The Return: Death, Runaways, and Romance (Ocean Mist Book 3)

by Brenda Maxfield

  “But Dad is there.”

  He cleared his throat. “But you aren’t.”

  “I’ll be home later.”

  My heart clenched at the lie. How would he feel in the morning when he got up and checked my room? How would he feel when I didn’t come home all day? How would he feel when I never came home again?

  I blew out my breath. “What do you need me for anyway?” I snapped. “You’re not a baby. You can take care of yourself.”

  I gulped at my own meanness. What was I trying to do? Hurt him more than he already was? What was wrong with me?

  He went quiet. “Sorry I texted.” He hung up.

  I took the phone from my ear and stared at it, wondering again why I was so mean. He didn’t deserve it.

  I didn’t hear the car approach until it skidded to a stop, digging deep into the gravel. I looked up and there was Bertie, grinning and waving at me.

  I stood and walked to her car. She leaned over the seat and rolled down the window. “You out here alone is giving me fits. Why I ever dropped you off is beyond me. I’m a daft old woman. Now, get in.”

  I leaned on the car. “Bertie, I have to keep going.”

  “No, you don’t. What you have to do is get in my car. Or I call the cops.”

  I glared at her, but I couldn’t muster up any anger to back it up. All I felt was tired.

  “Get in,” she repeated. She smiled, revealing crooked yellow teeth.

  I yanked open the door and got in. “Don’t call the cops.”

  “Don’t have to now.” She pulled a U and headed back toward Haselle. Her fingers tapped on the steering wheel, and she whistled some off-tune melody.

  The car was warm, and I had the strange sensation of being hugged by the seat. I shook my head. I was going soft.

  “Where you taking me?” I edged forward.

  “To my niece’s. You’re staying with us. Who will worry?”

  “No one.”

  Liar.

  “No one? Not one living soul?”

  I opened my mouth to yell shut up but clamped it closed again, biting my lip. I tasted blood.

  She tipped her head from side to side but kept still.

  We drove into an old neighborhood in Haselle. The houses were close to the curb and looked like they’d been there for hundreds of years. On some, the weathered siding looked ready to fall off onto the patchy lawns. On others, it had been redone and the yards were all tidy with perfect flower beds. A huge bulldog sat on one porch and stared at me as we drove by. I squelched an odd impulse to stick out my tongue.

  “Here we are,” Bertie said, pulling into a skinny dirt driveway next to one of the houses that hadn’t been fixed up. “Get out. And don’t even think about running.”

  The driveway was so narrow there was barely room to open the car door and squeeze out without putting a hole in the side of the house.

  “Nelly’s expecting you, so no worries.” Bertie gave a throaty snort.

  I followed her around to the front door. I don’t know what I was expecting, but Nelly wasn’t it. She stood behind the screen door, holding it open for us, and her perfect long red hair fell in curls to her waist. Clear blue eyes surrounded by thick lashes looked at me. A smattering of freckles dotted her nose, and her smile could have been on a TV ad. I did a double-take.

  “You must be Katie.” Even her voice was perfect, floating toward me like a butterfly.

  “Katie?” I paused.

  “What’s your real name?” Bertie asked.

  I sighed. “Tiffany.”

  “Last name?” she pushed.

  “No thanks,” I said.

  “Okay, Miss Tiffany No Thanks, go on in.” Bertie gave me a shove.

  I entered a small living room that seemed to literally push fresh air into my lungs. Everything was white. The couch, the two armchairs, the walls, the rug. The only splash of color was the painting of a huge red rose that hung behind the couch and thin filmy red curtains at the front window.

  “May I get you something to drink?” Nelly asked.

  “Uh, no thanks.”

  Nelly disappeared from the room, and Bertie pointed to one of the chairs. “Plant yourself.”

  I sat down and sank at least three inches into the soft cushion.

  “Who do we need to call?” Bertie gave a heaving sigh as she settled herself on the couch. She raised her eyebrows and gazed at me.

  This wasn’t part of the deal. I jumped from the chair.

