“Is the coffee cool enough to drink now?” he asked, and she flushed. He must have realized she was staring at him.
“Yes, it’s good.” She reached for the stoneware mug on the table. “Here,” she said handing it to him, making sure he had a firm grip on the cup before letting go.
He lifted the mug to his mouth and took a large mouthful. Misty stared, entranced by the quick flick of his tongue as he licked his upper lip. Desire unlike anything she’d ever felt before flamed within her, and she licked her lips in response.
“It’s great, thanks; just right. So, tell me about Misty Starr with two r’s and how she came to be in Pine Falls.”
She almost choked on the mouthful of coffee she’d taken. The last thing she needed was an inquisition.
“Would you like a cookie?” she blurted. “I made them myself — oatmeal raisin.”
“No chocolate?”
She laughed and relaxed a bit. “Sadly, no. One of the teachers is allergic to nuts and chocolate, so we avoid bringing those items into the school. There are times when I’d give my right arm for a chocolate bar.”
“Then, I guess oatmeal raisin will have to do.”
She placed one in his hand and hoped he didn’t feel her trembling.
He took a bite. “These are great. Now, tell me about Misty Starr.”
She’d answered this question many times in the past. Why would it bother her so much this time? Because you don’t want to lie to him, her conscience answered, but Misty knew the truth was not an option open to her. Reluctantly, she began reciting the litany she and Amos had prepared.
“I’m twenty-eight and work as the school’s secretary. I’m part of the theater company. Trent Starr and I met about five years ago and connected. When he was shipped overseas, I discovered I was pregnant, but he died before I could even tell him about the baby. I moved in with my folks in Seattle and stayed with them after Debbie was born. When they passed away, I was alone, so I contacted Amos and Beryl, and we moved here. Family is important for kids, and since Trent was an only child, they deserve to get to know their granddaughter. Amos wanted Debbie to have Trent’s name, so I changed mine to Starr as well. Before you ask, my last name was Smith; it really was.” She laughed uncomfortably. Well, she wasn’t exactly lying. Smith had been an alias she’d used.
She took another mouthful of coffee, grateful he couldn’t see the telltale flush on her face. “What about you? What brings you to Pine Falls?” Before he could answer, the bell rang.
“Saved by the bell,” he said draining the last of the coffee in his mug. “I assume the rest of the staff will be in to have their lunch. I should get to my side of the building. You’ll have to wait for our next meeting to get the answers to your questions. Pretty smart way to guarantee a second date, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “I need to get to the music room now. Can you show me the way?”
“Of course,” she answered quickly, relieved the potential inquisition was over. She hated lying, and every time she had to do so it felt wrong. The rest of what he’d said would occupy her thoughts for the rest of the afternoon.
She took his arm and led him along the hall to the double doors that divided the elementary from the secondary wing. She pushed the double doors open.
“Here you are. Welcome to high school.”
She led him over to the desk. “Myra, this is Nick Anthony. He’s here to help with the band.”
“We’ve met,” said Myra. “They’ve hired a substitute. She was supposed to start on Monday, but she’s here already. She’ll be teaching the classes while Mr. Anthony works with the band.”
There was something strange about the way Myra said Nick’s last name, and Misty frowned. “You can take him up,” the secretary said, reaching for the phone, which had started to ring.
Misty escorted Nick to the music room to meet the band. The students were waiting for Ms. Duncan, their new music teacher, and were enthusiastic when Misty introduced him as the musical’s orchestra leader. They were full of questions, and Misty was amazed when he answered some of the more personal ones without flinching.
Since most of the kids knew she was playing Mary Magdalene, at Nick’s prompting and their insistence, she sung her solo for them, but before she could be persuaded to do another song, the door opened, and Myra entered, followed by another woman Misty didn’t recognize. Her senses went on high alert. Strangers — why were there suddenly so many strangers in her life?
