Imprints

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Well, I eat doughnuts, just not that kind. Look, forget about them. Come on in, and I’ll make you a breakfast that will knock your socks off.”

  His eyes went to my bare feet. “And you’re already not wearing any.”

  “You have a problem with my feet?”

  “I think you have beautiful feet.”

  “Oh.” No one had ever said that to me before.

  “Your eyes are beautiful, too. In fact, all of you looks amazing. Especially after what you went through yesterday.”

  That sort of reminded me of someone saying, “She looks great for her age.” Women prefer that a man stop at “She looks great.” Qualifiers greatly lessen the impact of a compliment, but I didn’t hold the additional words against him. He’s a man, after all.

  “Thanks.”

  I made him real hot cocoa and fresh whole wheat doughnuts fried in palm fruit oil, along with fresh eggs from a place that didn’t keep chickens in tiny pens. He ate pretty steadily, so that was a good sign.

  “This really is good.” He was looking at me with something near admiration. The old saying that you can reach a man’s heart through his stomach seemed to be true. Or maybe my outfit was doing its job.

  Everything was going great until Jake arrived.

  I was washing a pan when he rang, and by the time I’d dried my hands and made it to the door, he was knocking and calling my name. “Oh, you’re here,” he said.

  “I’m eating breakfast.” I ran my tongue over my lower lip to check for any stray oil.

  “I see.” Jake looked great this morning in cargo jeans and an off-white shirt with buttons and long sleeves turned up at the cuffs. The light shirt set off the dark color of his skin and his eyes. Eyes that regarded me with suspicion when he saw Ethan appear behind me in the kitchen door. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, we’re just having breakfast. There was a little excitement last night, and Ethan came over to—”

  “He stayed the night?”

  “Well. Sort of. Not really stayed. It was more of standing guard in case the man came back. And he wanted to see the map, of course.”

  “What man? What map? What’s going on here?” Jake’s dark eyes were flashing now, and I recognized anger, which made me angry, too.

  “Nothing. Or nothing that’s any of your business, if that’s the way you’re going to act.”

  “I came over here to see if we could compromise on this cult issue, but you’ve gone right ahead and—”

  “She was attacked last night,” Ethan interrupted in a somewhat superior air. “I came to make sure she was safe.”

  Jake’s stare went from me to Ethan and back again. “You didn’t call me? Autumn, what were you thinking? We’re friends.” Not like this guy, is what his words implied.

  What I’m thinking is that our relationship is never going to be what I want, so I’m moving on. Nothing I could say aloud. I sighed. “Look, why don’t you stay here with Ethan and work this out, okay? Since you’re obviously not going to be around to open your store, or the connecting doors to mine, I’d better get there myself. I seem to remember that you usually have a bit of a morning rush.” I grabbed my handbag and fled.

  I know. For a woman with as many antiques as I had in my apartment, you’d think I’d have had more care about locking up. But I always figured that if someone really needed my things worse than I did, they were welcome to them. Besides, a lot of antiques—my favorites, in fact—looked a lot like old junk. Especially crammed in with all the years’ worth of things Winter and I couldn’t bear to throw away. I’d been robbed only once, when I was twelve. Winter had let a grubby man off the street spend the night, and in the morning he was gone with my radio and my first antique lamp. Last December the man had returned and given me a hundred dollars, the money he’d received all those years ago from selling my things.

  Jake had a key anyway, a fact he was probably showing off to Ethan right now. What was wrong with him? There was only one reason I knew for an unrelated man to act that way, and it wasn’t because I looked good in these clothes. But the possibility of Jake’s harboring secret romantic feelings for me was beyond my ability to hope for at the moment. I was too annoyed.

  “Just friends,” I muttered.

  The morning was a little cold for June, but the sun in the east showed every sign that it would burn away the clouds. I looked around, letting the calm of the new day ease my turmoil. I smiled and waved at neighbors as they passed.

