by Lisa Harris
Great.
As Quinn’s gaze drifted over the woman’s badly-dyed brunette hair, curled and sprayed into a poofy shell, to her red-framed, cat-eye glasses, she saw the flash of recognition in Maryanne’s eyes. Dread knotted in Quinn’s stomach.
“Well, Quinn Bello! I can’t believe it! How are you, honey? How’re your mom and dad doing?”
She sounded sincere, and there was even an element of kindness in her tone. That was the thing about it all. The people who had known her back when it happened weren’t mean to her. She wasn’t treated poorly or ostracized. No one egged her house or called her names or gave her a hard time. From all appearances, the town had forgiven her ages ago.
But like most small towns, this one had a long memory. A long memory that, combined with the news that had undoubtedly spread about Tampa, perpetuated the whispers behind her back, the not-so-surreptitious stares, and—as last night had demonstrated—a lingering lack of credibility. Yes, the town may have forgiven her. But forgetting wasn’t even on the table.
“Hi, Maryanne. I’m good. Mom and Dad are fine.”
“You sure you’re okay, hon? I heard about the break-in last night.” She wrapped her tongue bitingly around “break-in” and Quinn knew immediately that Shane must have already told everyone in the department about his doubts. A stifled cough sounded from somewhere in the room behind the counter, and Quinn’s gaze shot to two deputies standing together on the far side of the room, staring at her and mouthing something she couldn’t hear. She didn’t have to be a lip-reader to guess the topic of their discussion.
“I’m here to see Shane—Deputy Cody—about that. Is he in?” Quinn asked.
“No, hon. Sorry. He’s second shift. Doesn’t come on until three.”
“Oh, right.” Of course he wouldn’t be in yet. He was working last night.
“I can give him a message, though,” Maryanne offered helpfully.
“Would you tell him I stopped by? I wanted to run through things with him. He asked for a list of anything that was missing—”
“You could just email that,” Maryanne interrupted.
“Yeah, I know, but I was hoping to talk to him in person. And there isn’t a list, because there isn’t anything missing as far as I can tell.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good,” Maryanne said, her words coated in a syrupy drawl thicker than what the local Griddle House served on its pancakes.
Quinn sighed. If Shane had shared his doubts about her story, it meant that these three, and probably everybody else in the department, had one more reason to whisper. One more reason to be skeptical of her in general. Ever since she was a kid she had been branded a liar in this town—or at the very least, unreliable—and now, after Tampa and last night…
It seemed no matter how hard she tried to shake the label, no matter what good she tried to do, life kept throwing her past sins back in her face. This bitter reality twisted her insides, and the energy boost she’d enjoyed after Ian’s coffee seemed to drain away.
Maybe there was no shaking it. Maybe the cold, hard truth was that the person they all thought she was, was the only person they were ever going to see.
Once back in the sheriff’s department parking lot, Quinn sat behind the wheel of her pickup, wondering why in the world she had made the idiotic decision to go there. She should have known what to expect. Of course, Shane would have told the story and shared his concerns. They probably all had a good laugh. Fodder for the gossip mill. She had been so revved up by the coffee and injustice that she hadn’t thought it through.
Needing encouragement, she decided to pull up the day’s devotional passage and leaned over the center console toward the passenger seat to dig through her bag for her phone. When she finally found it in the bottomless pit of her purse, she straightened back up, her gaze passing across the rearview mirror and the reflection of a man in a ball cap and sunglasses, sitting in the driver’s seat of a grey Sonata parked two rows behind her. A chill fluttered down her spine as she froze, taking him in. Even though he wore heavily tinted glasses, there was something in the severity of his posture, his stillness and the pointedness of his stare in her direction that left no doubt in Quinn’s mind that he wasn’t simply looking at her. He was watching her.
As she twisted in her seat to look out the back window for a better view, the driver tore out of the spot, heading for the exit. In seconds he had merged into traffic and sped off down the road.
Chapter Eight
Quinn’s very center seemed to vibrate as she pulled out of the sheriff’s department parking lot, her heart hammering nervously. It had been months since she felt like someone was watching her like that. Almost exactly six months ago in Tampa. Where everything had fallen apart.
