Table of Contents
Through the Window
Copyright
Praise for THROUGH THE WINDOW
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
A word about the author...
Thank you for purchasing this Wild Rose Press publication.
Through the Window
by
Wendy Campbell
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Through the Window
COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Wendy M. Campbell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Debby Taylor
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2012
Print ISBN 978-1-61217-029-9
Published in the United States of America
Praise for THROUGH THE WINDOW
“THROUGH THE WINDOW is a rare can't-put-down book with memorable characters.”
~Jami Davenport, author
~*~
“THROUGH THE WINDOW is Wendy Campbell’s engrossing story of one woman’s struggle to break away from the double life she’s been forced to endure under her father’s emotional abuse, as well as tale of redemption and a moving love story. Loaded with suspense, Wendy draws you into the life of Melanie Quinn, a former cat burglar who is called upon to perform one last job for her corrupt father, an act that threatens the life she has worked so hard to make for herself, and risk the loss of the man she loves, a tale written with imaginative warmth and humor, a powerful first novel from a writer that is here to stay.”
~Gabriel Hemingway, author
~*~
“Through the Window explores the awesome power a father can exercise over his daughter even when the father is an evil criminal, even when the daughter is a successful personnel manager. In Through the Window, Wendy Campbell uses her uncanny ability to pit her characters against the worst life has to offer while at the same time titillating us with heroes who make our hearts pound.”
~Nancy W. Sartor
Dedication
When I started this book, I didn't realize how many people would be in supporting roles, from brainstorming to critiquing and all the steps in between. Thank you all, especially my husband and daughter, who picked up the slack so I could spend hours writing; my sisters, who deserve more credit than I give them for the endless brainstorming sessions, and all my friends who contributed their expertise. Thank you!
Prologue
Melanie Quinn went headfirst through the bathroom window. She braced her hands on the vanity and twisted to land on her feet. A dim light shown in the hall, and she hurried toward it, wanting to get this over with.
A distant crash made her whirl back to the window, ready to jump out. She stopped before she touched the sill, and listened. Nothing. Complete silence. Still she waited, wanting nothing more than to get out of this house, but Mick, her dad, would get mad if she left. Actually, mad was an understatement. The last time she’d left a house because she was scared, he threw a major hissy-fit and refused to take her home until they’d gone into two more houses. That’d been a nightmare.
Mel stood there, weighing the odds of leaving and dealing with his anger, with the idea that he’d made that sound. Leaving now would be stupid, because he’d told her the house was empty. She wanted to believe him. She really did.
The silence continued. No footsteps, no door opening, no voices. Darn it. He’d be waiting, and he wouldn’t be happy that she’d taken this long. So she forced her shaking legs to carry her down the hall. She stayed close to the wall, like he’d taught her, so the hardwood floor wouldn’t creak. The scent of popcorn drifted through the air. What kind of deadbeats made popcorn? That thought made her even more nervous. Maybe this time Dad would do the hard part and she could stand guard. She made her way into the kitchen and unlocked the door.
“Thanks, kiddo,” Dad whispered. “The master bedroom is on the second floor. Get going.”
“You go. I want to keep watch.”
He shook his head.
“Please?”
“What’s got you spooked?”
“I heard a noise.” If she told him about the popcorn, he’d laugh.
“I knocked over a patio chair. Now go on.”
Neither moved.
“Don’t chicken out. You can do this. You’re the best, a natural.” He gave her a little push, and she bit her lip and headed for the stairs. Maybe if he still called her a natural when she was too big to fit through bathroom windows and dog doors, she’d believe him.
A large picture hung on the wall. The darkness hid the details, but not the outline of four heads. She imagined all those eyes staring at her and rubbed her arms. When she reached the top of the steps, she couldn’t stop herself. She turned the beam of her flashlight on the picture.
An entire family smiled up at her. Mr. Stone, who ran the Boys Club and Mrs. Stone who helped with the summer rush at The Hungry Belly, the same restaurant where Mel’s mom worked. In front of them sat Roger, their oldest son who was a total jerk, and Jordan, the cutest boy in the seventh grade. She turned off the flashlight, but Jordan’s face was still there, branded on her eyeballs like it had been since the one time they’d spoken. Actually, he’d done the talking. She’d goggled like an idiot.
These were the deadbeats who stiffed her dad? He said they owed him money, but maybe their check got lost in the mail. Dad’s checks got lost all the time. With a sick feeling, she wondered if they owed him anything at all.
