by Marta Perry
“Not at all. That’s what neighbors are for.” Mrs. Barton turned, nearly stepping on the bit of paper on the floor. “Oops.” She picked it up before Rachel could. “I’m so sorry. Goodness, I nearly stepped on your picture.”
No, it wasn’t paper. It was a photograph. One of the pictures from the folder she’d tossed.
Mrs. Barton took a quick glance before handing it over, and her face grew more sorrowful. “I’ll be off now.” But she paused at the door. “It is sad, my dear, but you know, it doesn’t do to dwell on the past. Take care.” She slipped out, closing the door.
Ironic, given what she’d just been thinking. Mrs. Barton must have thought that she’d been looking through old pictures, mourning Paul. Maybe, eventually, she would have done so in normal circumstances, but nothing that had happened had been normal.
She glanced at the picture. The photo had been taken on their wedding day. She and Paul had stood, hand in hand, in front of the arbor by the lake.
Her throat tightened with tears she had no intention of shedding. They’d looked so young, so untried. The past few years had made their mark upon her face, if not on Paul’s.
The small outdoor gathering place hadn’t had anything remotely approaching an altar, but its benches faced the vine-covered arbor. They were standing behind the sundial that served as a focal point for the area.
Why a sundial? she remembered wondering at the time. And Lyn had pointed out the lettering around the edges: Count only the sunny hours. That was ironic, given how their marriage had turned out.
Still, those had been happy moments, full of promise for the future. She smiled, touching the photo lightly. Paul, eager to get the perfect photo setting, had grabbed the top of the sundial...the triangular blade that cast its shadow to tell the time. And it had pulled right out in his hands.
He’d turned red, grinning, standing there with the blade in his hand, revealing a small hole that its end slid into.
“You’ve done it now,” she’d said, laughing. “They’ll probably charge us for a new sundial.”
“Not a chance.” He’d plucked a tiny daisy from her bouquet and dropped it into the hole, then slid the end of the blade back in place. “See? Our wedding will be recorded there forever and a day.”
Rachel looked at the photo for another moment. Then she dropped it back into the trash bin. The daisy might still be there, though she doubted it, but their marriage had certainly not lasted forever and a day. A few short years, most of them filled with the struggle to help Paul deal with his addiction. And then he’d wanted out.
Turning her back on the trash bin, she moved the chicken package to the refrigerator and looked for something to have for lunch. The leftover pizza was still there, but her stomach lurched at the thought of it. Maybe she’d wait until later.
Her cell buzzed, announcing a text, and she grabbed it. Clint? No, it was Lyn, asking what she should pick up for supper. She quickly texted the chicken plan and clicked Send.
For a moment Rachel stood, phone in hand, as another text filled her mind...the text from Paul with that odd reference to their wedding day. Her nerves began to tingle. Paul, desperate about what he’d done, had taken time to mention that day. To bring that place back to her mind. Why?
The idea was ridiculous. It didn’t make sense. Paul wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, been telling her the location of the flash drive.
She could go and look. She rejected the thought as soon as it occurred. No, it would be foolish to get herself any deeper into Paul’s mess. Besides, it wouldn’t be there. It was a silly notion.
But it wouldn’t leave her alone. If the flash drive were there... Well, what if it were? No one would find it. It could sit there until it disintegrated, and no one would ever know.
That was the coward’s way. If it were there, she had to give it back to Attwood. Besides, she couldn’t pass up the chance to get out from under it once and for all. No one could imagine she knew anything once the flash drive had been found and returned.
But would that be an end to it? Or would they assume she’d known all along where it was? Did she want to take that risk?
Her thoughts moved back and forth, unable to settle. Finally she shook her head. She’d put it out of her mind for now. Instead, she’d focus on preparing her lesson plans for next week. Then she’d cook Lyn a nice dinner, they’d sit and talk, and she’d concentrate on the future.
* * *
BUT THE NEXT MORNING, Rachel wasn’t so sure of her decision. She and Lyn had had a pleasant evening, talking about the school, focusing on the future. But she hadn’t brought up the situation with Clint, and she hadn’t mentioned the photograph of the sundial.
Why not? She stared out the kitchen window at a gray wet day after Lyn had headed out to run some errands. She’d have said she could talk to Lyn about anything, and certainly she valued Lyn’s common-sense approach to things, as well as her fierce partisanship of Rachel. But she hadn’t told her.
Maybe because this was a decision she had to make on her own. She could pretend she’d never had the thought about where the flash drive might be.
No, she couldn’t. She’d spent too much time denying the truth—the truth about Paul’s gambling, the truth about the mistakes she’d made. For someone who claimed to value honesty, that was a pretty sad admission.
She had to do something. The only question was whether she should look for herself or confide her suspicions to someone else.
If she drove out to the lake and checked, she’d know for sure whether this suspicion was fact. If she found nothing, she’d be relieved and she could forget it. But if she found the flash drive, then what? She’d be in possession of stolen property, making herself a target again.
