The vet lifts her hand, studying the bandage. “She got me good, that’s for sure. We don’t deal with a lot of birds, but I’m usually pretty good with them.”
“Don’t feel bad,” I say, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Marge doesn’t really like anyone. And it could have been a lot worse. That’s a love bite compared to what I’ve seen her do.” That poor cop will probably have scars for life.
By the time I get back to the bookstore, the cops have left, and Nick’s waiting out back. Yellow crime-scene tape flutters across the doorway, and I stare at it for a few seconds before I get out of my car, lugging the carrier behind me. From inside, Marge squawks half-heartedly, as if to protest our return.
Nick blocks the doorway with his arms crossed in front of his chest. He’s changed into jeans and a leather jacket. I kind of miss the previous look. “You don’t want to go in there.”
“What happened?” I feel like I have to ask, but right now, I don’t really care. I’m beyond exhausted from everything that’s happened, and I just want to go to bed.
He grimaces. “It’s bad. Whoever broke in pretty much had a free-for-all. I was across the street until about one thirty, so I didn’t hear anything. Unfortunately, a lot of it is probably going to have to go into the dumpster. I couldn’t tell if they took anything, though.”
“They only broke in after they knew I was gone. That means they were watching me.” I shiver at the thought of malevolent eyes following my every move. Nick shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. It smells like him, like mint and pine, and I feel safe. Well, safer than I did a few minutes ago. I’ll take it, even if it’s an illusion. Nick can’t really protect me if someone wants to hurt me—no one can. By the time the cops got here, I would be dead.
So much for selling everything and making a little bit of money so I can start over again. Unfortunately, I’m too tired to feel anything other than exhausted apathy. “The bookstore too?”
He nods. “I think that part got the worst of it. Do you want me to find you a hotel room?”
As if I can afford that. “No. Are the cops going to let me inside?” I could always ask him if I can borrow his phone, but I bet he knows the answer, which would save me a call.
“Do you have anywhere else to go? They seemed to think that you were going to stay at a hotel, so I didn’t ask.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not.” He opens his mouth to protest, but I put my hand up to stop him. I am way too tired to carry an argument right now. “Look, I just need somewhere to crash for the night. Marge and me both. I’ll pick whatever room is the least trashed and sleep there. Tomorrow, I promise I will get out of the way of whatever the police want to do. Sound good?”
He mulls that over for a few seconds. “I still don’t think I like it,” he says. “Do you want to stay at my place? I’m sure we can find someplace for the bird too.”
“No. Thanks, though. I’ve already intruded on you enough to last a few years.” Besides, sleeping in Nick’s apartment or his bed would definitely be too much, too soon. “I doubt whoever broke in and did this”—I gesture all around me—“will come back tonight. I’ll be safe, I promise.”
Nick still insists on double-checking the store and cleaning out the room that I’m going to use tonight. It’s not my aunt’s room but the spare, so I won’t have to stare at all of her things.
As Nick moves a dresser that had been upended, an idea takes root in my head. Why do I have to wait until someone else tells me I can leave? I can always bring Marge with me and find a home for her wherever I end up. I don’t have to wait for Josie or anyone else to come and rescue me. I can do it myself.
With my mind made up, I say good night to Nick then disappear inside to pack. I hate deceiving him, but I have to get out of here. I tell myself it’s for Nick’s own good. If he sticks around me long enough, he could get hurt, and he’s way too nice a guy for me to let that happen. Except for the whole shooting someone thing. Yeah, well, maybe that future’s changed. It’s happened before. That has to be it.
The inside of the apartment is a disaster. My aunt always was a pack rat, but this is so much worse. The couch cushions have been pulled off and ripped open, the stuffing bubbling through the tears. The curtains hang from a broken rod, and the TV is blank and silent on the floor. Books have been ripped off of their shelves, their covers torn, pages littering the floor like graffiti.
