“That shirt looks fabulous on you Becca,” he said, but the look in his eyes spoke a different story, about how much he would like to remove it. I could feel the heat rise in my chest and neck as my pulse started to race. Steady, Becca.
“I took the liberty of ordering you a glass of wine,” he continued, gesturing to the glass sitting on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth by my place setting. The wine looked dark, almost black. “I can drink it if it’s not what you want.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, touched. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had ordered for me. “Thank you.” I smiled, more naturally this time as I took my seat, causing the flame from the centerpiece, which was a lit candle stuffed in a fat, wax-covered bottle, to flicker and dance.
He nodded, giving me a crooked smile, and picked up his beer. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I said, picking up my wine. I hoped he would take the hint and get right to the point. I needed him to tell me what he wanted to talk about.
He gave me a pointed look. “You don’t have to hide anything from me,” he said.
I looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about?”
“I was there.”
“Where?”
He sighed. “At the memorial service. I heard.”
“Oh, that.” I put my wine down. Is this why he wanted to talk to me? “I’m okay,” I said. “I mean, it wasn’t fun, but she did lose her daughter and her brother, so her reaction is understandable.”
“No, it’s not,” Daniel said, his voice heated. “I talked to Bill. He was mortified. He invited you, after all. There was no excuse for her to treat you like that.”
“Yeah, I wondered why he invited me, with Louise clearly still blaming me.”
“He thought she was getting over it,” he said. “He thought this would be a good first step toward healing.”
“Well, I guess he misjudged.” I gave Daniel a half-smile. “Really, I’m okay. It’s not a big deal. Is that why you asked me here, because you wanted to make sure I was okay?”
“Partly,” he said, and paused to take a long drink of his beer. “Let’s order first,” he said, gesturing to my menu.
“This sounds serious,” I said. I tried to keep my voice light, but my stomach was in knots.
Daniel sighed. “I would categorize it more as ... unpleasant, I guess.”
Unpleasant? Visions of Gwyn and Daniel at the memorial service danced in my brain. I wanted nothing more than to drain my wine and order another. Maybe then I wouldn’t see those images anymore.
I reached over to play with the glass, but didn’t allow myself to pick it up. “Now you really have my curiosity piqued.”
“It’s ... look. It’s going to be a super-awkward conversation, and I don’t really want to have it, but I sort of feel like I must. Trust me, it would be better if we ordered first.”
Oh God. This definitely sounded like one of those, “It’s not you, it’s me” conversations. I must have imagined the sexy, bedroom-eyes look he greeted me with. The knots in my stomach tightened, and I started wondering if I should even bother ordering a meal, as I likely wouldn’t be able to eat any of it. The scents of oregano and garlic and pasta, that only a few minutes ago were so tantalizing, were now making me feel nauseous.
Although ...
The strange email flitted through my mind. Could that be what this was about? What CB sent me? Maybe the prison had somehow figured out he sent it, and Daniel wanted to talk to me about it.
That would make far more sense than wanting to talk about Gwyn. Right? I mean, he had broken up with her. It seemed far more likely that my insecurities were getting the best of me.
The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that this was all another CB-related mess. And that meant I definitely should enjoy a decent dinner. Firmly, I turned my attention to the menu.
After the waitress took our order (chicken parm for me, spaghetti bolognese for Daniel), Daniel picked up his beer and took a long swallow. I unfolded my red cloth napkin as I waited for him to break the silence.
He put his beer down with a clunk. “Did you see Gwyn today?”
I blinked. I had been so sure he was going to ask me about that email that it took me a second to reorient myself. “I saw her at the memorial service.” I almost added talking to you, but at the last minute, I swallowed the words.
“I meant earlier.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “Uh, yes. At A Good Yarn. Why?”
“Did you call her later?”
I frowned. “Call her? No. Why would I do that? I don’t even know her phone number.”
“She claims shortly after she saw you, she got a call from a blocked number. She let it go to voicemail. Now she’s saying it was you. “
I shook my head. “I don’t know what she’s talking about. What was the message?”
“Just one sentence. ‘Better luck next time.’”
My eyes widened. “She thinks I left her that message?”
He nodded. “She’s pretty upset.”
“But I didn’t,” I exclaimed. “Why would she think that? Did it sound like me?”
“She said the voice was disguised.”
“Was it my phone number?”
He shook his head. “She doesn’t know. The number was marked private.”
“My number isn’t private. I don’t even know how to do that.”
Daniel reached over and started twisting his beer mug. “What did you two talk about?” he asked, his tone mildly curious. I sat up straighter, instantly on alert.
“What does that have to do with anything?” I asked, suspicious.
He shrugged. “I have no idea, that’s why I’m asking.”
“Do you believe her?”
And there it was. My gnawing insecurities out in the open. It was all I could do to not add the rest of what I was thinking.
Do you believe her over me?
Do you still have feelings for her?
Why were you talking to her at the memorial service?