  “Ah, sit down,” she scolded. “You knew we’d have to call your parents.”

  My mind spun. Who could I call that would satisfy Bertie, but still let me go through with my plan? Hitchhiking was still better than returning to Ocean Mist.

  Nelly came back in holding a cup and saucer which she handed to her aunt. Then she sat in the chair opposite mine and smiled at me like an old friend.

  “I remember my teen years,” she said in her soft voice. She shuddered then shrugged her thin shoulders beneath her mane of hair. “Awful. Simply awful. But it will all turn out okay,” she said to me.

  Fresh Meat’s words.

  Denny’s worried face hovered in my imagination. I shoved the image down. Thinking of Denny right then would only confuse me. I thought about Courtney. Being the responsible sister, she’d be forced to put the cops on my trail, and at that moment, my trail was short and wide.

  “Your phone, please.” Bertie held out her palm and motioned with her fingers for me to hand it over.

  “Why do you want my phone?”

  “If you won’t make the call, I will. I figure your parents are in your contact list.”

  “For an old lady, you know way too much.” I put on my mean look — my default expression which didn’t require a whole lot of effort.

  “You’ll have to do better than that to put me off.” Bertie hoisted herself off the couch and took a step toward me.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll call,” I said, surprising myself by giving in so easily.

  When my stomach relaxed and my breathing evened out, I was further surprised. I pulled out my phone and stood. “Can I call from the porch?”

  “Nope. You’ll call from here where I can hear you.”

  I sighed and looked at my phone. I wasn’t about to call Dad. I couldn’t have him thinking I was wimping out on something. I glanced at Bertie, who stood taller than me, her eyebrows making a perfect arch above her laser eyes.

  I pressed a number.

  “Tiffany?”

  “Can you come get me?”

  There was a pause. “You ran, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t get far.”

  “Where are you?”

  “In Haselle.” I looked at Bertie. “What’s the address?”

  “Seventeen Marsh Avenue.”

  “It’s Seventeen Marsh Avenue. Can you come?”

  Fresh Meat’s voice was thick. “I’m leaving now.”

  I hung up. “There. You satisfied? Someone’s coming.”

  “Who?” Nelly asked.

  “A friend. He’ll take me home.”

  Bertie sat back down. Her eyes narrowed as she studied me. “We’ll see.”

  ****

  Nelly turned on the television to a sports channel broadcasting an ice skating competition. Her mouth formed a perfect “o” as she watched the couples slinging each other around the ice. Bertie slouched back, dozing, her lips hanging open.

  I eyed the door. It’d be easy to run. Bertie couldn’t chase me more than a few yards. Nelly could, but for some reason I couldn’t imagine her working up a sweat. The ticking of the clock on top of the TV was loud enough to be heard over the sports announcer and the skating music. I watched the hands on the clock move, knowing each minute brought Fresh Meat closer.

  I squirmed and shifted my weight on the spongy cushion. Nelly’s gaze darted to me, and she stared at me with her clear eyes. I’d underestimated her. She’d give chase.

  Okay. Fresh Meat then. I’d gotten away from him before. I blew
out my breath and settled back for the next hour and a half. Finally a car pulled up.

  “Auntie.” Nelly walked to the couch and gave Bertie’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Someone’s here.”

  I hurried to the door. The screen door squawked as I shoved it open. Fresh Meat got out of the car and met my gaze over the hood.

  “It’s him,” I said, grabbing my backpack from where I’d dropped it on the floor. “Thanks. I’m leaving now.”

  “Hold your horses, missy,” said Bertie, now fully roused. “I want to talk to your driver.”

  She shoved by me, went down the steps, and met Fresh Meat on the sidewalk. Nelly hung back by the door, but I hustled out to the walk.

  “And your name is?” Bertie asked.

  “Jason Connor, ma’am. And I’ll take her home. I swear.” At that moment, Fresh Meat looked like every parent’s dream — clean-cut, honest, sincere.

