Valley of Shadows and Stranger in the Shadows: Valley of ShadowsStranger in the Shadows

by Shirlee McCoy

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m Tiffany Reed. My husband told me he’d invited you. I wanted to call and tell you a little more about what we’re doing here, but Jake refused to give me your number. He said you might not be ready to face the Lakeview Quilters.”

  “He might have been right.”

  Tiffany laughed, the sound full and unapologetic. “We’re not as scary as we look. Come on. I’ll introduce you to a few of the ladies. Then you can get started.”

  “I’ve never quilted before in my life. I barely know how to sew.”

  “Not a problem. We’ve got people doing everything from cutting squares to stuffing bears.”

  “I might be able to handle that.”

  “Of course you can. Jake tells me you’re a computer forensics specialist.” She started toward the group and Chloe followed, moving fast to keep up.

  “I was one. Now I’m a florist.” Though if she smashed one more of Opal’s intricate bows, she might not be that for long.

  “You and I have a lot in common, then. I was a computer tech before I opened my quilt shop. I’d love to hear more about your old job. Why don’t you come over after work one day? We can have a cup of coffee and chat. Of course, you’d be exposed to my noisy munchkins, so…” She blushed. “Sorry, I’m speed-talking again. I’ve got a two-year-old and a newborn at home. When I talk to adults, I’m so excited to actually have people that understand me, I feel like I’ve got to get it all out at once.”

  “Talking fast is better than talking to yourself. Which is what I’ve been doing lately.”

  Tiffany laughed again, looping an arm through Chloe’s. “You know. I think you and I are going to get along fine. Now, let’s get to work before Irma Jefferson sees us chatting and cracks the whip.”

  “She’s the group leader?”

  “No, she just thinks she is.”

  Chloe laughed and allowed herself to be tugged deeper into the buzz of activity.

  * * *

  Ben typed a sentence. Deleted it. Typed another one. Deleted it.

  Disgusted with his lack of focus, he stood and walked to the small window that looked out over the churchyard. Fall had ripped the leaves from the tall oak that stood in the center of the lawn. Its broad branches were clearly visible in the moonlight. Beyond that, the parking lot was still half full. Wednesday night’s prayer meeting was over, but there were plenty of other activities. Choir. Youth Bible study. The quilting circle.

  The quilting circle where Chloe might be.

  He’d thought about calling her several times during the past few days, but had decided against it. They’d have dinner Saturday night and catch up then. Anything else seemed like…

  Exactly what it was. Interest.

  Ben ran a hand over his hair, rubbed the tension at the back of his neck. There were fifteen single women at Grace Christian Church. All of them were nice, sweet and as uncomplicated as women could be. Which was much more complicated than Ben wanted to deal with. Friends and acquaintances had set him up with dozens of their female relatives during the past six years—daughters, nieces, cousins, aunts. Mothers. None of them had caught and held his attention the way Chloe seemed to be doing.

  He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that and was even less sure that how he felt mattered. Chloe seemed to be the direction his life was heading. Whether or not that was a good thing remained to be seen.

  “Busy?” Jake’s deep voice pulled Ben from his thoughts and he turned to face his friend who stood in the doorway of the office.

  “No. Come on in.” He waited while Jake stepped across the threshold and closed the door. “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you’d be on child-care duty.”

  “I got called into work. Tiffany’s mom is babysitting the kids.”

  “Anything serious going on?”

  “Kyle Davis is feuding with his neighbor again, insisting Jesse Rivers is stealing mail from his box.”

  “That does sound serious.” Ben grinned, gestured to the chair across the desk. “Want to have a seat?”

  “I’ve only got a minute. I just wanted to check in on Tiffany, make sure she’s not overdoing it.”

  “Is it possible to overdo it while quilting?” Ben tried not to smile but failed. The gruff, hardened police officer who’d come to Lakeview five years before had definitely been softened by love.

  Jake scowled. “Go ahead and laugh, my friend, but from my vantage point, it seems your time has come.”

  “Does it?” Ben lifted a pen from the desk, tapped it against his palm.

  “You brought Chloe pie.”

  “Opal insisted.”

  “I’ve seen you refuse other insistent matchmakers.”

  True, and Ben didn’t deny it. “Chloe’s had a tough time.”

  “And is still having one.” There was tightness to Jake’s voice that Ben didn’t like.

  “You’ve got more information?”

  “I spoke to someone else on the D.C. police force. He was willing to tell me a little more than just what’s in the records.”

  “Like what?”

  “Chloe was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder a couple of months after the accident.”

  “And?”

  “The complaints she filed were vague—things being moved around in her apartment, someone following her. She reported her laptop stolen. Then found it in the trunk of her car.”

  “So, they assumed she was making it up?”

  “No. Both men I spoke to have worked with Chloe in the past. Her skills in computer forensics have helped close some difficult cases. Both said she was professional, intelligent, easy to work with. Neither thinks she was making things up.”

  “Then what do they think?”

  “That losing her fiancé in an accident that was meant to take her life left her…unbalanced.”

  “She doesn’t seem unbalanced to me. Just scared.”

