The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond

by Jaime Jo Wright

  “Brent isn’t telling me much about the investigation, but then again, he hasn’t been around much either.” Christen eyed Annalise as she placed the last can of olives on a shelf higher up.

  Annalise wished she had more to tell Christen too. She’d spent several hours chatting with the police, recalling as much as she could so they had something to go on. “It’s so hard,” Annalise admitted. “Crimes shouldn’t be this difficult to solve, and yet all I know is it was a man in black—and not Johnny Cash, mind you—with a ski mask and a husky voice.”

  “No fingerprints on anything?” Christen pressed gently.

  Annalise frowned. “There was nothing to leave prints on and it’s hard to lift them off skin. I know they took my clothes for DNA processing, but nothing conclusive seems to have come of it.”

  Christen squatted at eye level with Annalise, who still sat on the three-legged stool. Her big eyes were wide behind her glasses. “Yet. Nothing’s come of it yet. Brent is like a bulldog. He is hell-bent on finding whoever did this to you.”

  Annalise swiped at a sudden renegade tear. She gave her friend a watery smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

  Christen patted her knees and stood. “We’d all be lost without each other. Now, I need to get going, love. But, please, don’t open the pantry this afternoon. I know it’s only for a few hours, but you’re getting over a concussion.”

  “I have help coming,” Annalise assured her. In fact, a few people from the Baptist church had called to volunteer. Regulars. They knew what to do. She was planning to go home, recheck her alarm system fifty times, and rest her eyes all while clutching a can of pepper spray. But she didn’t tell Christen that. Sometimes her best friend was too motherly. She needed to learn to stop worrying. Besides, the police would do periodic drive-bys. That was something.

  “’K.” Christen gave Annalise one more dubious look before taking her leave through the side door that led into the coffee shop.

  “Grab a latte on your way out,” Annalise called after her.

  Christen lifted her hand in a wave. “Yeah. It’ll help me when the kids wake me up sixteen times tonight!”

  Silence invaded the pantry. Annalise slid off the stool and left the stock room to enter the main area. A few chairs and tables. Shelves with supplies like towels and blankets, coats, hats, clothes organized by sizes. Donations came in regularly. Why would anyone give her a tough time about wanting the town to support a homeless shelter?

  The connecting door to the coffee shop opened, and Annalise looked up as the smell of coffee wafted in. She met Nicole Greenwood’s frosty blue eyes, and her spirits plummeted. Nicole took a cautious step into the pantry, her eyes skimming the room as she did so.

  “I’ve never been in here before,” she stated.

  “I know.” Maybe it was the knock to her head, but Annalise didn’t feel like trying to play politics or win Nicole’s favor.

  Nicole walked to one of the shelves and pulled off a gray towel. She gave Annalise a frown. “It looks used.”

  “That’s because it is. We rely on donations, and most people don’t go out and purchase brand-new and then donate the stuff.”

  “Oh.” Nicole nodded and replaced the towel on the shelf. She turned, her red heels clicking on the wood floor. “How are you feeling?”

  That was strange. Nicole wasn’t normally . . . nice.

  “Better. Thanks.”

  More clicks as Nicole neared her. She crossed her arms over her chest. Nicole had a great manicure. Annalise couldn’t help but glance at her own nails, half chewed with all the stress of late.

  Nicole cleared her throat. She shot an agitated glance toward the coffee shop door, then returned her focus to Annalise. “Listen, I—I don’t know if your attack had anything to do with the bid on the property or not. I know rumors are circulating, but I want you to know I’ve been contemplating your proposal regarding the shelter. For some time now. I just haven’t made that contemplation public, and I’ve confided in only a few people.”

  That was unexpected.

  Nicole continued, concern etched at the corners of her eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t use Mr. Hayes as a platform for your cause.”

  Annalise shook her head in disbelief. “As if I would use people and ruin them to better myself.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?” Annalise shot back.

  Nicole stiffened. “You did it to Garrett.”

  All fight drained from Annalise. That empty, helpless ache gripped her. The kind there was no healing from. She squeezed her eyes shut and drew in a deep breath. When she opened them, Nicole still stood there, waiting.