It’s nothing, she told herself as she drove to the office, intending to say a quick hello to Terri, drop off the blueberry scone she had picked up for her at The Shed, and grab the gift baskets to deliver to the four rental properties being checked into today. Unfortunately, Terri was extremely chatty, having already heard about the break-in. Quinn’s stomach turned at the thought that the gossip mill had already spread the news that far. By dinnertime there wouldn’t be a soul left in town who hadn’t heard about Quinn Bello hallucinating a dead man on her floor.
Quinn managed to convince Terri that everything was fine, vaguely offering dismissive answers to her not-so-subtle questions about “whether she really thought she saw a body in her house.” She also got her to promise that she would not contact Quinn’s parents about it. She wasn’t sure Terri knew that her parents were out of the country on a European river cruise, or how to reach them while they were gone, but she didn’t want to risk it. The last thing she needed right now was for her parents to race back to Seaglass Cove, thinking that Quinn couldn’t handle things.
When she finally managed to extract herself from Terri’s interrogation, she shoved the image of the man watching her to the back of her mind and made the rounds of the rental properties. After ensuring the housekeeping subcontractor was properly cleaning and prepping them, she left a welcome basket on each kitchen counter containing local products—candies, preserves, speciality popcorn and such—along with a handwritten note.
Welcome to Seaglass Cove.
We are so happy you’re here!
Enjoy your time in the most peaceful
place on the coast.
Best wishes, Bello Realty
The irony was that, right now, Seaglass Cove felt anything but peaceful to Quinn. After last night, and then today at the sheriff’s department, an unease brewed within her. She knew this feeling well. She had shaken hands with it once before. That whisper taunting her. That line of anxiety cast out into the waters of her psyche, just waiting for her to bite and be reeled in—
A blaring horn sounded outside her pickup. Quinn’s heart jumped, her eyes going wide as she snapped out of her thoughts, saw a traffic signal rushing toward her and slammed on the brakes, barely avoiding running a red light. Her pulse pounding, she waited for the light to change and her blood pressure to drop, and realized something. What she needed most right then wasn’t a cruise in a kayak. It was something else altogether.
“I don’t know what to think, Lena,” Quinn said, sitting on a barstool in the kitchen of the Hope Community Center. “This whole thing has really shaken me.” After her near accident, Quinn knew what she really needed was to talk things through with someone she trusted. And there was no one she trusted more than Lena Sharp, director of the Center, who also happened to be her friend and accountability partner.
Quinn watched the tall, umber-skinned woman working at one of the stainless steel counters, preparing a large pan of baked chicken for “Open Table” night. Every Saturday night the Center opened its doors to anyone in need of a hot meal: struggling families, the homeless, people out of work, people seeking fellowship—it didn’t matter. The Center also tried to identify and meet other needs, including offering a weekly substance abuse recovery group led by L
ena, open to anyone who could use the support. Anyone like Quinn.
One of the first things Quinn’s parents did when she landed back in Seaglass Cove five months ago was to connect her with the Hope Recovery Group. Because the Center was a ministry operated by their church—it was located on the lot next door—her parents often volunteered at the Center and were familiar with its programs. Quinn resisted at first but now couldn’t be more grateful that they insisted she try it.
In addition to attending the group, Quinn also volunteered at the Center as her parents had done. On Mondays she helped assemble dozens of boxes containing a month’s worth of groceries for those in need. On Saturdays she often helped out with the Open Table cooking and serving. Occasionally she even taught classes as part of the Women’s Job Training Program on Thursday nights. Her service at the Center was incredibly humbling and such a privilege, and one of her favorite things about living in Seaglass Cove again. The true friend she had found in Lena was an added blessing.
