“No. Not hungry. The coffee’ll be just fine.”
“Okay, then. Give me a holler if you need anything.”
“What do I owe you?” Bill reached for his wallet.
“For the coffee? It’s on the house, hon. But let me know if you change your mind about the pie or the pills.”
Joanna turned and walked away.
For the next few minutes, Bill sat and drank his coffee, sipping it slowly while the headache passed. They never lasted too long and only seemed to come when his father’s voice presented itself, screaming behind his ear. This one had been particularly bad, though.
He watched Joanna discreetly from the corner of his eye as she worked. Occasionally, his mind wandered to areas he didn’t expect: Glimpses of his hands on her soft flesh. Her warm breath on his neck. The smell of her. The taste of her. She was perfection, and he had to have her. But in what way? For a moment, he wasn’t sure. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to be inside of her hot, slick flesh.
“Bill, the photographer. I told you I’d see you again,” someone said, breaking his concentration.
Bill turned and saw the sheriff leaning against the counter a few seats away.
“Hello,” Bill said. “Had a feeling I’d see you, too.” This was true, and the feeling was not a good one. The feeling was dread. It was one thing for Joanna to recognize him and remember his name. (Soon she won’t be alive to recall me to anyone.) But it was another for him to be recognized around town by law enforcement. How many tourists did Heartsridge see this time of year? A few thousand? More? And how many of them would the sheriff remember when they were all gone? At least one, Bill now knew for certain, and that was no good.
“Yeah, you’ll see me here just about every morning,” Gaines said. “Best coffee in town.”
Bill forced a pleasant look onto his face but kept his head angled away so as to not give a full look at his face this time.
Joanna spotted Gaines and made her way down the counter. “Morning, Calvin.”
“Hey, Jo. Can I just grab a large black to go? I’m in a bit of a hurry this morning.”
“Sure thing,” she said, and smiled. “Oh and I finished that necklace you wanted.”
“Already? That was quick,” Gaines said.
“Well, you seemed excited about it so I wanted to make sure I got it done sooner rather than later. Turns out I’m a bit quicker than I gave myself credit for.”
“I guess so,” Gaines said. “Want me to pay you now?” He reached for his back pocket.
“Can’t this second. It’s in my car at the moment. Think you can stop by this afternoon? I can run out and grab it when I’m not so busy.” Joanna looked down the counter and gestured to the full restaurant.
With Gaines and Joanna caught up in conversation, Bill decided to make his exit undetected, stepping back off the stool and drifting away like smoke in the breeze. He walked out the door as an elderly couple entered. He didn’t look back until he was across the street.
Outside, he watched from his truck, looking in through the diner’s front window, the window he’d watched Joanna through the previous two nights and where he would watch her later. Gaines peered around, looking for Bill, the photographer from New Hampshire, but seemed to give up rather quickly.
“Nice knowing you, Sheriff,” Bill said, and smiled. “See you never.” Then his eyes settled on Joanna, who was walking back toward Gaines with a to-go cup of coffee in her hand. “I’ll see you later, darling.”
CHAPTER 22
“Hey, Ali,” said Elsie Francis, the heavyset, gum-chewing redhead who ran the Ciao Bella Nail Salon in Heartsridge. “Wasn’t expecting you today.”
“I know, Else. I was hoping you could squeeze me in. I’m in a bit of a rush. Think you can help me?”
Elsie smiled and looked around the room. Two other women—employees—were sitting in the back at manicure tables, reading magazines, empty chairs across from them. “It’s nine o’clock on a Tuesday morning, not exactly our busiest hour,” Elsie said. “I think we can fit you in.”
Allison may have been the mayor’s wife, but she was never one to abuse her influence over people. Knowing she could if she ever needed to was just as good. Showing it was classless, she had always thought. What good was power if she needed to prove to people she had it?
Allison reached over and touched Elsie’s arm. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver. Thank you, thank you, my dear.”
“Don’t mention it. C’mon over, I’ll do you myself. We haven’t seen you in a while.”