  My mood was destroyed for the second time that morning when my car didn’t start. Great. What now? It sounded like the battery had run down, but I’d replaced it only two months ago. Now I’d have to find someone to let me use their car to jump start it, which I was an old pro at by now, or ask Jake for a ride.

  I definitely wasn’t going to ask Jake. I wanted to stay mad at him because that was better than the other feeling.

  Jake and Ethan emerged from my building, Jake jumping on his bike and roaring away without even looking at me. Ethan sauntered in my direction. I opened my door. “Can you give me a jump start? I have cables.” A private eye should know how to jump start a car, but would a math teacher? Probably. Engines worked logically, right? Not like imprints. Though maybe I could find a science behind those if I knew more science.

  “Aren’t you late already? Why don’t I give you a ride? We can take care of this later. I’d like to take you to lunch, if you’re free. I mean, after you go talk to the Harmony Farm people, of course.”

  Oh, that. Right. I still had to sign up for recruitment. “Sure, but I pick the place, okay?” I never passed up free food, as long as I could get it somewhere I trusted. “There’s a restaurant across from my store that you’ll love.” I slammed my car door shut.

  “Aren’t you going to lock it?”

  “Well, it’s not going anywhere. The radio doesn’t work, either, so there’s not much attraction to thieves.” I locked it anyway. Jake had told me a million times I should be more careful about my car. I’d told him that worrying about locking the store and my apartment was trouble enough.

  “You’d be surprised at what I’ve seen.”

  “As a private eye?”

  “No, on campus. College students are more desperate than criminals these days. The only difference is that the students cannibalize their own cars for parts to sell instead of the cars of others.”

  I laughed. The man had a sense of humor. Maybe I could learn to like math as long as he didn’t try to force me to wear shoes.

  Ethan’s car was a red BMW, which floored me. Normally I wouldn’t notice the make, but this was remarkable. “I didn’t know teachers drove cars like this. Maybe I should become a teacher.”

  He laughed. “This didn’t come from teaching. I do work on the side.” His smile faded. “Well, until Marcie disappeared. I’ve been occupied since then.”

  “I’m really sorry.” I touched his arm, clad in the thin material of his shirt. I meant it to be a brief, comforting gesture, but before I could draw away, he laid a hand over mine, pinning it in place. My heart thumped a little harder.

  “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry for the way I treated you at your shop yesterday. Part of me wanted to believe what Mrs. Fullmer said about you, but it’s just, well, you run into a lot of people willing to take advantage when someone’s vulnerable.”

  I laughed. “You were easier to convince than most. Believe me. There’s a detective down at the police station who thinks I might be in league with a kidnapper I helped them catch. Fortunately, I was in Texas with Tawnia visiting her parents when the little girl went missing.”

  “That’s good.” He released my hand and started the engine. “I take it that you and your sister are close?”

  “Very. There’s a strong connection between us. It’s hard to explain.” I pushed a button to roll down the window a few inches. I don’t know if it was Ethan’s presence or my memories, but I was feeling warm.

  “What time will you go to the ri
ver?” he asked. My apartment was close to my shop, and already we had turned onto the right street.

  “Before noon. Maybe eleven-thirty. I’d like to catch them before lunchtime.”

  “I’ll drive you there.”

  “Better not. If they see you, the game’s over.”

  He made a face. “I guess that’s true, but don’t take any chances. Don’t get into any cars with them. We’ll need to get you outfitted with all the recent technology first. That’s what I’ll work on this morning—getting all that ready.”

  I nodded, my hand going to the door handle as he came to a stop.

  “Autumn,” he said.

  I looked at him.

  “I think we have a connection, too.”

  What do you say to that? I mean, there was a certain level of attraction between us, but until you experienced the sort of connection I felt with Tawnia or had felt with Winter and Summer—well, it wasn’t the same thing at all. But that didn’t mean a connection couldn’t happen.

  I smiled. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Good.” My tone was probably a little too flippant, but in that moment I felt confident and hopeful for the future. Maybe it was time to get over Jake.