Call Clint. Rachel reached for her cell phone and stopped. She and Clint hadn’t parted on good terms. Her chest felt tight suddenly, and she rubbed it, as if she could rub away the ache. She wanted to make that up—to explain, if she could, why she’d said what she did about Paul.
If she called him with this...after the things she’d said... She hated to turn to him with yet another problem. Rachel rubbed her forehead, tired of the direction of her thoughts.
She and Clint had been brought together because of Paul. She wanted to believe that they had found something beyond that, but it was hard—hard to imagine a relationship with Clint where Paul was no longer a factor.
Still, he was involved. She’d have to call and let him know. And somehow try to do it without thinking of the quarrel that had sent him out of here in such a temper.
It was the right thing, so she’d do it. She picked up the phone.
After all her rationalizing, it was disappointing to find herself sent straight to voicemail. She hesitated, but she’d have to say something. He’d know she’d called. But to tell him the whole thing in the message—no, that wouldn’t work. So leaving a message saying that there was something she wanted to tell him, she hung up.
Clint wasn’t available, but the itch to do something grew worse. What about Ian? He had offered to be a go-between, making peace between Paul and Attwood. Did that still apply now that Paul was gone?
Assuming she found the flash drive, Ian could advise her on the best course. Should she return it to James Attwood? Or would it be better, since he’d already declared it was worthless, simply to destroy it?
Without giving herself time to consider it any further, she spun and hurried into the bedroom. She’d dress, drive down to Attwood Industrial and sound out Ian. Then she’d have a better sense of what to do. If the flash drive was hidden in the base of the sundial, it certainly wasn’t going anywhere. She had time to make the best decision.
By the time Rachel reached the offices she was firm in her mind about what she intended to do. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t prevent the spasm that gripped her stomach at the very thought of walking inside.
Never mind. She’d get through this as she’d gotten through everything else. At least then, the whereabouts of that flash drive might no longer be hanging over her. She could settle the remaining business resulting from Paul’s death and then be able to move on.
What that moving on would look like, she wasn’t sure. She had thought...hoped...that it might include Clint. In any event, it would certainly include more time spent at Echo Falls. Thanksgiving break would be here before she knew it, and she could go home for several days.
Maybe, as her grandfather had suggested, she might bring someone with her.
She didn’t recognize the receptionist in the lobby, but after a brief phone conversation, the young woman directed her upstairs. Just as if she’d never been here before.
In a way, that was a relief. She’d probably have enough knowing glances once she reached the offices.
As luck would have it, the outer office was empty except for Ian, who’d obviously been waiting for her.
“It’s good to see you.” He flushed slightly. “I’m so sorry—we should have come to see you, to find out if you needed anything, but...”
“Don’t worry about it.”
She suspected he hadn’t been that eager to align himself with her, given what had happened. That hadn’t occurred to her. Was she really that naïve? He might very well prefer to know nothing at this point.
But she was here now, and she’d go through with it.
“I’m sorry to bother you at work, but something has come up that I’d like your advice about.”
“I...” He cast an apprehensive glance at Attwood’s office door and then took her arm. “Come into my office so we can be private.”
Once inside, Ian closed the door with something that looked like relief. His office was a replica of what Paul’s had been, but where her picture had sat on Paul’s desk, Ian had a photo of himself with Julie and the baby, to say nothing of the row of pictures of their little one, which decorated the top of the bookshelf. There must be a new one for every month of her young life.
She turned back to Ian, noticing the way he still stood by the door. Was he hoping she’d go right back out again?
“I’m sorry.” The impulse to apologize overtook her. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sure at this point no one here wants to be associated with me.”
To do him justice, Ian looked embarrassed. He gave a rueful smile, relaxing a little. Pulling out two leather-padded visitors’ chairs, he gestured her to a seat and took the other one.
“No, I’m sorry. James has just been in such a mood lately that no one knows which way to jump. But we’re friends. Tell me what’s going on.”
For an instant, sitting bolt upright on the comfortable chair, she was tongue-tied. How to begin a story like this one? The only way was to come right out with it.
“Something occurred to me last night having to do with the location of that flash drive Paul had.” She hesitated, startled by the shock on Ian’s face. But then they, like her, had assumed the flash drive was gone for good with Paul’s death.
“You know where it is?” He cast an apprehensive look behind him, as if to be sure the door was completely closed. “Do you have it?”
“No, no, nothing like that. I’m not even convinced myself that this means anything, but once I thought about it, I...well, I couldn’t just ignore it.”
“I suppose not,” he said, but his expression belied the words.
She drew in a breath, trying to relax taut muscles. This was proving to be harder than she’d expected.
“The last text I received from Paul...” Well, the last one that she was certain had actually come from Paul. “It contained something that struck me as a little odd. It’s stuck in my mind, and I started wondering if he meant it as a way of telling me where the flash drive was.”
Ian was frowning. “But... Forgive me, Rachel, but why would Paul want you to know? I’m sure you had nothing to do with his taking the information, so I wouldn’t think he’d involve you that way.”
“I wish he hadn’t, believe me. It seems to me that he might have seen it as a sort of safety precaution. If something happened to him, I mean.”