“In too long,” Allison said. “I’ve been so busy these days.” She followed Elsie to the back of the salon, taking a seat in front of a nail table.
Elsie dropped down across from her. “Let’s see those hands.”
Allison put her hands on the table.
“Oh wow. It has been too long,” Elsie joked. She took Allison’s hands in her own and inspected them. There was power in Elsie’s hands—a soft, precise power that suggested long years of doing the same delicate task with hard conviction. “Geez, have you been biting them or running them through a wood chipper?” She flipped them over and back again a few times.
Allison laughed. “Old habits, I’m afraid. Been a little anxious lately.”
“We got quite a job ahead of us.” Elsie picked up a cotton ball and pressed it against the mouth of an acetone bottle, tipping it upside down quickly and then righting it. “Gimme those,” she said, and in rapid succession she swabbed each one of Allison’s nails. The liquid sat wet on Allison’s skin for only a moment and then evaporated with a cold breath. Elsie fished through a drawer in front of her, found a nail-file, and went to work. “How’s that handsome husband of yours?”
Allison snorted. “Hah, what handsome husband? Harry, you mean? Maybe fifteen years and thirty pounds ago. You try sleeping next to that snoring machine every night, or watching him pick his teeth with the corner of a matchbook, sitting in his underwear watching Jeopardy, screaming the wrong answers at the TV. After fifteen years of that, I forget what handsome is.”
Elsie laughed and shook her head. “Oh, you’re terrible. At this point, I’d take any man who can keep me warm at night.”
Allison smiled, but sidestepped the subject of Elsie’s failing love life. She was here for a very specific reason. “Are you doing the festival again this year?” she asked. “You did well the last few years, didn’t you?”
“‘Did well?’ That’s an understatement.” Elsie huffed, her thick chest heaving with excitement. “We did great is more like it! Saw more money in those four days than I do in three months here. And this year me and the girls are stepping it up a notch. We’re doing nails, face painting for kids, a whole bunch of stuff. We even have some homemade creams and lotions to sell.”
Allison brightened, feigning excitement for Elsie. Not that she wasn’t happy for her, but she had an agenda that required all of her focus. “I guess you weren’t kidding. It sounds like you’ve really got a good thing figured out.”
“You got that right,” Elsie said, sobering. “So what’s got you so tense that you almost chewed your fingers down to the knuckle?”
Allison conjured a serious face for a moment and then shook it away. “Don’t worry. I’m fine. It’s nothing really.” Dramatic pause. “Well, actually it’s not nothing, but I’m not supposed to talk about it. It’s pretty serious. The sheriff’s department is involved.”
Sheriff’s department. She used those two words deliberately. Heartsridge didn’t see a lot of excitement, so anytime law enforcement was mentioned, people listened. They needed that little bit of exhilaration in their lives. And once they got a taste, they were like sharks that had smelled blood.
“C’mon, Ali. You know the deal here. This place is just like the doctor’s office. What you say here stays here. It never leaves these four walls.”
The corners of Allison’s lips twitched, threatening to curl up into a sardonic grin, but she fought it, never breaking fro
m her act. She knew that what Elsie had just said was very untrue. That was the point, though, wasn’t it—to get the story out there? To start the smear campaign against Kara Price, the girl spreading lies about her husband. What was said inside Ciao Bella most certainly did—barring some sort of divine intervention—leave those four walls. It left those four walls and spilled out into the street like the angry, charging bulls of Pamplona, eager to find something—anything and anyone—to trample and gore. Ciao Bella was the ocean that fed the rivers of gossip, and the rivers all flowed to the dining room tables of Heartsridge’s residents, where rumor-fueled conversations took place over cold glasses of milk and pork roasts and mashed potatoes.
Allison cocked her head slightly off-center. “Well, I suppose it really doesn’t matter. You’re probably going to hear it sooner or later, anyway,” she said. “You might as well hear it from a reliable source before the story gets all turned around and inside out.”
