We ended up taking six pictures. Three of them were of Senator Hanley and me. We stood in front of his desk, and he put his arm around my shoulders. He smiled and I smiled. Jilke didn’t smile, but he did push the camera button. That hand around my shoulder only lasted a minute, but it just . . . felt right being there. That’s the best way I can put it. It felt right.
Then Senator Hanley let me take a few shots of him at his desk. Jilke huffed back to his own chair. Senator Hanley pretended like he was reading a file or writing something. Like those pictures you’d see in the newspaper — but these are mine. Between the pictures, though, he’d raise his eyes and look at me. And one side of his mouth would curve, like he was giving me this private communication. I got bold and gave him one of my “well-ain’t-life-something” grins. He laughed, then tilted his head in Jilke’s direction like he was saying, What’s the matter with that guy, anyway?
When we were through, he winked at me. “Carla, I like the way you take on the world.”
And I thought — I like the way you make my world feel.
TWENTY
“Where is Carla? I swear, I’m gonna strangle that kid.” Wilbur Hucks drummed his gnarled fingers on the Java Joint counter, his wizened mouth pulled in and a deep frown on his face. Jake Tremaine hunched on his usual stool beside Wilbur nodding with animation, the ever-present red baseball cap shoved low on his head. “Ya just can’t depend on people anymore, I’m telling ya.” Wilbur aimed these words in Jake’s direction. “She promised she’d be here to help me!”
Bailey Truitt took the tirade in stride. She’d been hearing it for an hour now. And she did hope Carla showed up soon. What could be taking her so long? It wasn’t like her to be late. Bailey had enough to do behind the counter and was very happy to let Carla type Wilbur’s blog post while he dictated. They tended to argue the entire way through a post — brassy Carla never did let Wilbur give her any flak without returning it doubled — but at least it got Wilbur off Bailey’s back.
Turning toward the espresso machine to make a nonfat latte, Bailey spoke in the old curmudgeon’s direction. “She’ll be here, Wilbur, and I’m sure with a very good reason for being late. Maybe that client she took to Edna San’s mansion yesterday wants to buy it. Wouldn’t that be something. She’d get the whole six percent commission after trying for over a year to sell that place.”
Wilbur grunted. “Well, I’ve lived here my whole life. I don’t cotton to some rich smart aleck coming along and thinking he’s more important than me.”
Boy, he was grumpy this morning. Maybe a free pastry would sweeten him up a little.
“How do you know what he thinks?” Jake elbowed Wilbur. “Just ’cause he’s rich don’t make him smart-alecky.”
“What do you know about bein’ rich?”
“Nothing myself, but my cousin’s swimming in money, and he’s decent enough.”
“Then why don’t you get him to come buy Edna San’s house? Cash down. So Carla can stop fretting about that place and start paying attention to the more important things in life. Like typing my blog post.”
Bailey refilled Wilbur’s coffee cup. No “fancy milk drinks” for him — just straight, strong coffee. Black. “Give her a few more minutes, okay? If she doesn’t show up soon, I’ll call her. In the meantime keep gabbing with Jake. That’ll keep you occupied.”
“Whatdya think I’ve been doing all this time, woman! I’ve been gabbing enough to talk Jake’s huge ears off.”
Jake sniffed. “Yeah, but all you been talking about is Carla.” He slid a hand up the side of his head. “And for your information, I’ve seen ears a lot bigger than mine.”
“Where, on a sow?”
“Wilbur.” Bailey frowned. “Now you’re just being mean.”
“Aw, I’m used to it.” Jake’s buggy eyes glanced toward the ceiling. His left hand explored the girth of his ear.
Bailey turned from the espresso machine and poured the latte into a middler cup. “Bev, your drink’s done.”
Across the café, Bev Trexel rose from her and Angie Brendt’s usual table. Bev looked particularly stern this morning, aiming one of her disapproving stares at Wilbur’s back as she approached. Both retired schoolteachers, Bev and Angie were best friends but couldn’t have been more different. Bev’s genuine concern for others was blanketed by a Miss Manners sense of protocol — a standard that Wilbur Hucks never met — while Angie tended to laugh things off. Giggle was more like it.