  “I told the guy I was talking to today the same thing. He disagrees. The brake line on Chloe’s car had been cut. She was driving. After the accident she told several people that she wished she’d died instead of Adam.” Jake raked a hand through his hair, ran it down over his jaw. “Look, I don’t know if this is something I should be sharing, but I can trust you to keep it quiet and you might have better luck getting more information about it from Chloe than I will.”

  “What?”

  “Chloe attempted suicide two weeks before she left D.C.”

  Ben stilled at the words, his fist tightening around the pen he held. “No way.”

  “She refused to admit it, but paramedics found an empty bottle of antidepressants in her trash can. The prescription was filled less than a week before.”

  “Chloe called for help?”

  “No. A friend called to see how Chloe was feeling and thought she sounded odd. She called an ambulance. That saved Chloe’s life.”

  “Was the friend Opal?”

  “I didn’t ask, but it’s possible. Chloe left D.C. less than two weeks later. Didn’t bother leaving a forwarding address or telling the police that she was going. According to the guy I talked to today, Chloe insisted someone had tried to murder her. Investigation revealed nothing. No sign of forced entry into the apartment. No fingerprints but Chloe’s.”

  “And your thoughts on this?”

  “The same as they were before—I think there are missing pieces to the puzzle. I think something is going on that we don’t understand. I also think I could be wrong, that maybe I’m misreading Chloe and she really does have some deep-seated problems.”

  Ben nodded. “I can see that.”

  “But you don’t agree?”

  “No. I don’t. Chloe doesn’t seem de
pressed enough to try and end her life.”

  “Maybe she isn’t anymore.”

  “That kind of depression doesn’t just go away, Jake.” He dropped the pen back onto the table, rolled his shoulders trying to ease the tension in his neck. “What’s the next step?”

  “One of us needs to ask Chloe what happened that night.”

  “You’re the police officer.”

  “I can’t see upsetting the woman and that’s probably what my blunt questions would do.”

  “You’re not that bad.”

  “Sure I am. Even my wife says so. Speaking of which.” He smiled, frustration and worry draining from his face. “I’ve got a redhead to track down before I go home.”

  “I’ll walk with you, see if Chloe showed up at the quilting circle.”

  “Call me once you two talk.”

  Once they talked? Ben doubted there’d be much talking going on once he asked Chloe if she’d attempted suicide. No matter how he tried to couch the question, he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be taken well.

  They stepped into the reception hall, the buzz of activity and enthusiasm washing over Ben. He loved watching the women and men as they worked, the busy, almost frantic pace they set like an intricately choreographed dance to the music of chattering voices and laughter.

  “There’s my wife.” Jake’s soft smile and quick, eager steps as he moved toward Tiffany brought back memories of Ben’s own happiness with Theresa, his own eagerness to be with her.

  Now, he had no one to rush to. No one waiting for his return home. No one to ask about his day. He’d had seven years to get used to that, but sometimes it still bothered him. Sometimes he still felt the aching pain of loss and loneliness.

  He shook aside the thoughts, not willing to dwell on what he didn’t have. The key to happiness and contentment, he’d found, was in dwelling on what he did have. A home. Friends. A job he loved.

  He scanned the room, searching for Chloe’s coal-black hair and slim figure, not sure he’d be able to spot her in the crowd if she were there. A few men were interspersed among the women, mostly widowers, though some were young teenagers or college students. One or two die-hard bachelors were in the mix as well, looking for someone new to set their sights on. Ben searched their faces, wondering if Brian McMath were there. If he was, he’d probably hightail it to the only single woman in attendance who didn’t know his reputation.

  It took only a few seconds to spot the doctor, his buttoned-up white dress shirt and dark tie setting him apart from the rest of the crowd. Standing at the stuffing table, shoving filler into a quilted bear, Brian looked like a fish out of water. The woman beside him looked more comfortable, her faded jeans and dark sweater more in keeping with what the rest of the group was wearing.

  Chloe.

  Both surprised and pleased to see her there, Ben strode toward the two. “Hi, Brian. Chloe. Mind if I join you?”

  “Actually, we were discussing some medical issues that Chloe would probably prefer to keep private.” McMath’s dismissal was curt.

  Ben ignored it.

  “Sounds fascinating.” He smiled at Chloe and she returned the gesture, her lips curving, her eyes begging for intervention.

  “Not even close. Here.” She handed him a flat bear patchworked in various yellow prints. “You can stuff Cheers. He’s starting to feel left out.”

  “Cheers?”

  “He’s bright enough to cheer anyone up.”

  “Did you name yours, too?” He gestured toward the purple-toned bear she held.

  “Of course. This one is Hugs.”

  “Because he’d make any kid want to hug him?”

  “You catch on quick, Ben.” This time her smile was real.

  “I hate to break the news to you two, but they’re stuffed bears. They don’t require names.”

  Chloe met Ben’s eyes and her smile widened. “Of course they do. That’s the whole point of having a stuffed animal. You give it a name. Pretend it’s your friend.”

  “Must be a girl thing.” Brian grumbled and grabbed another handful of filler.