In my aunt’s bedroom, her clothes are strewn across the floor, some of them ripped and sliced into tatters. But there’s something missing. I scan the room, and it takes me a few seconds to put my finger on it. Amidst all of the chaos, this is the first time I feel like I’m alone in here. There aren’t any creepy cat eyes following my every move. Whoever trashed my aunt’s apartment and the bookstore stole the paintings.
Maybe this was all about those pictures after all. Maybe it never was about the book.
Not that the paintings would be hard to track, if the police were so inclined. I don’t think there are a lot out there, and a collection of this size might be memorable. Or I could just let it go and call it a blessing in disguise. Less I have to get rid of later on.
I dump my clothes into my suitcase and grab whatever toiletries haven’t been destroyed. I’ll call Nick when I’m on the road to let him know what I’m doing.
From her carrier near the door, Marge squawks indignantly. “Don’t worry,” I mutter. “I won’t forget your stuff.”
Before I lock the doors for the last time, I grab the bird’s food and toys and throw them into a box, shaking my head. This is a lot of stuff for one bird. It’s a good thing I didn’t bring much with me. Just her gear will take up half of my trunk. From her carrier, Marge beeps as if to tell me to hurry up.
“Yeah, yeah. Just sit tight,” I say. “I’m almost done.”
Marge fluffs her feathers.
“Yeah, I know, girl. Things are scary, but they’ll get better. I promise.”
I survey the bookstore. Whoever broke in tried to do as much damage as they could. Nick’s right, though—I can’t tell if they took anything. To be honest, they probably could have stolen several boxes, and I would never know.
Once I’ve gotten Marge’s stuff stashed in the car, I grab the book for Eddie. I’ll drop it off in the book return at the library on my way out of town. I kind of wish I could be here to give it to him in person, but I’d rather be long gone by the time the library opens.
Before I tuck the book away, I pull out the birth certificate and stare at it. I don’t know what to do with it. It’s too much, especially given everything else that’s going on. I’ll save it for later. It’s not as if I’m going to forget that my mom might not be my mom and my aunt might actually have given birth to me. I tuck the birth certificate into my purse and promise to worry about it later, once the dust has settled. Yeah, as if that’ll ever happen.
I reach under the front counter for my aunt’s book, but all I find is a stack of papers. Crap. My stomach sinks. No, this isn’t possible. It’s got to be around here somewhere. I duck under the counter and feel around, casting my hand to the back in case the intruder knocked it to the corner.
It’s gone. I frantically dig through everything under the counter, flinging papers, pens, receipts, and scissors all over the floor. I don’t care. I’ve got to find it. After I empty out that shelf, I do the same with the next, but it’s not there, either.
Maybe the police found it and took it. That would be the best-case scenario. If the cops found it, I can pretend I had no idea what it contained while they mine it for all of the evidence they want.
Except that your fingerprints are all over it, and there’s a copy in your trunk. Oh yeah. So much for feigning ignorance.
I’ve got to figure out what happened to the other one, though. In the wrong hands, it could ruin a lot of lives, even if there isn’t anything the police can prosecute in there.
I rush outside and see a light on in the window at Nick’s. He’s still awake. I bang o
n the door, and he swings it open.
“Is everything all right?” He scans me up and down, looking worried.
I smooth down my flyaway red hair and brush what I’m sure are streaks of dust off my shirt. “Yeah, no. I mean, do you know if the police found anything while they were searching the bookstore?”
He tilts his head to the side. “I didn’t see them take any evidence out, but I doubt they’d tell me, anyway. I’m not a cop anymore.”
He has a point. Maybe I should drop it and call the police station in the morning. That’s probably a better idea than searching all over God’s green earth tonight and making an ass of myself.
“What are you looking for?” Nick asks.
I open my mouth but then shut it. I should have thought about this beforehand. Crap. He’s going to kill me if I tell him what I intentionally hid from the police.
“Wanda, uh, she had a diary. It was under the front counter, but it’s not there anymore.” What an innocent way to describe something so damning.
