by Emily James
She motioned Dan and me toward the living room. “I want to talk about the next steps for the business.”
Dan hooked a thumb in the direction Janie had disappeared. “I’ll get Janie and leave you to it.”
“Oh no you don’t.” Claire clamped a hand around his wrist and practically dragged him to the nearest chair. “I want you to stay.”
I dropped onto the couch and exchanged a quick glance with Dan. He shrugged. Claire hadn’t warned him about this in advance.
We didn’t exactly have next steps for the business. We weren’t going to buy a second truck when we were still waiting on the insurance money from the first truck. Even if she was going to suggest that, I wouldn’t go for it. Food trucks in Michigan were risky to begin with. Too many months of the year the area was devoid of tourists, and locals were too smart to stand out in the snow and ice to grab a cupcake.
Besides, even if Claire was going to argue that, she wouldn’t need Dan to stay.
Dan leaned on the back of one of the chairs as if he didn’t want to commit to sitting. “Not that I don’t enjoy spending time with you both, but why do I need to be part of a business discussion?”
Claire sighed as if the answer should have been obvious. “Because she listens to you more than she listens to anyone else.”
Was I the she in this discussion? Her words made me sound like a recalcitrant child. Or someone who couldn’t take good advice.
And it also made it sound like Dan and I had some sort of different relationship than I had with her.
Dan and I were closer. But that’s only because I wasn’t sure half the time whether Claire actually liked me or not. It wasn’t anything more than that. It couldn’t be. Not with my situation.
Claire pointed at the chair Dan stood behind. “So sit.”
At times like this, it was easy to forget that Claire was Dan’s cousin, not his mother.
I considered crossing my arms over my chest the way Claire would have done had someone put her in a similar position. I didn’t. What would have insulted me or at the very least made me defensive when I’d first met Claire I could now see as her way of handling stressful situations. She didn’t seem to know any other way of getting what she wanted than to be pushy.
With most people, that approach would guarantee she wasn’t heard. Most people would pull in the opposite direction the harder she pushed them. Or she’d steamroll over them, leaving enemies in her wake.
I wouldn’t react in either of those ways. I wanted to prove her wrong that she needed Dan around for me to listen to her. Besides, I knew what it was like to not know how to get what you wanted. It wasn’t always easy to ask. The mantra that the worst that can happen is they say no was entirely untrue. The no could come with embarrassment and mocking. The no could be an angry, dangerous no. Putting yourself out there, no matter how small the ask, wasn’t easy. Sometimes bullying and demanding your way were a lot easier, even if people didn’t like you afterward.
Claire stood in front of us, reminding me of someone making a presentation at a board meeting. “I want to make our partnership official and open a physical location, either instead of buying a new truck or alongside buying a new truck.”
No way, was the first thought that jumped to my mind. “I can’t put my name on any sort of contract or on a lease.”
“You and I can write up an informal agreement, and I’ll sign any legal paperwork. Having a partnership means you can have a permanent space.”
Just like it means you can have a permanent home. Claire didn’t say the words, but the implication was there. Because of Claire’s willingness to rent me a room without an official rental agreement, I could have a stable home. Claire declared the income and tithed on it, but she’d never asked me to put anything in writing that could come back to hurt me later.
Renting a space to run a shop was different, though.
“I know that face.” Claire spread her feet slightly and planted her hands on her hips. “We need more oven space to keep up with our catering contracts now. And you know as well as I do that a food truck isn’t going to give us both a livable income once winter hits. We need a stable location where people can find us, and where they can sit down with a cupcake and a cup of coffee.”
I had to keep myself from glancing at Dan. If I did, it would only fuel Claire’s belief that I would listen to what he suggested. Which wasn’t entirely untrue. He was my friend and I trusted his opinion, so I did listen to him. But her suggestion that he could convince me to do something that I wouldn’t otherwise do rankled. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t let another man control me the way Jarrod had.
What if Dan felt the same way Claire did? In the past, there’d been a couple of times when he’d asked me to do something odd and I’d done it. I turned to him unintentionally.
He held his hands up. “Nope. I’m not weighing in on this unless I’m explicitly asked.”
All the weird fire that’d been building inside me since Claire’s accusation died out. I should have known Dan wouldn’t try to manipulate me into going along with Claire’s idea, even if he agreed with her.
“If we had a retail location,” Claire said as if Dan hadn’t spoken, “we also wouldn’t have to depend as much on big one-time events like the hot air balloon festival.”
Her voice cracked slightly, and she stopped speaking.
I moved to the edge of my chair. Fear and I had been companions for so long that I recognized his fingerprint when I saw it. I knew her pushiness had to be covering up something she was much less comfortable facing.
She’d been trying everything she could think of to move past what had happened at the festival. Maybe she’d decided that the way to deal with it was to try to make sure she wasn’t at an event where something similar could happen again. “Is that what this is really about? We won’t be protected from death in a shop any more than we are in a truck.”