  I wondered what Bertie would think about the murder postings online.

  “I’m writing down your license plate, and I’ll expect a call from Tiffany’s parents.” She stretched up until she was nearly level with him. “Any funny business, and the cops will be after you.”

  A red flush started at the base of Fresh Meat’s neck and slowly climbed his face.

  I was screwed. He’d never risk the cops.

  I pushed past the two of them. “Okay, Bertie. I’m going now.”

  She reached out and gave me an awkward pat on the back as I passed her. “Take care of yourself. And don’t forget. I need that phone call from your parents.”

  “I won’t forget.” I climbed into the car and threw my backpack over the seat where it flopped onto the floorboard with a thump.

  Fresh Meat got in the car.

  Bertie flapped her hand in a crooked farewell. I waved back and stared at her pudgy form until we turned the corner. My eyes filled with moisture, and I blinked rapidly.

  How was it possible to feel closer to a stranger than to my own family?

  “Your parents?” Fresh Meat broke the silence.

  “What?”

  “Your parents are supposed to call her. Doesn’t she know your mom’s dead?”

  “I’ve barely known her two hours. Of course she doesn’t know.”

  “You ran.” He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

  “You can drop me off when we get to the highway. I have a long way to go.” I sat stiff as a flagpole, holding my breath, waiting for his response.

  Fresh Meat skidded the car into a deserted lot where spindly weeds poked through cracks in the cement. “I’m not dropping you off. Get that clear right now.”

  His expression was harsh, and his jaw set. I looked into his eyes and tried to read whatever he was feeling, but I got nothing.

  “Then why’d you stop the car?” I asked.

  “We need to talk.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think so.” I tried to figure out how I could grab my backpack from the floorboard in back and get out of the car without him nabbing me. I moved my head to the side, scoping out exactly where it had fallen.

  He saw my movement and grabbed my wrist. “I know what you’re thinking.”

  I yanked my arm away. “You don’t know me at all!”

  His eyes shot fire. “But I do. And I can’t have the cops investigating…”

  I had to get out of there, backpack or no backpack. Fresh Meat had totally butted his way into my life. And I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it one bit. With a swift move, I opened the door and leapt from the car. I ran, pounding across the broken pavement toward a deserted metal building at the end of the lot. I heard him follow, but I kept running.

  The vacant building butted up against the woods so I tore around the corner and headed into the trees. Fresh Meat was closing in. I heard him cursing behind me. His legs were longer — I was on a fool’s mission. No way could I outrun him. Low hanging branches slapped at me as I shoved deeper into the woods.

  “Tiffany! Stop!”

  Run, run, run. A few more steps, and he caught my arm from behind, spinning me around. I gasped, and my breath came fast and hard.

  “Let go!” I bent double, trying to suck air.

  He pulled me upright into his arms and held tight. “I’m not letting go,” he gasped. My head against his chest bopped up and down with his gulping breaths. “I’m not letting go,” he repeated.

  I struggled in his embrace even though it was useless. He was too strong.

  He had me.

  We stood pressed together, both of us breathing hard. I heard a branch snap somewhere, and then the sound of a bird cawing far above. A lone car roared down a nearby road.

  Fresh Meat pulled me closer still. “There has to be another way.”

  At his words, a wave of sorrow surged, taking over everything inside me. It swelled bigger and bigger until I thought I’d explode with it. Tears flooded my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. His words echoed through my head. Another way. Another way.

  Another way to what? Another way to get rid of Dad? Another way to take care of Denny, and the condo, and the bills? Another way to be happy?

  “Don’t leave,” he whispered, and his warm breath rustled my hair.

  His yearning surrounded me and pushed through me, burrowing into my sadness. “Tiff, we’ll figure it out.” His voice was a low murmur.

  We?

  I squeezed my eyes closed and put my arms around his waist. When I tightened my grip, he jerked slightly, and then with a soft moan, he rested his head on top of mine.

  I relaxed into him. He put his finger under my chin, tipping my face to meet his gaze. “We’re a mess, you and me,” he said.

