Birds chirped. The scent of honeysuckle wafted by.
“When we get married,” Ben said, clasping the back of his neck, “where do you think we’re going to live? Do you hate this town that much that you wouldn’t want to settle down here?”
“I—” She stopped to really think her answer through. Something in Ben’s expression told her it was important. “I haven’t thought much about it, but . . . the way things have been here, the way I feel now . . . I don’t like this town much. The only good part about it is you.”
Ben nodded. “Family’s important. I’ve said that before. I wouldn’t want to leave them behind—not far behind, that is.” He met her eyes. “But for you . . . we’ll only live where you can be happy.”
She gazed at him tenderly. “Thank you. We wouldn’t have to move far. I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
“Just don’t ask me to live in a yellow house, and we’re good.”
“Um, okay.” She felt a little jolt since, for some reason, she’d always loved sunny yellow houses. Apparently, she must not have ever told him that. She wasn’t about to now, not if he was serious. She managed a belated laugh. “What do you have against yellow houses?”
“It’s just the worst house color ever, that’s all. A house should be—I don’t know—serious? Manly? Not look like some kind of wimpy lemon dollhouse, you know?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I do now.” She touched a finger to her lips. “Okay, well, you probably don’t like little white picket fences, either then, hey?” Here was something they could agree on. She never wanted a fence around her home—not for decoration or convenience. She’d come to this conclusion years ago . . . oddly, in a dark moment of confinement, facing death in captivity.
Ben frowned. “Well, no, it doesn’t have to be white, but I really like the idea of some kind of fence. Extra security to keep our kids safe, right?”
Her lips quirked but didn’t quite make it to a smile. Such a ridiculous conversation, anyway. They’d work it all out just fine another time.
“Do you want some water?” she asked, rising. “I feel like a cold drink.”
“Sure, okay. But hey, let me get it.” Ben began rolling to the door, but she was already sliding it open.
“No, I’ll get it,” she assured him.
She said hi to Lucy in the dining room, where she was eating a sandwich. As Charlene filled two glasses, Lucy spoke around a mouthful. “So you moved away, huh? Right after you got engaged. That’s kinda weird.” She chewed loudly. “How’s that gonna work?”
Both glasses full, Charlene turned off the faucet and glided past her. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”
When she stepped onto the deck, Charlene halted, leaving the sliding door wide open.
Ben had an odd, unreadable expression on his face. His hand gripped his phone.
No, her phone.
He said, “You might want to close the door.”
Concerned, she frowned and slid it shut.
Despite the fact that he grasped her phone tight in his fist, he lifted it for her to see. “You missed a call when you were inside.”
“Oh? Who was it?”
“Clay.”
She clunked the glasses on the picnic table. A little water sloshed out, puddling darkly on the worn wood.
Before she had a chance to respond, Ben said in a tight voice, “Don’t pretend you don’t know who that is. You haven’t spoken his name in years, but don’t think for a second I believe you’ve forgotten him. I know I haven’t.” His eyes flashed. “I know it took you forever to move on after he ditched this town and left you all torn up over him. How does he have your number, and why’s he calling you?”
She dropped into a chair, feeling as if all her breath had been knocked out by Ben’s rough torrent of words. He’d never spoken to her like that before. “It’s okay, Ben. Don’t get upset. It’s nothing.” She bit her lip. Confused as she was over why Clay would call, now wasn’t the time to wonder. “I’m sure it’s just work related.”
“Work related?”
Oops.
Ben’s jaw slackened. “You mean . . . you’re working with the guy?”
Her face flushed hot as she started to explain, but he cut her off, his anger-charged voice overpowering her. “And you didn’t think that maybe that was something worth telling me? Me, your fiancé?” He plowed a hand through his hair. “Darn it, Charlene, what else aren’t you telling me?”
“I—you’re taking this all wrong, blowing it way out of proportion.”
“Am I?” He looked as if he would have jumped to his feet, if he could. “Then why is it all suddenly making a heck of a lot of sense? Why you moved. Why you hardly call me. Why you won’t move back.” With each point, he jammed his finger to the table, his fingertip turning white and red with the pressure. “What I don’t get is why you’d want that guy anywhere in your life. He was nothing but trouble for you—”
“Except for the small fact that he saved my life.”
“Okay.” Ben clenched his jaw. “I’ll give him that. I’m thankful for that. But you don’t owe him your life, for the rest of your life.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m not stupid, Charlene. You like the guy. You always have. I thought I could—”
The patio door zinged open and Ben’s mom stood there. “Is everything all right out here? Ben?” But she looked at Charlene, with narrowed eyes that demanded, Why are you upsetting him? You know it’s not good for him.
“Fine, Mom.” Ben’s voice was measured. “Go back inside.”
Her lips pinched but she retreated. When the door sealed shut once more, Ben met Charlene’s eyes at her level, which still didn’t seem right. She was used to looking up into his eyes as he stood tall above her.
“I never liked him.”