“It’s not about that.”
The glare Claire gave me could have withered a flower, but the intensity of her reaction made me that much more sure I was right.
She huffed. “We didn’t have a proper arrangement to do the tasting for Elijah Wells. We could get more jobs catering weddings and other formal events if we were able to offer a tasting menu in a shop.” She dropped a sheaf of papers on the coffee table. “I’ve written up a tentative business plan and partnership agreement.”
I could only imagine when she’d done that. If I had to guess, I’d have wagered it was when she should have been sleeping.
All of Claire’s reasons for opening a permanent physical location were good ones. I agreed with all of them.
She’d missed the most important factor for me, next to not being able to put my name—real or fake—on a lease. “If I don’t have a truck, I can’t stay mobile.”
The words sounded awkward coming out of my mouth, like I’d said something stupidly obvious like if I don’t have legs, I can’t walk. But surely they’d understand what I meant. Claire knew about Jarrod now. She hadn’t asked me a lot of direct questions, but I’d shared a few more details since I’d come to live with her. Enough that she’d be prepared if he found me one day. Since I was living in her house, she needed to be prepared.
Dan leaned forward in his chair. I could feel his gaze on me. I looked up and met his eyes.
“You’ve decided to stop running,” he said, his voice soft “Maybe it’s time you also think about building.”
Thinking about building meant thinking about a future. I hadn’t been able to do that in a long time. Every step I’d taken since running from Jarrod had been focused on the present because that was all I knew I could have. A future was something else entirely.
Dan was still holding my gaze. Something in the way he was looking at me…it felt like there was more to what he was saying than the words.
Like he was talking about building more than my business.
I glanced down at the card from Janie. If I was going to build anywher
e, this was where I’d want to do it. With him. With Janie. With Claire as my business partner.
The doorbell chimed.
Janie sprinted down the hallway from the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll answer it!”
I couldn’t hold back a smile even though she was disobeying Claire’s no running in the house rule again. You’d have thought people at the door were bringing presents based on how much she enjoyed being the one to answer.
Janie’s footsteps pattered back down the hallway and slowed right before they reached the door.
“There was no one there.” She held up a rock. A small square of white paper the size of a business card was taped to it. Janie held it out to me. “I think this is your name.”
I rose slowly from my chair and took the rock from her. My mind felt far away, as if it were floating high enough above the scene that nothing could touch it.
The piece of paper taped to the rock was a business card. Mine.
The inside of my head suddenly felt loud, like I was standing beside a semi-truck. Dan was saying something to Janie, but I couldn’t make it out.
Why would someone have left a rock with my business card taped to it? It didn’t make sense.
I pulled the card off and turned it over. Someone had scrawled a message on the back.
I know where you live.
14
The rock slipped from my hand and hit the floor next to my foot.
“What are you doing?” Claire’s voice was barely below a yell. “Do you want to break your toes?”
Dan had stopped his questioning of Janie. He rose to his feet.
I held the business card out into the space in front of me. I wasn’t even sure who I was offering it to—Claire or Dan. I just didn’t want to hold it anymore.
Claire snatched it from me. The muscles around the edges of her lips tightened. She shoved it into Dan’s hand.
Janie bounced on her toes. “Was it a note? What does it say?”
Claire twirled her around until she faced back toward the kitchen. “Did you get everything cleaned up?”
Janie craned her neck toward the card now in Dan’s hands. “Most of it. But then I got an idea for another picture.”
Claire nudged her forward. “I’ll help you finish while Daddy and Isabel talk.”
“About the rock? Why would someone leave a rock with Isabel’s name on it? I couldn’t tell what it all said, but I saw her name.”
Claire moved her out into the hallway. “Just someone playing a bad joke.”
Their voices faded away. If only it could be just a bad joke.
“What if it’s Jarrod?” My words came out sounding like someone was squeezing them. “There’s no one else who’d do something like this. It has to be him.”
Dan took my arm and eased me down onto the couch. I didn’t even have the instinct to resist.
He sat beside me. “Is this Jarrod’s style? From what you’ve told me, he sounds more like a man who’d grab you without warning. He didn’t sound like someone who’d warn you he was nearby with a note.”
My head nodded before I could consciously think it through. Jarrod wouldn’t want to give me the chance to run or tell anyone. He was more likely to follow me down a dark street like the footsteps I’d heard the other night.
My phone and Dan’s phone pinged with a text notification at the same time.
Dan glanced at his phone. “Claire sent a text to both of us. She heard your mention your husband’s name. She wants to know if the handwriting looks like his.”
I hadn’t stopped to think about the handwriting.
Dan held it out for me. Unfortunately, we’d all touched it. The chances of gathering fingerprints from it, or the rock, were slim. Besides, most criminals nowadays were smart enough to wear gloves. We could thank crime shows for that.
I reined my thoughts back in and forced my gaze down to the card. The handwriting was loopy, almost ostentatious. It was so light in some places that the ink barely left a mark.