“A diary?” He frowns.
I nod.
“How could you even find anything in there? That place was trashed even before someone broke in.”
I glower at him. “Thanks. Look, I know I haven’t made a whole lot of headway, but I have organized things a bit. I found the diary a couple days ago, and I was, uh, hoping to give it to her nieces.”
“Shelby and Sara, right?” The names sound strange on his lips.
“Right.” I squirm under his piercing scrutiny. “I’m sure it’s something they’ll want to remember their aunt by.”
“Uh-huh.” He folds his arms over his chest. “I might not be a cop anymore, but I know when someone’s lying. What was in the diary, Willa?” he asks, his voice flat. He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.
“Um, just, you know, normal diary stuff.” Yeah, right. I don’t think there was a normal entry in the thing.
“Try again. What was in the diary?” He’s looking at me like I’m a suspect, and I kick a rock next to my shoe to avoid his censure. There is no way I’m telling him I read part of the thing and that I made copies. That would probably only incriminate me further in his eyes.
“Tell me what was in the diary, or I’ll call the cops right here and now.”
Oh great. That would just put a cherry on the top of this god-awful night.
“Names,” I whisper. “Names of people around town and stuff they’ve done wrong. One about a woman Wanda claimed killed two of her husbands. Another was about a mechanic who cuts the brakes on people’s cars, and—”
He holds up a hand to halt my confession, muttering several choice swear words. “Stop just a second. And you didn’t tell anyone about this before now?”
“I-I didn’t think it was important. No one knew what was in the safe, except me, so I didn’t think it could be related. And then whoever broke in took the cat paintings, so I thought that’s why they were trying to get in all along, and—”
“Shit,” he says. “It was in the safe? I thought you said there was just your aunt’s birth certificate and some other random crap in there.”
I bite my lip and nod. “Yeah. I, uh, wanted to make sure it was important before I bothered the police with it.”
He strides past me, anger radiating from every step. “What the hell? That’s BS, and you know it. You knew that book was important, and you intentionally hid it.” Nick leaves me behind as he disappears into the store. I find him searching through the carnage behind the desk. “That could have been their best evidence, what they needed to crack the case, and you hid it from them. Lied to them. That’s obstruction of justice. You do know that, don’t you?”
My eyes burn. “I didn’t mean anything by it, I just...”
He searches the various piles, but he comes up empty too. After glancing over the rest of the store, he must come to the same conclusion I did. The diary is gone. “Yeah, that doesn’t mean a damn thing now, does it?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer before continuing. “Why did you hide it? You’re not an idiot, at least I don’t think you are. Why the hell did you do it?”
I shrink from his fury. “I-I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”
He circles me. “No, that’s not it. You’re always thinking, always guarded. You’ve been prepared for everything this entire time. One step ahead. Who are you, really? After the break-in, the cops were asking around, trying to figure out who you were, and it doesn’t add up. They ran into a brick wall. Got a sternly worded email from some lawyer out west, telling them to stop looking. It’s like you don’t exist. I even asked around and got nowhere either.
“Are you a scammer, trying to take Wanda’s nieces for all they’re worth? Is that it? I didn’t say anything before, because it was none of my business who you were running from, but now you’ve admitted to breaking the law and to obstructing an investigation, one where a woman lost her life. That, I can’t ignore.”
The blood rushes from my face, and I stagger back a step. “No! I’m not a scammer, and I didn’t have anything to do with any of this, I promise.”
He shakes his head, but I can tell he’s already made up his mind. “Then who are you? Let’s start with that much. What is your real name?”
I’ve got to get out of here. I hate the way he’s looking at me with such anger and disappointment. It’s not as bad as how Alecia’s parents looked at me when they saw me at the police station, but it’s close.
You’re going to have to change your name again anyway, thanks to that reporter. Might as well tell Nick the truth about that, at least. Something tells me he won’t stop looking. Besides, maybe it won’t be that bad. He has helped you out a lot since you’ve been here.