“Thank you, Bailey.” Bev accepted her drink with her chin held extra high — a message to Wilbur that he’d managed to grate her nerves more than usual this morning.
Wilbur slid a sideways look in her direction but otherwise ignored her until she was on the way back to her table. Then he rocked his head side to side, flapping his mouth in a mocking silent harangue. Bev, all too used to his gyrations, didn’t even need to turn around. “I know what you’re doing, Wilbur Hucks.”
He folded his arms in a huff.
For a moment it was silent in the café, save for the quiet tap of S-Man’s computer keys. Ted Dawson, affectionately known as S-Man, hunched over his laptop, intense concentration knitting his dark eyebrows as he edited his science fiction manuscript, Starfire. After five months of rejections from agents, he was close to landing one — if he could fix a few “weaknesses” in the story.
Wilbur checked the round-faced clock on the wall and sighed. “After nine-thirty. She’s over an hour late. I came here all fired up to write my post. It was going to be a zinger too. Now my creativity’s draining away by the second.”
“Why don’t you ask Bev to type for you?” Bailey offered Wilbur a teasing smile. “I’m sure she’d just love to.”
Jake snorted. “That’ll be the day.”
“Will you call Carla now, Bailey?” Wilbur sounded petulant. “I’ve waited long enough.”
Bailey was getting a little worried. Carla would usually call if she was going to be late for an appointment — even just a blog-typing commitment to Wilbur. She had a strong responsibility ethic. “All right, I’ll call.”
She turned toward the phone, near the wall at the end of the L-shaped counter. First she dialed Carla’s office at the realty company, only to hear that Carla hadn’t come in yet. Next she dialed Carla’s home. No answer.
Maybe Carla was in her car somewhere. Bailey would have to check the Rolodex back in her office for Carla’s cell phone number. She headed around the long counter. “Wilbur, I’m going to — ”
The phone rang, and Bailey turned back to answer it. “Maybe that’s her now.” She picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Java Joint.”
“Hello. Would this be . . . is this Bailey?” Not Carla. A woman’s voice. Low and breathless.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to get hold of Carla Radling.”
Get in line. “I haven’t seen her this morning. Do you have her office number? I don’t think she’s there yet, but you could leave a message for her.”
“I’ve called there. But I need to talk to her now. Could you possibly give me her home number?”
Bailey hesitated. “I’m sorry. Who am I speaking with?”
A pause. “Ellie.”
Bailey waited for the last name. None was given. And something told her to doubt the first. Pinpricks danced up Bailey’s back. Carla not showing up — now this. Something didn’t feel right.
“Ellie,” Bailey emphasized the name, “I’m very sorry, but I’m not able to give out someone’s home phone.”
“How about a cell number?”
Unlike most realtors, who advertised their cell as well as office numbers, Carla had always chosen not to give hers out to just anybody. She was a private person. Bailey and all who knew her had simply accepted that. “I don’t — ”
“Look, I have to talk to her as soon as possible. It’s important.”
The edge in the woman’s tone only increased Bailey’s tension. She worked to keep her voice even.
“Carla will probably be here soon; we were expecting her quite a while ago. Would you like to leave a message?”
“You mean you don’t know where she is?”
Real fear hitched the words. Bailey’s thoughts spun. “I’m sure she’s fine. I just — ”
The woman gasped. “I have to go.” Her words spilled over each other. “Tell Carla someone she knew years ago has to talk to her. I’ll call back.”
The line clicked.
Bailey pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it. Trying to tell herself this was some crazy coincidence, and Carla was all right. But Bailey couldn’t forget the phone call six months ago that had changed her world — Kanner Lake’s world — with word of a terrible tragedy. She’d stood in this very place, staring at the same wall . . .
Slowly, she hung up the phone.
“Somebody else looking for Carla?” Wilbur’s irritated voice cut through Bailey’s thoughts. “They can just wait. I get her first.”