Jarrod’s handwriting had almost been heavy and dark, and he almost never used cursive. He preferred to print.
I examined it for another few seconds to be sure.
My heart stopped pounding in my ears. I shook my head. “It’s not his handwriting.”
I pressed a palm to my forehead. My skin was clammy, but at least I could breathe again. “It’s not him.”
I’d never been able to move past a Jarrod scare this quickly and without Fear screaming at me to run before. Maybe what Dan had been saying before was right. Maybe it was time to build here, where I had people around me to see me through times like this.
Dan tucked the card carefully into his pocket.
His hand edged across the couch until his fingers rested gingerly on top of mine, as if he wasn’t sure whether actually holding my hand would calm me down or freak me out more.
Maybe it should have scared me more, but all I could think about was that, whatever this was about, I wasn’t alone.
I flipped my hand over and laced my fingers through his.
“Can you think of anyone else who might want to intimidate you?” Dan asked. His voice had an extra touch of gravel to it.
I couldn’t stop myself from glancing toward the kitchen where Claire was distracting Janie. We’d agreed not to tell Dan that I was looking into Donald Wells’ murder. Or, more accurately, Claire had told me not to tell Dan.
Technically, anyone could have gotten my card. I left a container of them on the counter of the food truck and I attached a card to any box of cupcakes I delivered. But multiple people connected to Donald Wells had my business card. Even Leon Schwab could have gotten one. All he had to do was take it off the box I delivered.
Avoiding Dan’s disapproval suddenly seemed like the least of our problems. “You were right. About Claire and I getting involved in the Donald Wells case.”
“Walk me through everything you did in the past few days.”
He didn’t remove his hand from mine the way I would have expected him too, but his voice was inflectionless. He’d put his detective’s mask back on. My hand suddenly felt cold despite remaining nestled in his. We’d disappointed him.
Claire and I were both grown women. It shouldn’t have mattered whether Dan was disappointed in us or not. But it did. At least to me. One thing my dad had taught me was that we all overestimated how smart we were. We were created to live in community, where we could surround ourselves with wise advisors, people who would help check us when we were about to do something stupid.
Perhaps that was the real reason neither Claire nor I wanted Dan to know what we were up to. Deep down, we both knew poking around in a murder investigation could turn out exactly the way it had—with a target on us.
I told Dan in detail about my last few days, especially delivering the cupcakes to Elijah, running into Rebecca, and overhearing her conversation with her boyfriend. I even included that I suspected someone had been hounding her for information prior to her husband’s death.
Dan had pulled a notebook from his pocket and was writing notes throughout it all. When I finished, he slid it away again. “It sounds like something you stumbled on triggered the real murderer. Or, at the very least, made someone with something to hide nervous.” He squeezed my hand. “But I’m even more sure now that this isn’t Jarrod.”
I nodded. We had so much at stake, whether Dan was right about that or not. And on both ends, the most precious thing was Janie. If this was Jarrod, and he got someone to write that note for him, I wouldn’t let him hurt another child. I hadn’t been able to protect our unborn baby from him, but he’d have to kill me before I let him hurt Janie.
If it wasn’t Jarrod, Janie could still be in danger. Whoever sent the note wasn’t subtle about knowing this was my home. They might also think Janie was my daughter. They might try to use her as leverage against me.
Dan didn’t say anything about it, but I could tell from how close he kept Janie as they left that he’d thought abou
t it too.
I woke up to the vacuum again shortly after two in the morning.
This had to stop. At the rate Claire was going, whoever sent that note wouldn’t need to hurt us. We’d end up in the hospital from fatigue before they ever got to us.
I padded down the stairs. Claire had her back to me, methodically moving the vacuum back and forth across the already immaculate carpet.
I pulled the plug out of the wall. The room fell blessedly still.
Claire turned around with an expression on her face like she expected to find that she’d pulled the plug out of the wall accidentally. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, and the bags under her eyes were so dark she almost looked like she’d been punched.
I braced myself for an angry outburst.
Instead, Claire stared at me. Tears slipped out of her eyes and sped silently down her cheeks. Not just a few either. Enough that they pooled and dripped down off her cheeks and I could see them falling to the floor.
“I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was hoarse. “I can’t stop seeing it. Can’t stop thinking about it. And now I’m thinking about the person who did that coming for us.”
I nodded and took a step forward, then another. I didn’t want to move too fast and risk that she’d shut down again and insist everything was fine. Everything—clearly—wasn’t fine.
“I think it’s time to go to a therapist.”
Claire crossed her arms, and her body language started to change. It was so subtle that I would have missed it had I not spent so many years reading Jarrod.
I held up a placating hand. “Going to a therapist doesn’t mean you’re weak. It means you’re strong enough to admit you need help.”
It was something my friend Nicole had told me when she was trying to convince me to stay in her town rather than going on the run again. She’d even offered to pay for me to see a therapist. I hadn’t been brave enough to accept her offer at the time.