  I scooted out of the car, the cold cement of the sidewalk a momentary shock on the soles of my feet. I waved at Ethan, turning before he drove away. Jake had already opened the Herb Shoppe and disarmed the alarms in both stores. All I had to do was open my outer door. No one was in my shop, but Jake was at his checkout desk helping a burly man with a tattoo on his huge upper arm. Jake glanced up at me as I passed the open double doors connecting our stores. I kept my expression steady. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry where he was concerned.

  He came to find me when the burly man had gone. I was in my back room filling my teapot with water. “Autumn?”

  I turned. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.”

  He hugged me, spilling some of the water from my pot down his sleeve. I set down the teapot, still hugging him, letting myself breathe in his familiarity. He felt so good. I wished the moment would never end.

  He held me back from him so he could look into my face, his gaze darkening as it dropped to the bruises on my throat. “You should have called me. I would have come.”

  “I wasn’t trying to have anyone come over. I’m a big girl.”

  His eyes wandered over my face, down to my bare toes and back again. “I’m aware of that.”

  Zing! That’s the only word I knew to describe the funny way my heart reacted to his statement. Are you really? I wanted to ask him. Look into my eyes and tell me what you see.

  I didn’t say any of that, which was odd for me—I’d spoken my mind all my life. Regardless, Jake did continue to look at me, his gaze working to penetrate the walls I’d been building to keep my feelings out of his sight.

  Not good. I dropped my eyes.

  He sighed and shook his head. “Please call me if anything like this ever happens again, okay?”

  I nodded and backed away, tossing him a hand towel so he could blot the water from his sleeve. Normally, I’d have helped him, and we’d have laughed together about our clumsiness, but sometimes a woman has to protect her heart. I busied myself putting the teapot on the stove. “Want some?”

  He shook his head. “Maybe you ought to stay with Tawnia for a while. Until they catch this guy.”

  I shook my head. “It’s too tiny there, now that she and Bret are married.”

  “Then stay with me.”

  Right. That was exactly what I needed. In the old days, I wouldn’t have thought twice about bunking on his couch, but the way I felt now made it a lousy idea. “I’ll be fine, really. He’s just a nutcase. I think he actually wanted to help, giving me the map and the key.”

  “Key?”

  “There was a key, too.” I pulled it from my purse and opened the envelope to show him. He took it out, hefted it, and started to hand it back. I gestured toward the envelope. “It’s got weird imprints. Like the confessional booth.”

  “You mean the one where you fainted?”

  Of course that was the one. The only one. I was a fast learner. I’d gone to the church to thank the priest for coming to Winter’s home funeral at my apartment. He’d offered a few words to the friends who had gathered to show their last respects. He even joined in writing messages on the cardboard coffin, sang a few old hippy songs, and ate homemade organic food to celebrate Winter Rain’s passing. It was the second home funeral I’d had for a parent, and it was no easier at thirty-two years of age than it had been at eleven. The priest’s words had comforted me.

  I wanted him to know what his presence had meant, but when I arrived at the church, he was occupied with a parishioner. During my wait I’d entered the booth out of curiosity, leaving the door open behind me to stave off the claustrophobia I often felt in tight spaces. The moment I entered, images assailed my senses, horrific and comforting, repulsive and beckoning, inflexible and tender, mocking and sincere, and it was all I could do to stagger out the door and collapse onto the floor. That was where the priest had found me, passed out on the hard marble, a lump forming on the back of my head. I didn’t tell him what had happened. That had been in the early stages of my discovering my ability, when I hadn’t even admitted it to myself.

  Come to think of it, I wouldn’t tell the priest now, either. There was no need, because now I attended a new church with Tawnia and Bret, a church where there were no frightening imprints contained in a small space.

  “Autumn?” Jake studied me with concern.

  What had we been talking about? “Yeah. The one where I fainted.”

  “The police will need to question him about the key. Did you tell them about it?”