Her throat tightened as the image of Paul, lying on the bedroom floor, flooded her mind. She fought back nausea at the vivid sight and scent of the blood.
Ian, preoccupied with his own thoughts, didn’t seem to notice her reaction. “I see. Yes, that would be like Paul. He’d know that you would do the right thing if you found it.”
“I hope so. The trouble is knowing what the right thing is. If, of course, it’s there at all.”
“Where? You haven’t told me what Paul said, or where you think he’d pointed you.”
“I haven’t, have I? I’m afraid my mind is spinning too much to make sense. In his text, Paul made reference to our wedding. It seemed out of context, somehow. Why would he, when he was involved in such a mess?”
Ian nodded. “The park by the lake. But I still don’t get it. How could he put something there and trust it would be undisturbed for several weeks. Surely that’s risky.”
“Yes, but he may have felt desperate enough to take a chance. And there is one spot...” She stopped, having a belated onset of caution. Perhaps it was safer not to be too explicit. She trusted Ian, but even so, she ought to be cautious.
“That’s okay,” he said quickly. “Come to think of it, I don’t want to know. That might be the best thing for you, too.”
“You mean pretend I never thought of it, don’t you?” She was disappointed, but she understood. Ian probably didn’t want to be handed a hot potato, either.
Ian fidgeted with his wedding ring. “Honestly, I think that might be best. James seems satisfied that it’s never going to show up. Now that Paul is gone, well, I’m afraid it’s been a relief to him. The whole thing is over with as little publicity as possible.”
What he said made perfect sense. It was the logical thing to do. Unfortunately it was the one thing she knew she couldn’t live with.
“You’re probably right, but I think I have to look.”
Ian looked as if he’d expected it. “That’s your decision.”
“You don’t understand. I’m not being sentimental. I’m being realistic. As long as the flash drive is thought to be out there, I remain a target for anyone who wants it.”
“Oh, but surely...”
“Ian, my house has been searched repeatedly. I’ve been attacked twice. I can’t live this way.”
Now she’d startled him. “Rachel, I had no idea you’d been attacked. I’m so sorry. I can see why you feel that way. But if the flash drive is there, what are you going to do with it?”
“That’s the question. The only way for me to be clear of the situation is for it to be known that it’s found. So should I turn it over to Attwood? Or to the police?”
He frowned, and she thought he was torn between what he thought was best for his own position and his affection for her. After a long moment he spoke.
“Honestly, Rachel, I’m not sure. Will you give me a chance to think about it? After all, if you don’t find the drive, then it’s a moot point.”
Ian, passing off responsibility as quickly as possible—she wasn’t really surprised. Paul had always said that was his pattern. She had a fleeting thought of Clint, who never handed off unpleasant jobs to anyone.
“Maybe that would be best.” For you. She rose. “Thanks, Ian. I’ll let you know what I find.”
He nodded. “But...don’t come here. Call me on my private cell, all right?”
Very eager not to accept responsibility, it seemed. “Yes, all right. Thanks.”
She went out quickly, not waiting for him to escort her. The outer office was still empty and quiet, and she hurried downstairs and out to her car.
Once there, she thought for a moment. What next?
&
nbsp; Clint. Whatever he might think about it, he wasn’t a man to pass off responsibility, and she wanted someone to know where she was going. More to the point, she wanted someone with her.
She called again, but the phone still went to voicemail. Rather than leave a message, she texted him quickly, telling him where she was going and why. With what must have been the final bit of battery, the text sent, and then the phone shut down.
Great. She hadn’t charged it the previous night. But she’d had considerably more on her mind at the time, as it happened.
It didn’t matter. Clint knew where she was going. All she had to do was see if the drive was there. Then she’d turn it over to Clint, tell him what Ian had said, and let them take over disposing of it. Dropping the phone in her bag, she headed for the lake.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CLINT WAS STILL feeling frustrated and annoyed with himself as he drove to Attwood Industrial the day after that stupid conversation with Rachel. He should have been more sensitive. That didn’t seem to be his strong suit, especially when he found himself wanting to hit anyone who’d hurt her.
What was it with him? Was he really that jealous of her ex? That was ridiculous. But he’d let a few kind words send him into a tailspin, mainly because he still didn’t know where he stood with her.
Worse, he’d let his own feelings get in the way of doing his job and also in the way of helping Rachel. All right, so he was upset to think she was still hung up on her late husband. He didn’t have the right to let that interfere with being a friend when she needed one.
Now, thanks to his hasty words, she probably wouldn’t turn to him when she needed help.
He drew up on the side street next to Attwood Industrial. No sense in advertising the fact that he intended to catch Claire Gibson when and if she went out to lunch. Logan said she’d been doing a great job of avoiding his calls. Well, she couldn’t avoid him if he was right there, and if she knew anything, he wanted to know it.
He’d settled himself for a wait, parked where he could see both the parking lot and the front entrance to the building. At least the rain had stopped, so his visibility wasn’t obstructed. The heavy rain clouds looked ready to drop another load any minute, though, and the streets were already slick with wet fallen leaves.