What if he’d made a mistake? She raced through an open bedroom door to look out the window. In the fading light, she could make out a few trees framed by the darker shadows of the Cascade Foothills that separated Washington into East and West. Below, on the patio, sat a lounge chair and a table, but no deck or gazebo. Not even one of those corny wishing wells Dad liked to make. He was wrong. The Stones weren’t deadbeats, and she couldn’t take anything from Jordan, because one day when she was older and braver and beautiful, she was going to marry him.
A math textbook sat on the desk, open to the page she’d finished before Dad showed up. This was
Jordan’s bedroom. She could make out Seahawks posters on the walls and a couple shelves. A jumble of blue and silver, their school colors, lay in a heap on the floor. She picked up his football jersey. #12, Stone. He’d worn it to school yesterday. It touched his skin. She lifted the fabric to her face, sniffed... and the lights came on.
“Who are you?”
Mel spun around. Roger stood in the doorway with Mr. Stone right behind him. Panic made her heart race. The window was the only way out, but what was down below? She edged toward it.
“You’ll never make it.” Mr. Stone said. “It’s a two-story drop.” Despite his stern expression, a smile flickered at the edge of his mouth. How could he find this funny?
Oh, no. She threw Jordan’s jersey to the floor. “M-M-Mr. Stone,” she cried, trying to ignore Roger’s grin. “I...I can explain.”
Jordan poked his head into the room. “What’s going on?”
She wanted to die. Or disappear.
“Looks like you have an admirer.”
She backed up until her fingers touched cool glass. Please God, let me melt through the floor right now. But God didn’t come through. She’d have to go out the window.
Before she could open it, Mr. Stone was across the room, looming over her. Frantic to escape, she ran, tripped, and hit the floor.
A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her, and she struggled to get up. Her head rammed the edge of the desk and pain shot through her. Roger doubled over, laughing like a lunatic and holding his stomach. Jordan just watched her with something like pity. The urge to curl into a ball and burst into tears threatened to overwhelm her, but she forced it back and got to her feet.
“Roger, go downstairs. Close the door behind you.” Mr. Stone no longer smiled. “Jordan, do you know this girl?”
“Melanie Quinn. She’s in my math class.”
Pain throbbed in the back of her head. When she touched it, she felt blood. Trying to look casual, she lowered her hand and held it behind her back. If Mr. Stone saw it, he’d probably take her to the clinic. Or worse, home to Mom.
“What are you doing in my son’s bedroom?”
A phone rang. She heard Roger answer it and announce they just caught Melanie Quinn in his brother’s bedroom. Then he roared with laughter.
“Mr. Stone.” Her voice squeaked, and she swallowed past the knot of humiliation. “Jordan, this isn’t what it seems, I swear. It was a bet, a stupid bet. I was supposed to get your football jersey. That’s all. I’m sorry.”
Mr. Stone stared at her for a long, silent minute then nodded. “If I see you here again, I will call the police. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir. I promise.”
“Make sure it doesn’t. Do you need a ride home?”
And let him talk to her mom? No freakin’ way. Dad should be waiting at the end of the driveway. Or, if he split like he did sometimes, she’d walk. Seven miles was nothing compared to the trouble she’d get in if Mom found out.
“No, thank you, sir. I have a way home.”
“Fine. Let’s go.”
She looked at Jordan, silently begging him to keep his mouth shut. Then she followed Mr. Stone out of the house.
Jordan jogged out behind them. “Dad, can I talk to her?”
Mr. Stone nodded and went inside.
“Are you okay?”
She snorted. “Your brother’s probably made a dozen calls by now. Everyone at school will know about this before I even get home.”
“Probably. He’s a jerk, but I meant the blood in your hair.”
Why couldn’t she have been born a brunette? Nope, she got stupid hair the color of dirty dishwater. She reached back, touched blood again, and wiped it on her jeans. “It’s okay. Thanks for not telling. Your dad might have called 911.”
“Here.” Jordan held out a red baseball cap.
“What’s that, a consolation prize?” Her pride was in tatters. She’d be the main subject of the gossip mill for months—if not years—and he was offering her a stupid hat?
“No. I thought if you sort of wrapped your hair up and put it on, it’d hide the blood.”
“Oh.” She twisted her hair into a knot and tucked it underneath the cap. “How’s this?”
“Good. You can’t see it.” He looked at the dark driveway. “You really got a way home? My dad would—”
“No! I mean, yes, I have a way home.” With a wave, she ran down the long driveway to freedom.
Chapter One
Melanie looked for the twinkling lights of Cedar Valley as she drove around a sweeping turn, but she couldn’t see them yet. The twisting highway cut through the forest, leaving a solid wall of trees on both sides. This road led to her future, just as it had ten years ago. Only then, she’d been going the other way. Desperate to escape Mick’s control, she’d bought a third-hand car and left the day she turned eighteen.