“Sorry to interrupt rehearsal, but Ms. Duncan, the new music teacher, wanted to see who was singing,” said Myra. “We’re very lucky to have found her; she’s visiting the area and saw the ad Nancy posted.”
The woman, in her mid-thirties with sassy, strawberry red hair as long as Misty’s had been at one time, walked over to Nick, held out her hand, and touched his arm. “Hi, Mr. Anthony, I’m Kelly Duncan. It’s an honor to meet you. I hear we’ll be working together for the next two weeks.”
She knows he’s blind, thought Misty, jealousy piercing her. And there’s something else, too. What does she know that I don’t?
Something about the woman didn’t sit right with Misty. She had noticed a slight accent — Boston perhaps? As well, her clothes were of far better quality than those normally worn by regular, run-of-the-mill substitute teachers. Her green tweed suit looked as if it had been designed just for her and made Misty’s off-the-rack navy skirt and navy-and-white-striped sweater look frumpy in comparison. The shoes the woman wore — spike heels that were totally inappropriate for the classroom — would have cost Misty a month’s pay; she recognized designer work when she saw it.
“Nick, please,” he said. A slight frown creased his forehead. “The young lady beside me is the singer you heard.” He smiled, put his hand out to encourage Misty to move beside him. She stayed where she was.
“And you are?” Kelly asked Misty, her honeyed voice ringing false as she scrutinized her. I hate her, Misty thought and realized green-eyed envy was probably motivating her strong dislike for the woman and her cloying perfume, a scent she’d smelled before but couldn’t place.
“Misty Starr. I’m the secretary at the elementary school,” she answered tersely. She turned to Nick. “I have to get back; it was nice seeing you.” She turned on her heel and left the music room to return to the safety of her office.
Misty knew she was behaving like a spoiled child. Nick could no more see the gorgeous redhead than he could see her, but it didn’t stop her from feeling small and unattractive. Even after five years, she hadn’t completely shaken the damage inflicted by her husband and the choices she’d made.
The FBI, through the Witness Protection Program, had originally settled her and her infant daughter in Atlanta, but they’d been moved a year later when one of the US marshals in charge of her case had been found dead, his files ransacked, and her file missing. Within ten hours, she and Debbie had been settled in a small town outside of Denver, but a couple of years later, the same thing had happened again, and another good man was dead because of her. It seemed the Irish mob had a long reach, and they, or rather Kerry Doherty, the former head of that branch, wanted her dead because Misty’s testimony had destroyed whatever power and influence the mob had held in Staten Island. Doherty was bent on revenge.
When the FBI suspected her cover had been blown the last time, it had been one man, Amos Starr, a retired agent, who’d come for them, and he’d done things differently. He seemed to know people in low places, and some of his actions had surprised and even scared her. Instead of disappearing into the night as they’d done before, Amos had “killed them off,” and the fact that he’d been able to get things done so quickly had stunned her.
A woman and child had apparently been killed in a fiery crash, and the car used had been her own. The newspaper had reported the victims as Jessie and Lydia Cummings, the aliases sh
e and Debbie had been using at the time, and the bodies had been all but incinerated in the vehicle. What was left of the remains had been cremated within twenty-four hours. Amos had assured her that the cadavers had been unidentified Jane Does, and she’d never asked which city morgue had supplied the bodies. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cared; she had. With the cremation, their identities had been erased, and while she and Debbie would be safe, there could be someone out there looking for their loved ones who’d never know what had happened to them. She’d rationalized that there was no price too high to pay if it meant protecting Debbie, the only good thing that had come out of her ill-fated marriage.
Amos had created new identities for them and had provided all the documents. They’d flown to Seattle, and then, from there, they’d driven across the entire continental United States to Pine Falls, a small town in upstate New York, where he and his wife had lived for the past ten years, arriving in early July. It had taken four months to make the trip — four months of constantly looking over their shoulders, four months of doubling back and laying false trails — until Amos was satisfied that no one had followed them.