Bailey pasted a smile on her face before turning around. No need to get Wilbur any more riled. “You two hold the fort down, okay?” She tapped her palm on the Formica, then headed toward the opening of the counter. “I’m going to look up Carla’s cell phone in my office.”
“Tell her she owes me a week’s worth of coffee,” Wilbur growled. “And when you come back you can fetch me one of those cinnamon rolls, heated. Put that on her tab too.”
No need. Bailey would gladly give him the pastry free. She just wanted to hear Carla’s voice — safe and sound.
Oh, Lord, please watch over her, wherever she is.
TWENTY-ONE
Carla woke with a start.
Her bleary gaze landed on a blanket in filtered daylight . . . her left arm . . . the diary. It was lying facedown on her chest, her fingers spread over it as if in protection.
Had she heard something?
Carla’s heart drummed. She raised her head from the pillow, cocked it. A rush of awareness flooded her body with heat. What had she done, wasting the whole night so close to Kanner Lake? Thornby could have found her car hours ago. Why hadn’t she driven across two states while she had the chance?
A knock at the door.
Carla sprang off the bed. Intense pain shot up her left ankle. She cried out, listed to one side, and crashed to the floor.
A harder knock. “Housekeeping!”
The rattle of the door.
Carla sat up. Her head fell back and she dragged in air. She slumped against the bed, one hand against her roiling stomach. For a moment her throat refused to form words.
Behind her, the door opened. How in the world had she forgotten to put on the chain lock?
She twisted to look over her shoulder toward the entryway. “Hello, I’m still here! Be checked out in an hour or so.”
A short, red-cheeked woman leaned in, staring at Carla across the bed as if she’d never seen anyone sit on the floor before. “You okay, miss?”
“Yes. Fine.” Carla managed a sickly smile.
The housekeeper held her gaze a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. Then she drew a deep breath, making her nostrils flare. “Sorry to bother you.”
She backed up and pulled the door shut.
Carla exhaled and closed her eyes. Rested her head against the side of the bed. Her ankle throbbed and hunger pricked at her. She’d had nothing to eat since lunch yesterday.
She checked the clock radio on the nightstand: 9:54. Carla gasped. Almost ten o’clock! She had to get out of here. Rent a car and drive . . . somewhere.
Hopelessness washed over her. She was so tired, physically and emotionally. Too much pain from reliving her past last night. All the manipulation, the lies. The wrong choices. Reading her teenage thoughts now, with the wisdom of an adult, she was amazed at what she’d survived. As the story played out, she’d watched the confident, brassy girl she’d once been reduced to a mere shell. Broken, no friends, no one to turn to.
And still the scenes haunted her. Even in the terror of running for her life, Carla knew those vivid pages from her past would flash through her mind all day. One word, a phrase, some object would be all it would take to set the scenes rolling. Worse, the terrible mistakes she’d made all those years ago would now affect innocent people. She knew her friends would be worried about her.
Bryson Hanley. How could such a brilliant politician, a man with the world ahead of him, take such risks?
No wonder she was in danger. Reading that journal had made her realize what a miracle it was they’d left her alone this long. If they’d known about the diary, she’d have been dead long ago. It was proof of all that happened.
Fear pushed Carla off the floor and onto her feet. She rested her weight on her right leg. No time to eat now. No time for a shower or makeup or change of clothes.
She limped into the bathroom, splashed her face, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. Pain still pounded her ankle, even though it had been elevated all night. How much worse would it be hours from now? She should get the thing wrapped.
Back near the bed, she snatched up the diary and stuffed it deep inside her purse. She flapped the blanket and sheets around, unballed the coverlet, seeking anything else she might have unpacked. What had she missed? Her brain wouldn’t focus.
With each passing minute Carla’s suspicion of the hotel housekeeper grew. And if not that woman, maybe the clerk at the desk last night, who’d seen Carla’s name on her credit card. What if Thornby came around this morning? She’d left a trail, the last thing she should have done.
