When her phone buzzed in her pocket, Cici pulled it out. The message was from her father.
Found Gidget a great place up in Taos! They wanted her right away.
An image followed—a picture of Gidget, tongue lolling, sitting in a field surrounded by sheep.
“What?” Cici breathed. Her sister’s dog. In Taos. “No!” Cici cried.
Lyndon stopped talking. The other patrons in the restaurant turned to stare at her, all with what seemed to be judgmental expressions for her interrupting their quiet meal.
Cici scooted back from the table, her heart pounding as she tried to regulate her breathing.
Gidget. Gone. Just like her sister.
11
Cici
If music be the food of love, play on. —Shakespeare
The next few weeks proved some of the hardest of Cici’s life. She’d called her father, begged him to reconsider.
“I had no idea you were planning to keep her, Cecilia. You never mentioned that to me.”
Cici hadn’t. She couldn’t. But . . . now Gidget was lost to Cici.
“Can’t you call them back? Explain it was a mistake? No, I’ll call. I’ll come get her, and . . .”
“It’s done, Cecilia. You’re headed to Peru.” Frank’s tone softened. “You can’t keep a dog in an apartment—not a big dog like Gidget. Look, I know it’s hard right now, but this is for the best. Great Pyrenees aren’t supposed to be house dogs. They need flocks to tend. It’s their purpose.”
Cici bit back the retort that, no, an animal didn’t need a job. An animal’s purpose was to be part of a family. To find and receive love.
She didn’t say that, just as she didn’t tell Lyndon her interest in their trip had waned further since coming back to Boston. In fact, the more he spoke about it, the less Cici wanted to think about leaving.
Cici headed to her church office. She’d awoken this morning wretchedly miserable. The only bright spot in the day was Carina’s message on her phone, showing a picture of her wedding dress and telling Cici how much more special the event would be with Cici to officiate.
Unfortunately, that message from her friend couldn’t keep Cici buoyed because today was Cici’s birthday—meaning it was Anna Carmen’s birthday, too. Anna Carmen would have been twenty-nine today.
Instead, she was dead.
The church secretary, Jin, looked up from his paperwork, a bright hello on his lips. His eyes widened behind his thick spectacles as, from one minute to the next, Cici began to crumple. The weight of her sister’s death, Lyndon’s seeming inability to comfort her, the stress of this humanitarian and research trip to Peru, and her father giving away her sister’s dog simply became too much.
She sniffled. Jin rounded his long desk. Cici reached for a few tissues. Jin’s thin arms wrapped around her. Cici sobbed against his bony shoulder.
“It seems like you need a hug,” Jin said.
Cici cried long enough that Jin had to get her more tissues. Finally, the worst of the storm passed.
“Want to come in here and sit?”
Cici looked up with bleary eyes. The executive reverend Brandon Clay stood in front of her. Brandon was tall, stout. A perfect example of middle-aged Midwesterner with thinning brown hair and kind eyes. He wore his usual blue button-down shirt and gray wool slacks.
She nodded, still too emotional to find her voice. He led Cici into his office and closed the door to just a crack—that was Brandon’s way of saying he wanted privacy but was never too busy for one of his congregants.
He gestured to a small seating area that held an old, tatty twill love seat and a deep, dark leather club chair. Knowing Brandon preferred the chair, Cici settled on the love seat.
“Rough month,” Brandon said. “Happy birthday, by the way.”
Cici began to shred her one dry tissue. “I’m not sure how to live like this. Without her.” She sighed, her eyes sliding closed. “I know people say that all the time. I know my loss isn’t greater than anyone else’s—”
“I’m going to stop you right there, Cici.” Brandon reached forward and cupped her hands. “This isn’t a race or a competition where someone has the right to hurt more than someone else. Nor is it okay for you to belittle your feelings right now because of what you think is right. Today, tomorrow, well, probably for months to come, you are going to feel. And it’s going to hurt. Especially on your joint birthday.”