His eyes flickered to mine. “Why would I believe her?”
My hand tightened on my wine glass. “Don’t give me that cop doublespeak—answering a question with a question.”
He shot me his lopsided smile again. “Sorry. Hazard of the job. To answer your question, yes, I believe someone left her a message. No,” he raised his hand as I opened my mouth to protest, “I don’t believe it was you. BUT it has raised a lot of questions in my mind. Like why would she accuse you in the first place? And who would leave her such a message?”
“And you think what we talked about is related?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. But you have to start somewhere.”
A woman at a nearby table broke into a loud, braying laugh, startling me and causing me to nearly knock over my wine glass. I quickly steadied it, but the wine still sloshed around inside it.
“Did you ask her what we talked about?”
“Of course. But I want to see if you remembered something she didn’t.”
I wanted to ask him why he was so worried about his ex-fiancé when the waitress appeared to drop off bread and salads. Perfect timing, as it gave me an excuse to focus on my food and get myself under control. My emotions were teetering on the edge, and I didn’t want to cause a scene.
I must have done a crappy job hiding my thoughts, because he took one look at my face, paused and frowned. “What’s the problem?”
Sometimes I hated that I wasn’t a better actress. Or that I always seemed to be attracted to observant men. Both of my former husbands could read me like a book. Not to mention CB. Ugh. I would have to work on that.
He cocked his head. “Becca?”
I made a face. “Are you sure that’s all?”
He gave me a confused look. “What�
��s all?”
“Why you’re asking me these questions. Why do you care about her voicemail? Why do you care if she’s upset?”
He looked even more baffled. “Don’t you?”
My eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Of course. Don’t you want to know what she’s saying about you?”
“Well, I don’t know. It seems like half the town doesn’t have a great opinion of me. Why would Gwyn be any different?”
“Well, maybe because she’s accusing you of stalking her.”
“Stalking? Over a stupid voicemail?” My voice squeaked at the end.
He shook his head. “I told her she was overreacting.”
“Am I under investigation?” I tried unsuccessfully to lower my voice, but it still sounded too high and too loud.
“Of course not,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly. God, was I really under investigation again in this town? I wasn’t sure if I could deal with it. “As you pointed out, there’s no crime. So, what would we be investigating?”
“Then why are you questioning me?”
“What are you talking about? I’m not questioning you.”
He certainly sounded shocked. For that matter, he looked shocked, too.
But ... yet ...
“You’re asking me what happened today,” I said. “By definition, you’re questioning me.”
“I already told you why. It doesn’t make sense why someone would leave Gwyn a voicemail like that unless that person was intentionally trying to tie it to you.”
That stopped me. I hadn’t thought about it like that.
“You think someone is trying to set me up?”
Daniel shrugged. “It’s possible. It’s certainly the first thing I thought of. I mean, look at the timing. You and she talk for the first time since we broke up. Then she gets a message saying, “Better luck next time”? And it’s disguised? Who would do that? And why?”
“Unless,” I said slowly, the pieces clicking into place, “someone is trying to make Gwyn think I’m stalking her.”
“Bingo,” he said. “So, let’s start at the beginning. What happened when you saw her today?”
I frowned as I thought back. “Not much. It was amicable. Mostly. She was under the impression I was selling the house and once she found out I wasn’t, she said goodbye and left.”
“Why did she think you were selling the house?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t tell me.” I half-smiled as I thought about the whole exchange. “It was kind of funny, now that I think about it. She was making conversation about how busy I must be. I thought she was referring to me starting up my aunt’s healing business again and getting back into painting, and I couldn’t figure out how she knew I was doing either of those things. I was even starting to feel a little annoyed at Mia and how fast she gossiped about things. But then, it came out that she assumed I would be selling the house and leaving, as there was nothing for me here. After I told her I had no intention of moving, she quickly left. I think she was about to cry. I stayed in the store for a few extra minutes to give her time to drive away before I left the store.”
“Did you notice anyone hanging around? Watching you? Listening to your conversation?”
I mentally thought back, but nothing stuck out. Of course, I wasn’t really paying attention, either. I had been lost in my own world, dreaming of painting as I delightedly chose my new art supplies. I doubt I would have noticed a herd of dinosaurs tromping through the store.
“Did anything happen after you left the store?”
The shadow disappearing behind the truck popped into my head. But what was there to tell Daniel? I thought I saw a shadow by a truck? The same truck I saw at the memorial service? And, for some reason, it had reminded me of a shadow I thought I saw this morning? A shadow Mia didn’t see?
Yeah, I didn’t need to mention that.
Although I could tell him about Jackie, and how I may have gotten my first client. I thought he would be excited for me, but as I told the story, his face grew more serious. “So, she heard your conversation?”
I paused, taken a little aback. “I ... I don’t know. I didn’t ask her.”
“But she started by telling you Gwyn would get over it? How would she know that if she didn’t overhear what you were talking about?”