True.
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands on my pants to keep them from shaking. “I-I never meant to hurt anyone. I really didn’t. And I’m not responsible for anything that’s happened here. My name is Willa. I changed it several months ago because of some things that happened. There were people who wanted to hurt me, and it was best if I started over.”
“What was your name before?” he asks.
I shiver. Once a cop, always a cop. Nick’s demeanor puts me back in the interrogation room. Back in handcuffs. Back behind bars. “My name before I became Willa Thompson was Shelby Williams.”
“Yeah, I figured that out already.”
“What?” My heart starts racing again. “You knew? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He lifts one shoulder and shrugs. “We all have secrets, remember?”
I gulp. He’s right there, but he doesn’t know the half of it. “How did you find out?”
He waves at a collection of small pictures on the wall, half hidden by shadows. Pictures of my sister and I as kids. Those must be the pictures Kathy saw that gave me away, the ones I was supposed to take down.
“How long?” I ask, my voice weak. “How long have you known?”
“Since I searched the store and house for you the first time.”
A hollow laugh escapes my throat. “Has anyone ever told you you’d be a good poker player?”
He snorts. “I was an even better cop.”
I don’t doubt that one bit.
Chapter 14
“What I don’t get,” Nick says, “is why you lied in the first place. You could have told me you changed your name, that you were running away from something. I don’t care. Everyone has their secrets.”
“What’s the point? You never would have believed me.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Try me. What could be so bad, so awful, that you felt like you had to change your name, move halfway across the country, and then lie to everyone here about who you were?”
Not everyone. But somehow, I don’t think telling him that my aunt’s lawyer knows my true identity would help. “Did the cops tell you anything about Shelby?” It’d be easier for me to talk about specific examples rather than going through the whole awful story.
He shakes his head. “Just that they were probably lucky she hadn’t come to take care of things. That she got into some trouble back home. That was you, wasn’t it? God, why didn’t I make the connection?”
I swallow a lump in my throat. Trouble... What a weak word to describe the hell I went through. Here goes nothing. A short, dry laugh bubbles from my lips. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” If he is, he’d be the first. I’ve never told anyone everything, not even Sara.
Nick nods, but the stony look on his face says otherwise.
“You might want to sit down.”
After a couple of seconds of staring at me, he takes the chair across from mine, the one I sat at after my aunt told me about the accident that killed my parents—the accident she knew about before it happened. They weren’t really your parents, were they?
Shut up. This isn’t the time for snide little comments. “Remember that you asked for this, okay? You can’t get mad at me for telling the truth.”
He doesn’t respond. I don’t know if I expected him to, but it stings a bit that I don’t see even the slightest bit of support or compassion or anything at all in his eyes. Why should you? You don’t really know him, and besides, he’s going to shoot someone in the near future. Probably. I only saw the vision once, so maybe it’s changed. Maybe he’s already avoided that fate. Okay, here goes. I’m in too deep now to back out.
“I know you’re probably not going to believe me or you’re going to think I’m crazy, but ever since I was a kid, I’ve... seen things sometimes when I touch people.”
Nothing. No response.
“Usually, it’s minor stuff like a flat tire or getting fired, but every once in a while, it’s not.”
“You’re kidding me.” Okay, so I wasn’t not expecting that response, but it still stings.
“No, I’m not.” I take a slow, measured breath.
“So, you’re saying you’re psychic.” Just the derision in the word makes me cringe. “And you had a vision that drove you away.”
“Yeah.” He’s not automatically calling for the men in the white coats, so that’s a plus. “I was teaching eighth grade—that much that I told you was true—and I had a vision about one of my students. The first time worried me, but I tried to ignore it. But then it happened several more times, and that usually means that the likelihood of that event, whatever it is, is a lot more likely than some of the other visions I’ve had.”
Birds of a Feather Page 13