The words should have caused her more distress, instead they were comforting. Brandon always comforted—he was good at knowing just what to say to each of his congregants. To her, too, it seemed.
“What I want to know is why you aren’t embracing that pain,” Brandon said, his voice kind. “It means you loved someone so much, it’s ripping you apart inside.”
Hundreds of words crowded Cici’s mind and pushed at her throat—so many she couldn’t get any out. Then, finally: “My dad gave away my sister’s dog.”
She crumpled again. Not into tears but a deep, soul-numbing place she feared leaving. Because when she did, the pain would have grown, not lessened, with the passing moments. Gidget was the last living connection to her sister. Cici needed that tangibility. She hadn’t realized until this moment just how much she’d needed some important, living piece of her sister to remain.
Brandon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “What else?”
Though she’d told him most of it over the past couple of weeks, the entire story poured out of her. Brandon scowled at the mentions of Lyndon and looked thoughtful at Cici’s mention of the Santa Fe church board and Sam. When she finished talking, Brandon handed her a cup of tea. She didn’t know how he’d gotten it until she turned to see Jin slinking from the room.
“Thank you,” Cici rasped. She closed her eyes as the hot liquid slid over her raw throat. Chamomile with a hint of honey. These people, here, were so good to her.
“I’m worried about this situation between your sister and her boyfriend. She didn’t speak to you of it?” Brandon asked.
Cici shook her head. “As far as I knew, they were good. Aci loved him.”
“Hm. Well, I guess that’s for the police to sort out.”
Cici took another sip of her tea.
“How long until you’re supposed to leave for Peru?”
“What?” Cici set the mug down on the sturdy oak side table. She looked over at Brandon’s wall calendar. “I don’t know. A month, I think.”
“And then you were supposed to be gone for six to nine months.”
Cici nodded, her stomach curling in on itself. Was Brandon telling her he’d replaced her permanently?
“Stop looking at me like that,” he said, shaking his head. “I could never replace you. I have a feeling the entire congregation is going to sob when you head off to your next adventure.”
“I’m not going to Peru,” Cici rushed to say.
Brandon’s smile was warm. “Glad you finally figured out you never wanted to go.”
Cici frowned, her chin falling to her chest. She hadn’t wanted to? No, this had always been Lyndon’s dream. One she’d become excited to share and help plan. But . . . it wasn’t supposed to be her future.
“I have to tell him,” Cici whispered. Exhaustion weighted her limbs and her eyelids. She dreaded the conversation even as she understood how freeing it would be to discard a role she’d never felt comfortable in.
“That’ll be the easiest part of this tangle.”
Before she managed to process the comment, Brandon continued, “When the church search committee in Santa Fe contacted me about the reverend positon, I was both elated and terrified.”
Cici settled deeper into her chair. She picked up the mug and drank deep. She hadn’t realized Donald Johnson or one of the other deacons had called Brandon. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, actually. Shouldn’t that communication have been her choice?
“I was thrilled you had the opportunity you deserved but worried with how I could possibly find someone to fill this ch
urch’s heart. That’s what you are, Cici. Its heart.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cici said. “I just made the decision not to go to Peru. What makes you think I’m heading back to my home town?”
Brandon leaned forward, his large hands gripping the edge of his chair. “As the heart, every single cell passes through or is nourished by you. The babies all smile when you hold them, the teens open up and tell you about their situations. Heck, I had not one, but two couples request that you perform their wedding ceremony.”
Cici lowered her gaze, embarrassment crashing in a wave of heat over her cheeks and neck.
“That’s how I know. I can’t hold you back, here. Not that you asked my opinion and not that you need to take my advice. But I’d like you to think about what you want now, and then I want you to take it. For you. That will make me happy.”
Cici met Brandon’s gaze for a long moment. Her smile trembled but she managed one. “Thanks, Reverend.”