  “How did I use Garrett, Nicole? His life went on. His career. He’s been successful.”

  “He’s had to bear the secret that he has a child,” Nicole argued.

  “And I haven’t?” Annalise detested the watery shake to her voice. “I agonize over it every day. And now? Garrett is back. I’m having to revisit it. And with the circumstances around Eugene Hayes, around the shelter? I don’t see how this is all my fault. I gave up my baby, our baby. Garrett helped create her, you know. Willingly.”

  Nicole colored and turned her head away, contemplating, her arms still crossed over her chest and her left toe tapping the floor. She sighed, her lips pursed. Finally, Gossamer Grove’s mayor met Annalise’s gaze. They stared at each other for a long moment. Annalise knew the line in the sand had been drawn years before when Garrett’s mother identified Annalise as a “tramp.” Nicole had been away at college, defensive of her beloved younger brother, and distant from the actual circumstances. She’d drawn conclusions after hearing only one side.

  Now Nicole nodded. She uncrossed her arms and reached into her purse that was slung over her shoulder. A nice Coach purse with white polka dots and a red background. Pulling out a check, she handed it to Annalise.

  “What’s this?” Annalise reached for it. Everything in her told her to be cautious, but curiosity made her look at the check. It was a modest amount on a personal check, signed by Nicole. Certainly not enough to raise any eyebrows as a political bribe or payoff of some kind.

  “Why?” Annalise lifted her eyes.

  Nicole swallowed, and for the first time a tiny glimmer of kindness flickered in her eyes. “Regardless of the current situation, I want you to know I do believe in taking care of the citizens of Gossamer Grove. All citizens.”

  “Thank you.” Annalise wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Was this a white flag? An extension of peace? Or was Nicole trying to come across as generous right before she announced her support for the town to sell the land to Doug Larson and make the wilderness center official?

  Nicole closed her purse and adjusted it on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean for—” She stopped. Shook her head. “Never mind.” The self-contained steel in her eyes had returned. “Have a nice afternoon, Annalise.”

  Hurrying toward the coffee shop, Nicole almost seemed to be trying to hold herself back from running, as if she were attempting to escape.

  “Nicole?” Annalise called after her.

  Nicole froze.

  “You didn’t mean what?” There was no way she was going to allow Nicole to brush off her comment and not explain herself.

  Nicole looked over her shoulder. Annalise noticed a tiny quiver in her chin.

  She shook her head. “Leave it alone.”

  Annalise took a few steps toward Nicole. The mayor turned, her hand on the doorframe of the coffee shop.

  “Is there something I should know?”

  Nicole drew in a shuddered breath and blinked fast as though fighting back tears. She looked at the ceiling to compose herself. “Just that . . . I didn’t mean for you to suffer all alone these last several years.”

  It was a flimsy answer. Annalise studied Nicole’s face. There was more. Behind the blue eyes and the confident façade, Nicole had unrest written. Indecision.

  “Stay safe, Annalise,” Nicole whisper
ed. In a flurry of red and perfume, she was gone.

  Annalise stared after Garrett’s sister, left alone to determine whether Nicole had meant her parting words out of genuine concern or a veiled caution that more was yet to come.

  Rage was a wicked emotion, but coupled with betrayal it turned into an entirely different beast. Annalise barely kept it under control, although overreacting would get her nowhere. So she set her jaw until Tyler emerged from the back office of the newspaper. A quizzical lift to his brow told Annalise he was going to play dumb.

  “What’s up?” he asked casually, sauntering to the front counter. His hair was mussed stylishly, and his wire-rimmed glasses gave him a very hipster appearance, sans the beard. Tyler looked nice. Looks were very deceiving.

  “This.” Annalise set the 8.5x11 piece of paper on the counter and withdrew her hand so Tyler wouldn’t see it shaking. She had sat in her car for over thirty minutes, planning out what she would say, what her demands were, what she needed to accomplish.

  Tyler skimmed the page. His smile stayed pasted on his face as he lifted the sheet of paper. “She’s beautiful,” he observed. It was patronizing. It was infuriating.