Now she had a small circle of friends, a job she liked — even if it wasn’t the one she’d always wanted — and a life she could enjoy, despite the fact it had been built on a lie. “Hiding in plain sight,” as Amos had called it, was a much better proposition than cowering in the dark, alone and frightened, as she’d done the previous four years. So far, life in Pine Falls had been safe, pleasant, and uneventful — just the way she wanted it — but the gorgeous stranger who’d stared holes in her had upset that serenity, and losing what she’d fought so hard to find annoyed her. Anger subdued the panic; she’d fight for this life before she’d give it up to anyone.
Chapter Four
Earbud in place, Nick sat at the piano in the empty music room listening to the sound of Misty’s voice. He’d brought his tape recorder with him to tape the band’s rehearsal, but instead of listening to their efforts, he allowed the soothing sound of her voice to flow through him. The woman was full of contradictions.
When he’d shown up at her desk, he’d known from the sound of her voice that she’d been happy to see him. He’d recognized her scent the moment he’d entered the office, and was amazed at how quickly his body had reacted to it. He’d enjoyed the feel of her arm in his as she’d led him down the hall to the staff room. Admitting he’d asked Leon to take him to the elementary door on purpose so he could see her again had surprised her more than he’d expected it would. The slight stammer in her voice when she’d asked how he took his coffee had betrayed a shyness he hadn’t anticipated. Her clumsy attempt at hiding the fact that she’d been staring at him made him smile. There’d been a naiveté about her that spoke to his heart. He’d become smitten over tepid coffee in a school lounge.
The moment he’d asked about her past, everything had changed. What could she possibly be hiding? She’d tensed, and the rate of her breathing had increased. He’d felt her trembling when she’d given him the cookie, had heard the fear and regret in her voice. She’d tried to avoid answering, but when he’d persisted, she’d distanced herself from him, had lied, and repeated a fabricated story she must have told a hundred times. Rather than upset him, her lie had piqued his curiosity. She had secrets — everyone had secrets — but what was so special about hers that she’d reacted as she had?
When the bell rang and he’d asked to be taken to the high school, her relief had been palpable. She hadn’t commented on his offer of a “second” date, but he wasn’t prepared to accept that as a refusal. She’d been friendly and helpful with the students, had sung the solo, but when Kelly Duncan had arrived and spoken to her, she’d become defensive and wary. Misty was a puzzle he couldn’t wait to solve.
He frowned. Obviously Principal Baker hadn’t kept her promise to keep his identity a secret. It was obvious both the secretary and music teacher knew who he was. He wondered how many others were aware of his past identity. Something about Kelly Duncan rubbed him the wrong way, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Her heavy perfume lingered in the air, masking Misty’s subtler scent, reminding him of Rebecca.
The thought of his dead wife left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t for the life of him explain what had drawn him to her in the first place. Rebecca had been exactly the opposite of any woman who’d ever attracted him, and even now, just thinking about her betrayal pierced him. How had he fallen under her spell?
Tall and slender, verging on emaciated as far as he’d been concerned, Rebecca had made modeling her life, and she hadn’t been prepared to let anyone or anything take that away from her. What would it be like to be with a woman who wasn’t constantly dieting or exercising, a woman who enjoyed food and had the voice of an angel? Even when Misty spoke, the tone was pleasant, not shrewish, and he knew she had a beautiful soul.
He still couldn’t imagine how a family that had produced a wonderful, loving, caring woman like Laura could have produced the self-absorbed monster his wife had been. Kelly’s cultured voice had the same penetrating quality Becca’s had had, not pleasant and soothing, but harsh and grating. He’d recognized her perfume the moment she’d entered the music room. It reminded him of a funeral parlor.