“Any time, Reverend.” He reached behind him and pulled an envelope from his desk. “Mary asked me to give you this. For your birthday.” Mary, Brandon’s wife, was one of Cici’s favorite people.
“Where’s she this week?” Cici asked, pleased with the card. She opened it, smiling at the silly birthday wishes.
“Hong Kong.” Brandon shook his head. “Glad as I am she made it to captain those 777’s, it’s awful hard to keep track of the places she’s going.”
“But she sends you the best photos.”
Brandon chuckled. Mary took a photo of Brandon with her on her trips and pulled it out to take selfies with it in all her locations, so that, in Mary’s words, “Brandon was part of the experience, too.”
“Now, how about we get you home?” Brandon asked, rising from his chair. “After Jin and I take you out to lunch.”
“I’d love to go to lunch,” Cici said. She hesitated. “Would it be okay . . . I mean, do you think the mommy group would mind if I stopped by to snuggle a couple of the babies today?”
He moved to his door and opened it fully. “And you wonder why I call you the heart of this operation.”
Instead of taking an early day, Cici didn’t go home until after eight that evening. She’d studiously avoided her phone, not wanting to see any calls or texts from Lyndon, her friends, or her father. She’d break down if she did because she’d once again begin to think of her sister—and her death.
Her anger at her dad refused to diminish. When he’d offered to take care of Anna Carmen’s things, she hadn’t expected him to simply give everything of hers away. But according to Carina, he’d done just that: Anna Carmen’s house stood stripped bare and was already on the market. An agent assumed it would sell within the month.
Last time Cici had spoken to Frank, he’d been pleased with the home’s appreciation, telling Cici she’d get a nice nest egg out of the deal. Cici bit her lip, unwilling to tell her father no amount of money would ever be worth Anna Carmen’s death. That would only upset him more.
But Cici hadn’t been able to let go of Frank’s high-handed methods.
Lyndon rose from Cici’s couch when she entered her apartment. Cici took a deep breath and hung up her purse, coat, and scarf.
“I’ve been worried about you,” Lyndon said.
“I was at work.”
Lyndon frowned, confusion building in his eyes. “I thought you’d want to go out to dinner. You know, to celebrate your birthday.”
Cici ran her hand down her long hair, smoothing the wind-blown bits. “I’m not in much of a celebratory mood.”
“Come on, Cee. You can’t let your sister’s death ruin your birthday,” he wheedled.
Actually, she could. And Lyndon just made it worse with that totally tone-deaf comment. She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out slowly, trying hard to hold on to the fraying edges of her patience.
“Maybe this will cheer you up. I have good news,” Lyndon said, coming over to cup her hips in his hands. “Lawrence Chambers sent me a check today. For the full amount we needed to fund my research. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Yes, that really is,” Cici said. And she meant it. She leaned in and hugged him.
“So, let’s go out to celebrate. It’s more than just your birthday. We’re finally set and ready to go to Peru.”
“No, Lyndon,” Cici said, her voice gentle. “I’m not going out to celebrate tonight.”
“What? Why? We have so much positive going on . . .”
“But see, I don’t.” Cici swallowed down the lump of emotion ripping at her throat.
“Of course you do. It’s your birthday. And our dream . . .”
Cici closed her eyes. As soon as she said the words circulating in her head, she’d lose him. She opened her eyes and met his troubled gaze. “That’s your dream, Lyndon.”
He frowned. “It’s your dream, too.”
Cici took Lyndon’s hand in hers and squeezed his fingers. “I was happy for a time to be a part of it, and I’m thrilled you have the money you need to complete the research you want.”
Lyndon huffed. “When the grant fell through, I thought it was all over.”
“I know. That was scary and painful.” Cici stepped back, letting her arms drop to her sides. “But that should have also been the first clue for me. I didn’t care.”
Lyndon gaped. “What?”