  Annalise had tried all morning to convince herself she should be grateful he hadn’t printed it front and center. That Tyler had sent an employee to her coffee shop with a manila envelope with this page inside it. But his Post-it note was less a friendly gesture and more a threat.

  Got this at the paper. Was thinking of printing it, but figured I’d run it by you since it’s pretty outlandish.

  —Tyler

  “Why? How did you get it?” It was all Annalise could ask. Her structured agenda was blurry in her mind. Emotion clouded it, rendering it nonexistent. She watched Tyler set the paper down. The photograph of Gia, the one Annalise had treasured on her dresser top, was printed on it. “How did you get the photo?” Annalise demanded in a hoarse whisper.

  Tyler shrugged. “Someone mailed it anonymously. It had a Post-it note on it with your name as the mother, the date of birth of the child, and the state of Connecticut for where she was born.”

  “So you printed it? Based on a Post-it note?” Annalise was incredulous.

  “I didn’t print it!” Tyler drew back, holding his palms up and out. “I thought about it—obviously.” He waved at the page. “But in the end it didn’t feel right, so I sent it to you. I know everything that’s been going on, your concussion. I love my news, Annalise, but that’s just low, even for me. Someone has it out for you.”

  Annalise calmed, but only a bit. “Still. You researched me first.”

  “It’s in my DNA. I’m sorry. I vaguely recalled you had an aunt who passed away awhile back who lived in Connecticut. It was a dot-to-dot, and the facts lined up after I did my research.”

  Annalise didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her throat was clogged with horrified tears. She tried to swallow around them, but one slipped out. Swiping it away, Annalise gathered up the paper she’d set on the counter. Her picture. Her baby. Her Gia. She sniffed. Natural deduction would have led Tyler to Garrett. She’d never dated a single man since. At least not long enough to be remembered by anyone.

  “You can’t print it.”

  “Sure. No.” Tyler shook his head.

  “And you—please. It’s been years, and no one knows, Tyler.” Great. Now she was begging. Annalise drew in a shaky breath.

  “I won’t print it.” Tyler’s flippancy disappeared. He glanced over her shoulder out the window toward the main street, then back to her. “I wouldn’t do that to the Greenwoods either.”

  So he had made the deduction.

  They stared at each other for a long moment until Annalise was relatively confident Tyler’s infatuation with Nicole was in her own benefit.

  “This picture”—Annalise shook the paper at him—“was stolen from my home.”

  Tyler nodded. “I figured. But I didn’t take it! Like I said, it was mailed to me.”

  “I want the envelope. I want my picture back,” Annalise demanded. Of course, having gone through the postal system, there were probably a hundred fingerprints on it, and if the thief had any smarts, they wore gloves when they handled the photograph. Still.

  Tyler gave her a short nod. Annalise watched him walk toward the back offices. She hated to admit it, but she really didn’t believe Tyler was guilty of anything except receiving the anonymous picture and having an insatiable curiosity that had a severe lack of healthy boundaries.

  Tyler returned and tossed the brown envelope her direction. It slid across the counter, and Annalise picked it up. The postmark was from some town three hours away with a population of over twenty thousand. Two days ago. The address was a printed label, no return address, and the envelope was self-stick. She opened the flap and pulled out the photograph, her hands shaking. Gia. Gia’s beautiful little face. But instead of her picture, Annalise held another color photocopy.

  “Where’s the original?” She cast a desperate look in Tyler’s direction.

  “That’s all there was. I promise.”

  She pushed it back into the envelope. Her next stop would be the police precinct. It was evidence, and at this point she needed any evidence she could get. The well-mapped world she lived in had exploded into shrapnel that spanned centuries. It had created a puzzle that was missing many, many pieces.

  Annalise turned her back to Tyler and walked to the front door of the paper. He cleared his throat and called after her. When she looked at him, his gaze was searching.

  “I always wondered what happened between you and Garrett,” he stated.

  She answered by slamming the door shut behind her.