“Ben, please, you’re overreacting. You have no reason to be jealous. You have no idea how ridiculous that is.” She knew he wanted to believe her words, but he needed more reassurance. “I love you. I’m marrying you. The only reason Clay and I crossed paths at all is because I had a letter from his mom—his dead mother—that I had to give him. I promised her.” She pressed her palms flat on the table. “That’s all.”
“But now you’re working for him. Tell me that’s not strange.”
“No, I’m not working for him. I’m working for his—his employer. His boss. Actually, Clay doesn’t even want me working there.” She dropped her gaze. “But it’s something I have to do. His shop got ransacked. Because of me.” She did her best to explain the incident.
Ben looked blown away. “You’re only just telling me this now?”
“I didn’t want to worry you.”
He snorted. “I’m a lot more worried to hear about it like this, so long after the fact.”
He was right. Her shoulders slackened. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “So you got suckered into working there because you felt guilty? You don’t owe them anything. Not a thing. If Clay’s got someone after him, it’s his own fault, not yours. Another reason you need to stay far away from him. You moved out of Woodfield because you didn’t feel safe here. Doesn’t sound like you’re safe there, either.”
His words stirred up fears, but she tamped them back down. “I promise you, Ben, this is temporary. And I told you I’m coming back every Sunday at the very least. We’ll go to church and spend the whole day together.”
She downed a big swallow of water. It cooled and soothed her stomach, though not nearly enough. She slid a glass closer to Ben. The tense lines of his face were lessening, but still visible. He finally released her phone and took a quick drink.
As soon as he swallowed, he hit her with another question. “Why didn’t he answer when I said hello? He hung up on me.”
Her lips parted. “You mean, you answered my phone?” She felt strangely miffed.
“Sure, I saw ‘Clay’ on the display. You blame me?” No hint of apology.
“Considering
what I’m sure was your kind greeting, not to mention the fact that he was expecting me to answer, I can’t imagine why he might have hung up.” Her tone bordered on sarcastic. “He probably thought he had the wrong number.”
“Then why didn’t he try again?”
She let out a frustrated noise. “I don’t know. Who cares? Can’t we drop it?”
“Does he know you’re engaged?”
“I—no—I don’t know. I mean, why would that even come up? Ben, stop imagining things. Let it go.” Her voice softened. “You’ve got to trust me.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. He raised his brows high, then dropped them. “I know. I know.” He shook his head, rolled close, and caught her hand. “I’m not scared of much. I’m not even scared of never walking again. But I am scared of losing you. I love you so much, that that’s the one thing I absolutely could not take.”
The battle over, she let her neck relax, and her head dipped. “You’re not going to lose me,” she promised fervently. “I said yes to you, remember?”
“I’ll never forget.”
Neither would she, nor how she’d sent him plummeting to a horrible fate mere moments after. The two incidents were unavoidably linked. My fault. All my fault. He’s lost so much. She squeezed his hand in silent reassurance. He won’t lose me too.
* * *
Charlene tried not to wonder about Clay’s call, but hours later, after a meal, a movie, and more wedding plans, it tugged at her mind as she tried to leave. Despite discreet glances at her phone, she knew he hadn’t tried calling back.
How soon could she return to Creekside? She was aware her car sat abandoned near her burnt condo, but she was loath to return to the spot. Still, she was going to have to get the car sometime. She loved biking, and the bus wasn’t bad, but the convenience of her own vehicle topped them both.
“You don’t have to go,” Ben interrupted her thoughts.
“We’ve been through this—”
“Just stay tonight, that’s all I mean. It’s already dark. I’m not going to let you wander the streets at night. It’s not safe.”
She smirked. “I wasn’t exactly planning on ‘wandering.’ I only need to get to my car—it’s still at the condo.”
“That’s too far to walk.”
“Well, I can’t stay. I need to be at work in the morning.”
His look implied, Bet you could get out of that if you really wanted to.
She shifted her feet. “I’ll call a taxi.”
“No way. I’d drive you myself, if I could,” Ben muttered.
Not that he intended it, but guilt stabbed her.
“I’ll get my mom to drive you. She won’t mind.”
This isn’t awkward, Charlene thought ten minutes later as she stared at the glowing dashboard clock in Mrs. Jorgensen’s Subaru Outback as the woman drove in silence.
She hit the indicator and turned the wheel. “I’d rather you wouldn’t visit Ben if you’re going to upset him.”
Charlene wished they’d stuck to silence. “About that . . . it’s nothing to worry about. Everyone has disagreements sometimes.”
“Hmm.” She turned to eye her directly. “Do you still intend to marry him?” Her look was so intense, her need to know so urgent, Charlene hurried to answer so she’d return her eyes to the road.
“Of course.”
Mrs. Jorgensen’s gaze snapped back to the sparse traffic. Charlene thought maybe she was going to order her not to go through with the wedding, but she only said, “I don’t know why you moved away, then.”
Goodness, there was no pleasing the woman. “You didn’t want me to move in. I had to live somewhere.”
“Yes, but an hour away? Seems rather extreme.”
Thankfully, that train of conversation ended as Mrs. Jorgensen pulled into the parking lot next to the rubbly remnants of her condo. With the aid of a streetlight’s glow, they both sat and stared at the charred, misshapen form.