  “I didn’t call the police. Didn’t Ethan tell you? Besides, I don’t want to tell the police about the key. If they take it into evidence, I might not be able to free Marcie or whoever might be locked up. The police don’t need the key unless they’re going to raid the commune.”

  Jake considered that a moment. “Maybe you’re right, but you still have to call the police. You should have called them last night. I would have.”

  “Maybe that’s why I didn’t call you.” I wished I could take the words back, but it was too late.

  Hurt filled his face a moment before it hardened. “Maybe we’d better call Tawnia and ask her opinion.”

  I threw up my hands. “Okay. I’ll call the police. After I’ve had my tea.”

  “Good.” Jake handed me the key, and even through the envelope I could feel the call of the imprints. Hurriedly, I pushed it back inside my bag. Jake turned and left without another word—and not because he’d heard the jingling from the bells tied to his shop door. In fact, he’d already ignored that jingling twice during our conversation. He was either having a morning rush or his customers had given up and left.

  I sighed and picked up my tea.

  Jake was right. Regardless of Inclar’s original purpose in going to my apartment, he could have killed me.

  Or maybe killing me had been his intention all along. Maybe he wasn’t responsible for leaving the key. But who else knew where I lived? Everyone, apparently. Inclar and Ethan had certainly found me without trouble. I was probably in the phone book under Women Who Live Alone. Maybe I should rethink Tawnia’s offer to stay in her spare bedroom once they moved into their new house.

  No. That was out of the question. I wouldn’t allow fear to eliminate my independence. That was no way to live. Still, I wasn’t looking forward to talking to the police. The way my luck was going, they’d put me in jail for stalking Inclar.

  Sighing, I picked up the phone.

  Chapter 8

  I’d hoped to get a regular beat officer, one who didn’t know or care about my strange abilities. Though I suspected all the officers in Portland had probably heard of me by now, only Shannon Martin, t
he detective who had been assigned to the child disappearance case I’d worked on, really seemed to have it out for me.

  Of course he was the one who showed up at my shop, less than half an hour after I called. Doesn’t he have anything better to do? I had the feeling he just sat at his desk, waiting for me to call.

  He walked through the door, his confident bearing immediately attracting the gaze of my three customers. Shannon wasn’t tall for a man—he was only a few inches taller than I was. He was thirty-five and owned a house on an acre of land on the outskirts of Portland. He had rugged features, as though he spent a lot of time outdoors, the sun prematurely crinkling the skin around his eyes and giving him a healthy, wholesome glow. He was sturdily built and compact, each movement efficient and undeniably graceful. His hair was that color between brown and blond, with naturally lighter streaks from his time in the sun. It was slightly longer than when I’d spent so much time with him last month, showing a bit of curl at the ends that surprised me. He was clean-shaven now, a complete contrast to the rugged, sleepless, grouchy look he’d fostered when we worked together on the missing girl and bike case. Back then he hadn’t made it home in three days to shave or rest.

  I didn’t want to think about the case now, or about little Alice, whose last moments had been so frightening. It still made me utterly and desperately sad.

  Shannon wasn’t in uniform, and for that I was glad. I didn’t want him to run off my customers. One woman was ready to be rung up, so I helped her while the detective watched and waited. Not impatiently but intently.

  His eyes weren’t like other men’s eyes. There was something about them, something perhaps in their green-blue color that illuminated his face. Or maybe it was the heavy frame of light brown lashes that made them so compelling. I didn’t know, really, except that his were the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen in a man.

  There was something else about Shannon, something besides his girly name, bestowed upon him because of a man who’d saved his grandfather’s life: Shannon liked me. He didn’t approve of me as a person, but he couldn’t help that he was fascinated by me. Whether because of my so-called good looks, my strange eyes, my often sarcastic personality, or my cursed talent, I couldn’t say. Because his suspicions ran so deep, he hated his attraction to me, but he felt it all the same. At times I’d catch him staring at me, or for a moment he’d forget to add that cool, unconcerned note in his voice. If he ever allowed himself to shake my hand, he either dropped it quickly or held on a tad too long.