She hadn’t been back, until now. Like so many people who grew up in small towns, she’d set down roots, and they were deep. She needed to develop her own sense of respectability, make amends in her own way for the things she done. Now that she had the opportunity to come back, she felt a need to prove to herself, and to everyone in Cedar Valley, that she belonged here.
She wasn’t naive enough to expect a warm welcome. Except for her family, the people of Cedar Valley had been glad to see their local cat burglar leave. When they found out she was back, the gossip mill would kick into overdrive. It wouldn’t matter that she’d become a successful businesswoman or that she was bringing a new business, Schuster, Inc., to the Valley. It wouldn’t even matter that Mick, the man responsible for her reputation, now resided in an Idaho prison.
All that mattered was overcoming their suspicion so they’d patronize her new office. If it wasn’t in the black in six months, she’d be fired.
Finally, lights flickered through the trees, and she sped up, despite the Washington drizzle. At ten-thirty on a Wednesday night, she didn’t expect any traffic on the way to the cabin she’d bought via the Internet. Tomorrow, she’d toss the tie-dye yoga pants that’d made the two-day drive bearable and introduce the new Melanie Quinn, successful businesswoman and Operations Manager for Schuster, Inc.
The only Melanie Quinn Cedar Valley would ever see.
As she took the last turn toward town, headlights rounded the corner. Four lights. Two cars. Side-by-side. Heading right at her. Before she could react, one veered right, the other left. The screech of metal against metal filled the night, and her little Toyota spun.
“Come on, come on.” She cranked the wheel in the opposite direction. The lights of the other cars were streaks of red and white. As the spin slowed, the red light became taillights. She was going to make it.
The tree appeared in the beam of her headlights an instant before her car smashed into it. The airbag exploded. Her body strained against the seatbelt, her forehead hit the airbag, and everything came to a sudden, bone-jarring stop. A cloud of white swirled in front of the dashboard lights. Smoke? She hit at the seatbelt buckle and jumped out.
A few yards away, another car lay on its side with the driver door on the ground. Flames shot up. A figure, silhouetted by the fire, climbed out the window. He fell to the ground and didn’t move.
She raced toward the burning car, intercepting a teenage boy who’d come running from the car parked down the road. Ten feet from the inferno, the boy grabbed her arm.
“It’s gonna blow!” He yelled. “We gotta get out here.”
“And leave your friend?”
“I...” He danced around, moving a step toward the motionless figure then away. She jerked free and ran to the boy on the ground. More flames shot up behind him, and a wave of heat made her flinch. She could barely breathe through the smoke and heat.
Holding an arm in front of her face for protection, she grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and pulled. He didn’t budge.
More flames shot sideways from the car and burned her arm. She yelped and jumped back.
“Get over here and help me,” she yelled, but the boy only hopped from foot to foot. “Now! Or I’ll come get you.”
When she shifted toward him, he sprinted over, grabbed his friend’s arm and nearly yanked it from the socket. She took the other one, hoping the boy didn’t have internal injuries, and dragged him to the gravel shoulder.
“What’s your name?” she asked the other driver as she kneeled next to the unconscious boy.
“Keith.”
“Okay, Keith, who’s this?”
“Uh, Rudy.” He looked torn between wanting to help and wanting to run.
“Keith. Get your cell phone and call 911. Tell them where we are and what happened.” She looked at the boy on the ground. His eyelids fluttered.
“I can’t,” Keith said in a choked voice. “We weren’t supposed to... I mean, can’t you do it?”
“Get your phone. Right now, or Rudy might not live to see the sun come up. Trust me, involuntary manslaughter isn’t something you want on your record.” He sprinted toward his car. The boy on the ground regained consciousness as Keith ran back, a cell phone in hand, relaying their location.
“What happened?” Rudy asked in a slow, hoarse voice.
“You tried to kill yourself. Now stay still.”
“A car came. It’s Wednesday. No one…should have been there.” He coughed, and his eyes reflected the glare of the fire.
“At least you’re alive. How bad did you screw yourself up?”
“My leg hurts like hell. Why’d you drag me over here? I would’ve got up in a minute.”
“You didn’t have a minute.” Flames engulfed the warped pile of metal that used to be his car, and a loud pop made her jump. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Rudy. Rudy Fisher. Man, my father’s gonna kill me.”
“Try this again, and he won’t have to.”
He let out a long, slow breath and closed his eyes. The strain on his face was apparent even in the moving light from the fire. What if he had a head injury? She needed to keep him awake. “Are you going to thank me for saving your life?”
His eyes snapped open. “I wouldn’t have needed saving if you hadn’t run me off the road.”
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