  “I don’t know about that. I can remember having a stuffed bear when I was maybe five. I called him Brown Bear.” He’d given it to his sister when she was a toddler and she’d recently passed it to her one-year-old.

  “Brown Bear. Very creative, Ben. My toys were more educational. Puzzles. Word games. Those kinds of things. How about you, Chloe? I’m sure a computer forensic expert…”

  “I’m a florist, Brian.”

  “But you were an expert in computer forensics. I’m sure the kind of intelligence it takes to do that sort of work starts in early childhood.”

  “Actually, I didn’t have many toys when I was a kid. Just a stuffed turtle that Opal gave me. A floppy green and brown one that was perfect for cuddling.”

  “And you named him, of course.” Ben shoved a handful of stuffing into the yellow bear, wondering if the bright, relaxed woman next to him was really the tragically broken woman the D.C. police had painted her to be.

  “Of course. I called him Speedy.”

  “That’s a strange name for a turtle.” Brian frowned, tossed the green bear he was stuffing onto the table where another group was stitching closed openings. “But let’s talk about something that is more grown-up. Like those scars. There are ways to correct some of the damage, Chloe.”

  “I’m sure there are, but I’m not interested.” Chloe finished stuffing the bear she was working on and grabbed the last one off the table, slashes of color staining her cheeks.

  “Surely a woman as beautiful as you—”

  “Knows her own mind.” Ben spoke firmly, hoping to put an end to Brian’s pushiness.

  “Like I said when you joined us, the conversation is confidential. Something between patient and doctor.”

  “You’re right, Brian. I think that’s exactly what I’ll do. Discuss things with my doctor.” Chloe finished filling the last bear and set it on the to-be-stitched table, her smile sweet as pecan pie, but not quite hiding the bite to her words.

  “I’m sure you haven’t had time to find one yet.”

  “My surgeon recommended someone. I’ve got an appointment for next week.”

  “I see. Who with?”

  “I think that’s probably confidential, Brian.” Ben smiled at the doctor, then gestured to the empty table. “It looks like we’ve finished the last bear. How about joining me for a cup of coffee, Chloe?”

  Chloe’s brow creased, a frown pulling at the edges of her mouth. Ben thought she’d refuse. Then she glanced at Brian and nodded. “Sure. It was nice talking to you, Brian.”

  “Maybe we’ll see each other next week.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I’ll see you Sunday, Brian.”

  The doctor’s nod was curt, his shoulders stiff as he moved away.

  “I guess we should go get that coffee.” Chloe sounded tired, the dark shadows under her eyes speaking of too many sleepless nights.

  “You don’t seem too enthusiastic.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “Opal’s working you too hard?”

  “You know that isn’t even close to the truth.”

  “I do.” He led her into the office, gestured for her to have a seat. “So maybe she’s not working you hard enough.”

  “Boredom can make the day long, but I wasn’t bored today. We’re almost too busy this week what with half of Lakeview coming in to hear about what happened Saturday night.”

  “So if it’s not boredom maybe there were too many thorns on the roses. Too many petals in your hair.”

  She smiled, shook her head. “Too many nightmares last night.”

  “I’d like to s
ay that was going to be my next guess, but it wasn’t.” He poured coffee from the carafe on the coffeemaker and handed her a cup. “Want to tell me about them?”

  “Not really.” She smiled again, lowering her gaze and tracing a circle on the desk with her finger. “You and Jake walked into the reception hall together.”

  “He stopped by to see his wife.”

  “He had news, though. About me, right?”

  “He did say he’d spoken to D.C. police again.”

  “And?” She met his gaze, her eyes shadowed, whatever she was thinking well-hidden.

  He could beat around the bush or he could lay it all out on the table. The latter was more his style and Ben couldn’t think of a good reason to change it now. Much as he might want to avoid the issue, he wasn’t going to hide the truth. “The guy he spoke to today said you tried to commit suicide.”

  “I knew that would come up eventually.”

  “Yet you didn’t mention it to Jake.”

  “And give him reason to doubt me? I lived with that for almost eleven months. I didn’t want to live it here, too.” She brushed her bangs off her forehead, her eyes flashing emerald green fire.

  “Like Jake told you before, he can’t help you if he doesn’t have all the necessary information.”

  “He knows everything I do.”

  “Everything except whether or not you actually were attempting suicide.”

  “If I’d been trying to kill myself, I wouldn’t have picked up the phone and had a conversation with Opal.” Her words were blunt, her gaze direct, but there was a forced quality to both, as if she were trying to convince herself of the very things she wanted him to believe.

  “I believe you.”

  “Do you? Because lately I’m not even sure I believe myself.” She stood abruptly. “I’ve really got to go. Like I said, it’s been a long day.”

  Ben stood, too, putting a hand on Chloe’s arm and holding her in place when she would have walked out the door. Her skin was pale, her mouth drawn in a tight line, the moisture in her eyes tempting Ben to wrap her in a hug that he knew she wouldn’t appreciate. “Whatever is going on, Chloe, you don’t have to face it alone.”