “Yes! No more slaving in that dump!”
The news washes through Rachel like cold rain. One thing about Rosa — as tripped-out and selfish as the woman can be, she’s also paranoid. For as long as Rachel can remember, she has fretted about not being able to pay bills, losing their house. It’s one of the reasons why one man after another has lived with them. The second income has kept a roof, however saggy, over their heads.
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