Beads of sweat started to tickle the back of Allison’s neck as her skin flushed from nerves. Suddenly, the manicurist’s light she sat under seemed all too much like an interrogation lamp. But why should she feel that she was doing something wrong? She was only getting the truth out there before the lies, right?
“That’s the spirit, doll. Let it out.” Elsie smirked like a kid who’d coaxed a parent into buying them a new toy. All she cared about was the gossip, not about how getting it might affect the person spilling it. It was selfish business.
In Allison’s case, the effect of sharing the information was entirely the point. In fact, prior to going to bed the night before, her fingernails were freshly done from her visit to High Wave Salon over in West Elm. She had been going there for the last three months. That was the real reason Elsie hadn’t seen her in a while. The truth was that they did a much better job. Regardless, Allison had removed the fresh coat from High Wave and chewed her nails so she would seem in dire need of Elsie’s services when she arrived (deep down, part of her knew that the nail-biting had not been voluntary). Ciao Bella and Elsie Francis were merely tools she would use to get a job done. Nothing more. The illusion of friendship may have seemed present when the two women sat across from one another at that manicure table, but no true allegiances existed. And that was what she was counting on: the moment she walked out that front door, Elsie would spill the gossip to anyone who would listen. Allison would never be foolish enough to think otherwise.
“I don’t know if you know this or not, but when Harry became mayor, he started an internship program for high school students,” Allison said. “The kind of thing for kids who are interested in a summer job or want to get a look at what goes into running a town. A lot of them just want to have something to put on their resumes when they enter the job force. It’s been pretty successful, too. Had a lot of good feedback over the years.”
Elsie nodded as she filed. “Yeah, I remember Ruth Wheeler mentioning it when her daughter worked down at town hall last summer. That’s a good thing your husband’s done.”
“Yes, I think so. Or at least, I thought so. It only takes one person to ruin a good thing like that. And I’m afraid that’s what may’ve happened.”
Elsie’s face lit up with curiosity. “Whadya mean?”
Time to sell it, Allison. Lay it on thick.
But she didn’t need to sell anything. The words she was about to speak were very real. And in the midst of this thought she recalled the theater classes she had taken while attending Emerson College. She’d always wanted to be an actress. But she’d never had the opportunity—or the guts (were the two really so different?)—to pursue her passion. On her first day of class, her teacher had offered what he regarded as the most valuable piece of advice he’d been given about acting. Pacing back and forth across the stage, he’d said: “My future thespians, if you wish to give a convincing performance, you must find a real emotion deep within yourself, and then you must nurture it until it becomes you. Then, and only then, will an audience give themselves to you.” That was what she was doing now.
“God, I don’t even want to say it,” Allison said, shaking her head and looking pained. “It makes it seem so real when the words come out of my mouth. And I know it’s not, but still, it doesn’t make it any easier.”
She did know it wasn’t true. She did! That girl was lying. Her husband—her Harry—would never do something like that.
Honey, you don’t believe her, do you? Harry had asked her.
And she was sure she didn’t. Wasn’t she?
“Oh, geez, I guess it is serious,” Elsie said. She put a bowl of warm, soapy water on the table and guided Allison’s free hand into it. “All right, continue, I’m listening.”
Allison leaned her head down, rubbed an itch on her nose with the back of her wrist, and then straightened. “Apparently one of the students working down at his office—a girl—decided to start a nasty rumor about Harry. It’s just so obvious she’s doing it for attention.”
“Really?” Elsie said. “What’s she saying?”
Allison bit her lip, looked down, and then up into Elsie’s eyes. “The worst things, Elsie… the worst kind of things you can imagine. The girl is sick, I’m sure of it. Mentally ill. The stuff she is accusing him of is just so terrible.” Allison closed her eyes dramatically—a slow, thoughtful blink. Do you see how hard this is for me? the look said. “She’s saying he assaulted her… put his hands on her.”
The nail-filing stopped. Allison took that as her cue. She met Elsie’s eyes again, checking her audience. The beautician was roped. “What?” Elsie said, almost yelling it.