  My throat swelled, and I couldn’t speak. He was right. We were a mess.

  His gray eyes were warm. The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “Ready to go back now?”

  “Back?” I asked.

  “To Ocean Mist.”

  I wanted to fight him. To tell him no way. To force him to see how hopeless it was to go back. I wanted to, but I couldn’t.

  Because what I really wanted was him.

  The truth of it shook me to my feet.

  So I didn’t fight him — I couldn’t. Instead, I stood on tiptoe and touched my lips to his. He went stiff, hesitated, and then kissed me back, putting his hands on each side of my face. His lips held mine as he drank me in, and I became lost in his hunger. A quiver surged through us both. He raised his head and gazed steadily into my eyes. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blink. I didn’t move.

  Then, as if synchronized, we both laughed, and the unexpected sound filled the forest.

  Fresh Meat put his arm around me, and I leaned into his shoulder.

  We walked back to the car together.

  The End

  Thank you for reading The Return! Are you wondering what to read next? Why not read another book in the Ocean Mist Series: Cornered? Here’s a sample for you:

  “Tiffany,” I called through the empty space. “You here? And don’t try to hide either. I’m missing school thanks to you.”

  I took the stairs two at a time to the second floor and shoved open her bedroom door, nearly gagging at the smell. Her bed sheets were in a heap, hanging half off the mattress, spilling onto piles of dirty clothes. Shoes had been thrown everywhere. Books and paper were scattered on the floor at the end of her bed. The only thing in order was her massive collection of make-up, meticulously arranged on top of her dresser.

  I glanced around. “Slob,” I muttered and backed out.

  Downstairs, I entered the study, which was really Mom’s bedroom, and braced myself for the overpowering stench of muscle pain ointment. It hovered like a thick fog. My eyes watered, and I slammed the door shut.

  My irritation renewed, I moved to the kitchen, grabbed an apple off the counter, and headed back to the car. Since I’d found Tiffany on the boardwalk more than once, I drove there, parking the car in the sandy lot beside the approach to the beach.

  Gusts of wind cau
ght at my feathered hair, blowing wisps into my mouth. I picked them out and tromped through the dry sand toward the wooden walkway. My feet sank, and I knew I’d be pouring sand from my shoes later. Ahead, a lone figure sat cross-legged, facing the angry waves that smashed to the shore.

  Tiffany.

  My jaw tightened, and I increased my speed. The maggot. The total and complete maggot.

  “Tiffany!” I yelled, and the wind caught my voice.

  She jerked around and stared at me with heavily made-up eyes. I’d told her a hundred times she looked like a raccoon with make-up like that, but she only layered it on thicker. And the way she drew her eyeliner downward gave her the appearance of someone in eternal mourning.

  She pursed her red lips into a scowl. “What are you doing here?”

  I stopped short. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

  She flung her arm toward the ocean in a huge gesture. “Enjoying the view. What else?”

  I stood over her, panting from my wading trek through the thick sand. “I’m missing school thanks to you. The secretary called Mom.”

  “Oh, fine,” she said, rolling her raccoon eyes. “It’s none of their business anyhow.”

  “Yeah, it is. One more time, and they call the authorities.”

  That grabbed her attention. She squinted, making tiny eyeliner slits, hiding the blue color of her eyes entirely. “Liar.”

  “Call me whatever you want. It’s true.”

  She glanced back toward the crashing surf, ignoring me. I squatted beside her. “Come on. I’ll take you to school.”

  “Not going.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Tiffany, get in the car. We’re going.”

  “Says you.”

  I stood and grabbed her arm, yanking with all my might to get her up. She was a wiry thing, but her strength continually surprised me.

  She grabbed onto a wood post nearby with her other hand and held on, refusing to budge.

  “Get up!”

  “I’m not going.” The intense quiet of her voice alarmed me.

  I let go of her arm and lowered myself back to the wooden walkway. A gust of wind brought the choking smell of cigarettes.

  “You’ve been smoking again?”