Cici forced herself to say the words—words that hurt them both, but were finally her own, honest ones. “I didn’t care. Not about the trip. If we didn’t go, that would have been fine. I would have happily stayed in my position at the church.”
“What are you . . . do you mean you aren’t planning to go with me?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
He glared for a moment. His pale skin brightened to a painful pink. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the door.
Cici lowered herself onto her couch. Who knows how long she sat like that? After an extended time, she breathed deep and stared out the window into the dark sky.
Her phone rang, causing her to jump. She ran over to her purse and pulled it out, heart thumping.
No, not Lyndon.
A Santa Fe number.
Cici took a deep breath and pressed “Talk.”
“Hello?”
12
Cici
False face must hide what the false heart doth know. —Shakespeare
“Cici, it’s Donald Johnson. I was calling to let you know I need an answer by next week about the job in Santa Fe. We can sweeten the pot a bit.”
Donald muttered on for a moment, while Cici stared at the closed door to her apartment. Maybe she’d made a mistake. Maybe she should call Lyndon, tell him she did want to go.
Cici jerked back to present when Donald named the salary. She bit her lip. It was more than she made here, and the cost of living was lower in Santa Fe.
For some reason, Cici felt as if everything in her life was aligning to push her back home.
“That’s generous,” Cici said. “I . . . Brandon said you’d called him.”
“Good man, that boss of yours,” Donald said. “Said you’re the true soul of their operation there and we’d be damn lucky to get you.”
A smile crept across Cici’s numb lips. For the first time all day, she felt . . . not alone.
Almost as if . . . well, as if Anna Carmen were nearby, somehow.
“Does your offer include a moving stipend?” Cici asked.
“We plan to cover the cost completely. Like I told you—like Carina told you—we want you, Cici.”
She blew out a breath. Her phone beeped.
Cici considered ignoring it, but something told her to look.
Sam.
“Donald, I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.”
“All right. I guess that works.”
“Sorry to cut you off, but I have another call I need to take. Blessings.”
Cici hit the “Accept” button. “Sam.”
“Happy birthday, Cee.”
/> Something in his voice was off. Pain filled it.
“What’s wrong?” Cici asked.
“Nope. Not yet. I want to hear about your day.”
Cici sank onto her couch. “Carina called you, huh?”
“I know you’re being recruited. Carina’s always been crap at keeping a secret.”
Cici looked down in her lap. “True. So . . . it’s been interesting. I was on the phone with Donald when you call. The church raised their salary offer and will pay for my whole move. And, earlier, Lyndon and I broke up. It’s like . . .” It’s like Anna Carmen wants me back home.
To get Gidget and bring her home with Cici. To fix whatever problem there was with Evan. Cici frowned. She didn’t understand how he’d switched from frantic lover to icy cold enemy within just a few days.
Something happened in that time space. The ache in her chest built, grew, tried to suffocate her. She needed to know what happened to Evan between their frantic messages while Cici was en route to Santa Fe and when she landed.
“I just . . .” Cici glanced around. “Nothing here feels right.”
“Cee . . .”
Cici’s whole body went on alert at Sam’s tone. “What did you find out? Is it about Anna Carmen?”
“I hate to have to tell you this, especially over the phone—”
Cici’s breathing hitched. “Sam.”
“—and on your birthday, nonetheless. You deserve a nice dinner. Flowers. A huge slab of cheesecake.”
Cici loved cheesecake.
“Samuel.”
“I’ll take you out next time you’re in town.”
“Samuel Chastain. If you do not tell me whatever it is right now, I might very well . . .” But Cici couldn’t think up a good threat.
Sam chuckled but it was half-hearted. “Detective Martins called me. To let me know they have no leads in the case.”
That sense of foreboding slammed hard against Cici’s chest. “N-nothing?”
“That’s what he said. I, uh, I plan to call the chief tomorrow. See what leverage I can use from Denver.”
Identical Death Page 5