Allison looked nervously at the two women on the other side of the room then back to Elsie. “Quiet, quiet.”
But of course she wanted Elsie to be too loud. It was all for show. The more tightly someone asked that a secret be contained, the faster it seemed to spread. It was as if the information were a hot coal fresh from the fire, glowing white hot, and whoever touched it had no choice but to hold it for only the briefest time before tossing it to another, who would in turn do the same. The hotter the ember, the longer it burned, and the more people it reached. And this baby was one hot mother.
Appearing to rein herself in, Elsie said, “I’m sorry, but… what? That’s insane. I don’t believe it.” She was whispering now, but it was somehow louder than her natural voice. “Harry? Are you joking?” She trailed off into a headshake.
The women in the back continued to read their magazines. They were more than likely pretending now, turning the pages at regular intervals, staring blankly at blurred words and pictures as they focused all their efforts on eavesdropping.
“It gets worse,” Allison said, “there’s more.”
“You bet your ass there’s more. There better be. You can’t leave me hanging like that. I need details, hon.”
“She’s saying he raped her. Can you believe that? My Harry, raping a fifteen-year-old girl? Not to mention the fact that at the time she claims this to have happened, Harry was home. I know it for a fact. I called him from my sister’s when I was away on Saturday. I’m sure the sheriff will be able to check the phone records soon enough. That will put an end to this nonsense. But dammit, Elsie, this is just so unfair. This could really damage Harry’s career, and he’s worked so hard. You know how people are when they hear a rumor—they believe what they want, whether it’s true or not.”
Why had she just lied? She’d never called him.
She knew Harry could never do these things he was accused of. His character was strong enough to stand up to an unfounded accusation like this alone without her adding false alibis to the story. There was no evidence he had done anything at all. It was only a mixed-up high school girl crying wolf. Maybe she had a few bumps and bruises, but that didn’t prove anything.
So why had she just lied?
“Jesus, Ali, are you serious?” Elsie said, completely captivated. “I thought you might have something big on your mind, but nothing like this. This is full-blown. Like rig
ht out of a movie.” Elsie was high with excitement, her face glowing with questions. It was obvious she was trying to hide it, but she was doing a pitiful job.
“I’m afraid I am serious,” Allison said. “And the worst part is that there really isn’t much we can do other than wait for the sheriff to do his job. I just feel so vulnerable. Someone can say whatever they want about you, and the next thing you know your life is upside down. I’m sure once they prove that this girl is lying everything will be okay. But what if the damage is already done? That’s what really scares me. I think it scares Harry, too, but he’d never admit that outright.”
“I’m so sorry. I can’t believe it.” Elsie’s gears slowly started to turn, her jaw reengaging as she began to chew her gum again. Then the nail file started up, and she carried on: “Who is she, anyway?”
“The girl?”
“No… Mother Teresa. Yes, the girl. Who else would I mean?” Elsie bobbed with laughter again.
“Her name is Kara Price. I don’t know her or the family. I don’t think they go to our church—or any church, from the sound of it—otherwise I don’t think this’d be happening. Probably godless people.”
Elsie’s face twisted into a painful look of concentration, as though she were searching her brain for a face to match the name. Then—Eureka!—she found something. “Price? Get out! I know a Price… Ellie Price. I’m surprised you don’t. She’s a nice woman. Comes in here about once a month. You’d think it wasn’t possible to stay off your radar, Ali, especially in a town this size. Can’t say I know her too well, though.”
“She must be Kara’s mother,” Allison said. “And something tells me they aren’t the kind of people I’d want on my radar. I can only imagine what type of person it takes to raise a girl capable of such awful deceitfulness. It’s deranged, is what it is.”
“Fair enough,” Elsie said. “But like I was saying, she always seemed like a kind woman. But again, I don’t really know her. She isn’t a huge talker, if I recall. She’s a relaxing type. Closes her eyes and doesn’t speak when I work on her. Some people do that. They find the whole thing calming. And I guess I understand that. Some people like to chat, others don’t.”
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