The waitress reappeared with our food, depositing our meals in front of us. I glanced down at my chicken parmigiana, wondering if I had made the right choice. It looked really heavy, much too heavy for the conversation I was having. Although, I hadn’t had much to eat all day, and I really should have a meal.
I picked up my fork. “Yeah, I guess she did. But maybe she just assumed what our conversation was about. The way Gwyn shot out of there, it was probably obvious.”
“In other words, anyone in that store could have figured out what was going on and left that voicemail.” Daniel picked up his fork and started poking at his pasta. “This is sounding more and more like a prank. Either someone wanted to upset Gwyn, or they wanted to make you look bad.”
“Or both,” I said.
Daniel nodded. “Did anything else happen to you that was out of the ordinary? Or even strange?”
“Other than Louise telling me to get out of town?”
He groaned. “Oh God. Other than that.”
I played with my food so I wouldn’t have to look at him. Something was niggling at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I also couldn’t decide if I should tell him about that nebulous shadow or the email from “friend.”
I have a secret.
The evil that was done.
“Define ‘strange,’” I finally said, feeling like I needed to say something, or he would get suspicious.
“You know.” He pointed at me with my fork. “Did you get any strange calls? Hang ups? Whatever.”
I shook my head. “No, none of that.” That at least was true.
The email was probably from CB, I told myself. It had nothing to do with Gwyn or voicemails. Sheer coincidence it happened today.
Or it was spam.
And the shadow was likely just a figment of my imagination. Nothing else.
I quashed the little voice inside me insisting I tell Daniel, because if I didn’t, he would likely be really upset with me. Especially since my choosing not to share certain things with him seemed to be turning into an ugly little habit.
On the other hand, I didn’t want to be Gwyn. I didn’t want to run to him with a wild story that would turn out to be false.
I wanted proof. I wanted to prove my innocence and not just throw more unfounded allegations into the mix.
And a part of me wanted to solve this myself. Rather than relying on someone else to save me, maybe I needed to figure out a way to save myself.
Daniel scooped up some pasta, oblivious to the thoughts racing through my head. “Hopefully this is a one-time thing. Whoever it was got her kicks and will move on.”
“Hopefully,” I agreed, but a part of me was still feeling very uneasy about what happened.
And I had a feeling I hadn’t heard the last of it.
Chapter 7
I woke to see a pair of bright-green eyes staring directly into mine.
Oscar.
As soon as he saw my eyes open, he meowed and batted my cheek impatiently with his paw. I was grateful that his claws were sheathed.
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled, pushing him aside so I could get out of bed. “I’m awake.”
He meowed again, letting me know in no uncertain terms how displeased he was that his breakfast was late before hopping off the bed and standing expectantly by the door, black tail swishing.
I yawned and stretched, wondering why I felt so unsettled. Was it a bad dream? I couldn’t remember. I did recall briefly waking up and wondering what had disturbed me, but I mu
st have fallen back asleep, because I didn’t remember anything else.
Oscar meowed again. “Yes, yes, yes,” I said. “I hear you. Just give me a second.” My head was thick and clogged, like I had slept really deeply, and I was having trouble focusing. I went to the window and opened the curtains, hoping the natural light would cut through the fog.
The sun was just peeking over the horizon, still full of reds and oranges. The grass sparkled with dew, like tiny diamonds. A robin hopped along the ground looking for worms, and a rabbit was crouched at the edge of my garden, nibbling the tops of my carrots. Ugh. Now that Oscar was spending more time with me, the rabbits were getting bolder. Not that I necessarily wanted dead rabbits all over the yard, but there had to be a way for all of us, including my garden, to co-exist peacefully.
I pondered that as I headed down to the kitchen to make coffee and feed Oscar. Maybe I should try fencing off the area. Or, maybe there was something I could plant that would keep the rabbits away. Maybe today I could do some research and ...
I stopped dead in my tracks in the kitchen, in the middle of pouring the water in the coffee pot. Oh. Right.
Now I remembered.
Daniel was coming over.
Deep breaths. My stomach was flipping and turning, and my chest felt tight and hot.
The night before had definitely ended on a high note. Once we had moved on from talking about Gwyn, the conversation became light and fun. Daniel asked me a lot of questions about restarting Aunt Charlie’s healing business and getting back into art. He had listened intently to my answers and was really encouraging and supportive.
I couldn’t remember the last time a man had taken me seriously about my work. Well, that wasn’t exactly fair since, before moving back to Redemption, no man OR woman had taken me seriously about what I wanted to do professionally. My friends and family back in New York had all assumed my goal was to marry well.
To be honest, I hadn’t given them much of a reason to assume otherwise.
But looking back, I realized that had never made me happy. Oh, I covered it up well, because I thought it ought to make me happy, but it never did. I always felt like something was missing. A hole inside me, empty, dark, and pulsing, growing a little bigger and a little darker every day.
The Evil That Was Done (Secrets of Redemption Book 3) Page 7