  Chapter 25

  When Brent and Christen had asked her if she wanted to stay at their place for a while, Annalise insisted she’d be fine at the house alone. But she had been overconfident. Annalise pulled all the curtains closed against the night sky, rechecked the alarm system to make sure it was activated, and patted her pajama bottom’s pocket to make sure her phone was handy. She hadn’t told Christen she’d gone and bought six cans of pepper spray. One for the front entrance, hidden in the plant on the entry table. One for her bedroom, of course. Another for the kitchen, the living room, the basement, the garage. That didn’t count the one she’d already owned that was stuffed in her purse.

  Annalise curled up on the couch, a pad of paper in hand, and tried to ignore the pounding in her head. Whether a continuing side effect of the concussion three days ago or the stress of Tyler’s news, she wasn’t sure.

  She began a bulleted list.

  Possible motives to hurt me:

  Someone is afraid I’ll uncover something Eugene found out from the past

  Someone doesn’t want me to convince Nicole to build the homeless shelter

  Someone is angry at me for having Garrett’s baby

  Someone thinks Gossamer Grove should be rid of rejects and sinners

  Annalise paused and almost laughed. They all seemed outrageous. Perhaps the most plausible was the homeless shelter point, but even then, what did that have to do with Eugene? And why would someone hiss in her ear after attacking her that “Eugene was wrong.” No, it was more personal than that. Yet it still felt connected. Somehow.

  The doorbell pealed, and the pad of paper flew out of her hands as she jumped. Her pen had flipped to the end of the couch. Annalise paused to catch her breath. She glanced at the clock on the wall: 8:00 p.m. It was an old antique clock she had to crank with a key every morning before work to keep it ticking. Eight o’clock really wasn’t that late. Still. Who just dropped by unannounced?

  Annalise padded into the entryway, the light already on, as was every other light in the house. She fumbled in the plant and wrapped her fingers around the pepper spray. Annalise peeked out the peephole in the door. Her shoulders sagged with relief, even though the image of Garrett on the front porch wasn’t what she preferred. She shoved the pepper spray back into the plant and flicked the bolt lock on the door, then twis
ted the lock on the doorknob and remembered to disarm the alarm just before she pulled the door open.

  “Man.” Garrett eyed her.

  She must cast quite the sight. Pink fuzzy socks, varsity-style pajama pants, and a baggy yellow T-shirt with a chest pocket and V-neck. Her hair was pulled back into a red pile on top of her head that was anything but a Pinterest messy bun, and her chunky black glasses framed her makeup-less eyes.

  Annalise squirmed. Exposed.

  “You look awesome,” he stated, brushing past her.

  She wrinkled her nose, perplexed as she pushed the door shut. When she turned, she almost smacked into Garrett’s chest, which was almost as disturbing as the gentle expression in his eyes.

  “You doing okay?”

  She’d texted Garrett a picture of Tyler’s note . . . and Gia’s photograph. He deserved to know, especially if Tyler decided to talk about it.

  Annalise ducked her head and pushed past him, retreating to the living room. She’d known it was inevitable he’d confront her with it.

  “Did you show your sister? Your family is probably in an uproar,” she mumbled, dropping onto the couch.

  “Meh, just a bit.”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked at him. Not knowing why she was apologizing, but feeling she needed to for some reason. Yes, he’d left her, and yes, she’d agreed to let him go when his parents acted as liaison and presented the argument that if she loved him, she’d let him pursue his dream. But Gia’s picture made it all so raw, and perhaps the rawest of all was that deep down, Annalise knew Garrett hadn’t been consulted about the adoption. It’d just been decided when Annalise was flown to Aunt Tracy’s three months’ pregnant and Garrett put on a plane for Switzerland. He’d lost his baby too.

  Garrett sank onto the couch next to her. Annalise pulled back and moved to the far end.

  He ignored her apology as if she didn’t owe him one. “So, how are you doing?”

  “Fine,” she lied.

  Garrett reached over and flipped a renegade strand of hair over her shoulder. He did look a lot better with the haircut. He flopped an arm over the back of the couch. Annalise couldn’t help but notice his fingernails were caked with chalk dust again. He’d been climbing. It was familiar, it was sexy, it drew her, as much as she wished it didn’t.