Rebecca had favored similar cloying, sweet-smelling perfumes — the kind that reeked, as far as he was concerned. Her scent had never affected him the way Misty’s light fragrance had last night. In fact, in the last few months of their marriage, Becca’s scent had been nauseating in its intensity. She’d been working for a new company, and it had been their signature scent. Since she’d been their spokesmodel, she’d all but bathed in the crap. Either she wore too much of it or her body chemistry just wasn’t what the scent needed to show it off. Why don’t people understand that scent reacts with their skin, and the results aren’t always pleasant? By that point in their relationship, whatever love they’d shared had been all but gone, and any comment he made usually resulted in an argument. The only thing they’d had left had been sex, and even that had begun to pale.
He stood and checked the time on his watch. Leon would be here shortly. He oriented himself, took his cane out of his pocket, and headed out of the room before the bell rang; the last thing he wanted to do was navigate a hallway full of students.
• • •
The bathroom light dimmed, flickered, and then resumed its brightness, reminding her that she still hadn’t called the electrician to have the wiring inspected. Old, worn-out wiring could be dangerous, and since the house was at least forty years old, it should be checked. She knew the kitchen had been rewired but wasn’t sure the previous owners had carried the upgrades throughout the house. She stared at herself in the mirror.
Misty had taken special care with her appearance tonight and felt like a fool. The man couldn’t see, for God’s sake; why was she primping? She was about to remove the makeup and change her clothes when the doorbell rang. Amber was right on time as usual; the woman was never late.
Misty had taken Debbie over to Charlotte’s earlier, so she’d been able to spend a little extra time getting ready, a rare treat with a needy four-year-old underfoot. Debbie was having a sleepover tonight because the cast had planned to go out for pizza and beer after the rehearsal. Misty would pick her up first thing in the morning and take Debbie and Christy, Charlotte’s daughter, to daycare on her way to work. It wasn’t smart to wake Debbie from a sound sleep. Thankfully, the child hadn’t had a night terror in weeks.
She rushed down the stairs to unlock the door, grateful she’d let Amber persuade her to join the company. She loved the acting and singing, and she definitely liked Nick. This was the first time in a long time she’d cared about her appearance.
“I don’t know why you lock yourself in all the time. Nothing ever happens in Pine Falls. No one locks their doors around here except you. Wow! Look at you.” Amber stepped into the hall while Misty got her
coat. “You look great tonight; who’s all this for? Is that a new sweater? Royal blue really is your color!”
Misty blushed and Amber smacked herself in the forehead.
“I’m an idiot. You got all dolled-up for the music director, didn’t you? I know he made an impression on you, especially braving elementary school halls at lunch time just to spend a little time with you, but unless someone gives him a head’s up, he’s not even going to know.”
“I know, but it feels good to know I look my best for a change.”
“You’re always gorgeous. I asked Laura about him. I mean, he is her brother-in-law, so it wasn’t doctor-patient privilege or anything. He’s completely blind — no colors, no shapes, no light, no nothing. She says he’s a great guy and everything, but I think she still gets mad about the accident that killed her sister. She gets weird when she talks about it. Actually, I’m surprised they’re friends. I mean, they aren’t even related anymore.” She stopped talking, a frown marring her forehead as if she were thinking about what she’d said.
“I remember how broken up Laura was when it happened,” she continued. “I didn’t know Rebecca well; she was a couple years older than we were and really snooty, but I remember she was stunning. I think they still use her pictures in some magazine ads. I’ll show it to you the next time I see one. Laura says he’s a great guy, but it’s what she doesn’t say that tells the story. I heard there was alcohol involved, and I think he was driving.”
“I don’t believe he’d do something like that,” Misty interrupted, coming to Nick’s defense as if it were the most natural thing to do.
“Honey, lots of people drink and drive. The man’s not a saint. I’m sure that’s what I heard; but there weren’t any charges laid or anything. Rebecca died, and he lost his sight. I think he was paralyzed for a while, too. Didn’t he mention something about numbness the other night? Micah said Nick was a retired musician. I know they traveled a lot, and he’s rich — probably insurance money; he didn’t get that estate for a song. If they’re still using Becca’s photos, he must still be collecting royalties — ”
In Plain Sight Page 4