Carla’s hands trembled.
Sudden memories flooded her. She held out her shaking left hand, picturing a delicate ruby heart ring upon her finger . . .
Stop it!
She swallowed hard, tossed down the bedcover. She had to focus. Did she have everything? She dared not leave any item behind that could lead to her.
Carla scanned the room. Saw nothing.
Okay, you’re fine — just go.
She picked up her purse and began pulling her suitcase toward the door, trying not to wince.
Somewhere behind her, a cell phone rang.
TWENTY-TWO
I missed writing in this diary last night. I was too excited. Scott gave me a ring to celebrate four months together! It’s beautiful — a gold band with a little ruby heart. It fits perfectly. I’ll wear it forever. I know he makes good money on the construction crew, but still, it must have cost at least two weeks’ pay.
We were in his car, parked in our favorite spot on that dirt road in the forest, outside town. Not exactly Paris, but it beats sitting in this house. He kissed me and whispered, “I love you.” First time I’ve heard him say that.
“I love you too.” I hugged him hard, never wanting to let go.
I could marry Scott. No one could ever treat me better. I love everything about him. The creases in the corners of his eyes when he smiles. The stupid jokes he tells to make me laugh — especially when I’m mad at Mom. The way he holds me, the way he kisses. His muscles. His smell. Mostly the way he lifts me up. “You’re the most beautiful girl in this town,” he says. “A thousand guys want you — and I’m the one who got you.”
Okay, he’s exaggerating a little. Maybe nine hundred and ninety-nine.
Then — today.
I was in the campaign office alone. Jilke was on some errand. Senator Hanley came in from a late lunch, looking for Jilke. “He not back yet?” He fiddled with his tie, like his mind was on a million important things. He’d had a haircut. It was a little shorter over his ears.
“He shouldn’t be too much longer.” I pushed back from my desk. “Can I do something for you?”
He stopped messing with his tie. Stood there looking down at me. For some reason I felt all hot. I started thinking crazy things. Scott, and his blue eyes, only Senator Hanley’s are brown. Scott, and the way he stands with his feet apart, arms folded, only Bryson Hanley was now leaning with one hand on my desk. “Too bad you’ll be going back to schoo
l in the fall, Carla. I could use someone like you full-time.”
Where was my tongue? “I could still work for you after school. Besides, Mr. Jilke would fall apart without me.”
Oh, great, a smart remark. Slipped out before I could stop it.
Bryson Hanley grinned. Grinned. Like I’d told the funniest joke. “And a sense of humor too.” He shook his head, but his eyes never left mine.
I sat glued to my seat. I wasn’t thinking about Scott anymore.
Senator Hanley straightened. I tilted my head up at him. “Have you ever taken dictation, Carla?”
Why did the sound of my name from his mouth give me such chills?
He smiled, like he knew his effect on me. And he didn’t mind.
“No.” I shrugged. “But I’m a fast learner. Start talking; I’ll write.”
He laughed. “Let’s try it then. I have a letter I’d like to get done now. Besides, you’re a lot prettier than Jilke.”
Pretty. And he called the man Jilke. Just like I do. Like he knows.
I grabbed a pad of paper and pen. Tried not to show my legs were trembling as I sat down in his office, right across the desk from him. He dictated slowly enough for me to keep up. Leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head, watching me the whole time. Not that I had a chance to look up, but I could feel his eyes on me.
By the time I typed the letter, Jilke was back. I walked to Senator Hanley’s office, ready to knock, so he could sign the letter.
“What are you doing?” Jilke demanded.
I waved the paper at him. “He dictated a letter. It needs to be signed.”
Jilke was on his feet in a heartbeat. “I’ll take it in.”
I shrugged. “Whatever.” I gave it to him and went back to my desk. Sat there kind of pouting, twisting my ruby ring, while he was with Senator Hanley.
An hour later Jilke was down the hall, and Senator Hanley came out of his office. “Carla, perfect job.” He gave me one of his dazzling smiles.
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