“It must have been frightening,” Mrs. Jorgensen said, pressing a hand to her stomach.
“There’s my car.” Charlene clutched her purse and opened the door. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Charlene,” Mrs. Jorgensen looked her way, “you mean everything to him. Do not lead him on.”
As Mrs. Jorgensen pulled away, Charlene was glad the woman wasn’t lingering to make sure she got into her car safely. But when she was out of sight, a strange feeling came over her as she realized she hadn’t told Mrs. Jorgensen how to get to her condo.
She’d never been here before, despite how long Charlene had known Ben. He must have given her directions, that’s all.
Charlene’s car was the only one in the lot. She hadn’t left it here, though. She remembered it had been parked down the street. Maybe the police had moved it. At least the ugly, hateful words on the back window had been cleaned off.
Closer now, she saw a white envelope tucked under a wiper. Instantly, she tensed into high alert and looked over her shoulder nervously. There would be something awful and threatening inside the envelope, she just knew it.
Oh, how she hated this town.
She felt herself tremble as she ripped the seal. Touching the enclosed paper as little as possible, she flicked the single sheet open and scanned the words.
Relief created a little laugh. The note was only from Darla, condo association president, informing Charlene she’d done her the favor of cleansing the unsightly eyesore from her window and then had her car towed to the lot. Why couldn’t she reach her by phone? And enclosed was a bill. This, Charlene could deal with.
She unlocked and opened her door. Interior lights shone, revealing another surprise, this one a large flat manila envelope on the passenger seat.
Feeling watched, she glanced in her backseat, but no one was hiding, lying in wait. She dropped onto her seat and closed the door. Pressing a button, she locked herself in the car.
Studying the envelope, she found no writing or markings of any kind. She shoved her finger under the flap and ripped.
Photographs slipped out in a neat stack into her hand.
She frowned at the first one. It was just a picture of her condo, back when it was still standing. The focal point of the picture was her front door and window. A boring picture. Meaningless.
She spotted herself in the next picture, sitting on her sofa reading a book, oblivious to the picture being taken through the window. Creepy.
The third picture puzzled her a moment, showing simply a beige carpeted staircase, cream walls, and a wooden handrail. Like a punch to her stomach, she recognized it. Someone had taken this picture inside her condo.
From outside her home, to inside her home, the pictures were showing an intrusive, frightening progression.
Slowly, she shifted the picture, slid it centimeter by centimeter off the thin stack, hoping she’d reached the end and that she was back to the first picture. She couldn’t stand to see another.
But there was one more.
This one showed her lying on her pillow, long hair in disarray, eyes closed as she slept, oblivious to any threat. The picture was a clear close-up of her face. She could even see her lashes resting against her skin.
This picture couldn’t have been taken through a window. The photographer had been in her room, watching her while she slept.
Chapter Nineteen
Panic shot through her. Charlene slapped the disturbing images, the silent intimidation, face down onto her passenger seat.
After a few unsuccessful attempts, she jabbed her key in the ignition and pealed out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires sure to send vigilant Darla to her window.
As Charlene drove, the anxiety numbing her mind subsided as she reasoned herself into a calmer state. Since the photos showed her in her condo, the pictures were now old and irrelevant. Over a week old, at least.
Whoever had been trying to scare her was too late. She was out of the condo and out of this town.
It was probably Lance. She would never
forget the night of his intrusion.
Only . . . she snatched up the last picture as she drove and flicked on a light to rescan the details. The edge of her nightstand had made it into the frame, but no water bottle. She’d had one there the night Lance attacked. She was sure of that, because she remembered knocking it over.
So maybe he’d taken the pictures another night. He obviously had access. She recalled how he’d bumped into her at school. There was a purpose behind that. Only shortly after, he’d invaded her home. But why slip the pictures into her car to scare her now?
She heaved in a big breath and changed thoughts. Maybe it wasn’t Lance, maybe it was just Grandfather, spitefully messing with her mind. He certainly had the resources to accomplish practically anything.
Or was it some unknown enemy?
Calm down. She tossed the picture back on the passenger seat, then switched on the radio and zoned out on her long ride back to Creekside. Aware of the wind hissing through her cracked window, she shot the window closed. So that’s how the envelope had been slipped in her car. All her fault for leaving it open.
Once parked in the apartment lot, she left her car with a heightened, hair-prickling sense of awareness and scurried into the building. Her heart rate didn’t slow until she was safe in her bedroom. Knowing Brook slept in the room beside her was a comfort, and she was thankful for her presence.
* * *
Eight o’clock. Rosary time in the Callaghan household. Nails swore. Why did he still remember that, after all these years?
Why’d he even look at the clock? Time moved slow enough these days. And that infernal ticking. He yanked the thing from the wall, threw it on the floor, and stomped on it. The crunch didn’t satisfy him.
“Callaghan.” Not even aware he’d said the name aloud, he paced in the narrow confines of the trailer, a terrible energy building inside him.
Why a family stuck with six kids had wanted to bring him into the mix, never made sense. At sixteen, he’d had more attitude and rebellion balled inside him than all those Callaghan kids put together. Yet they acted like they wanted him.
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