Lena was one of those striking beauties, someone who could have easily graced the cover of Vogue, if given the chance. She was lanky, with cheekbones like the edge of a cliff and dark-brown eyes offset by ridiculously long lashes. In her early twenties, life had not been kind to Lena, leaving her a widow with two young children. After a series of further hardships, she eventually found herself homeless and an alcoholic. A concerned friend connected her with the Hope Community Center where she found both hope and recovery. Now, five years later, Lena was running the Center and using the brokenness she had been healed of to bring healing and comfort to others. Lena was the only person in Seaglass Cove who truly understood the depths of the pit Quinn had been in, the cost of climbing out, and the struggle to build something again.
“You had a break-in,” Lena said, as she jiggled small jars of spices over the chicken, seasoning it with salt, pepper, thyme and rosemary. “Of course you’re rattled. That’s understandable.”
Quinn hadn’t told Lena about the dead body, only that someone broke into the house. Even as much as she trusted Lena, after Shane’s reaction and the reaction of the deputies at the station, she couldn’t help wondering whether Lena would believe her, or doubt like Shane, thinking that she simply misinterpreted the situation. Or worse, think that Quinn was seeing things that weren’t there. Like before.
She would tell Lena all of it eventually, but not right now. “That guy in the parking lot…and the sensation that he was watching me. It was so strong. It felt like Tampa, Lena. That same certainty.”
Lena stopped covering the pan with foil and looked up, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Is there any reason other than the break-in that could explain why you might be feeling like this?”
“No,” Quinn answered emphatically, her heart shrinking. She knew what Lena meant. She was asking if she had slipped. Taken something. Started drinking again. Even though she knew it was Lena’s job as her accountability partner to ask, it was still a kick to the gut. Lena nodded and resumed sealing the foil around the pan. She seemed to take Quinn at her word, which at least softened the blow a little bit.
“What did the police say?” Lena asked as she carried the finished pan to the commercial-sized refrigerator, trailing the aroma of rosemary and thyme as she passed Quinn.
“Are you sure I can’t help you?” Quinn asked, sliding off the stool. “Can I start something…the green beans, maybe?”
“Uh-uh,” Lena declined, as she walked back to the counter, grabbed another pan of chicken, and pointed a commanding finger at Quinn. “You sit. Talk. I’ve got this.”
Twinges of guilt pinched Quinn as she sat idle, watching Lena work. It felt wrong not pitching in. “Shane said they would look into it, but his guess is that it was a burglary gone wrong. But the problem with that theory is that nothing was missing.”
“Maybe they heard you coming and left before they could do any damage.”
“Maybe.” Quinn said, biting her lip. She still didn’t buy it.
Lena braced her slender hands on the counter, her eyes full of compassion. “I think that after what you experienced last night, it’s understandable you would be hyper-aware today. I think seeing this man watching you in the parking lot brought back feelings tied to one of the worst days of your life. Like muscle memory, only in this case emotional memory.”
Quinn’s churning nerves settled a little. Lena had a point.
“I mean, you didn’t go after him, chase him down, yell at him or anything, did you?” Lena asked.
A sad pang struck Quinn as the memory of doing exactly that to the man in her parking garage in Tampa flashed in her mind. “No.”
“And you didn’t see anyone else watching or following you, right? I mean, it’s not a pattern. You’re not seeing people spying around every corner.”
That’s true, I’m not. “No.”
Lena inclined her head toward Quinn. “So there you go. You’re not overreacting. You’re not escalating like before.”
Another worker entered the kitchen through a swinging door, heading for the refrigerator. Lena stopped speaking, waiting until after he got what he needed and left before continuing. “Have you called Dr. Bristol?”
Quinn shook her head. “I wanted to talk to you first.” In truth, she didn’t want to call her psychiatrist at all. Not if she could help it. It would feel too much like heading back down a road she never wanted to travel again.
“What about your mom and dad? What do they say?”
“I, um, haven’t told them,” Quinn answered hesitantly.
Lena’s head pivoted toward Quinn, her face wrinkled in consternation. “Why in the world not? You know they’d want to know.”
“Because if they know, they’ll start to worry and they’ll come right back here. I’m finally getting on my feet. I don’t want them concerned or second-guessing their decision to leave.”
Or second-guessing me. She didn’t like to think about whether her parents would believe her or side with Shane. It would hurt so much if they doubted her.
“Well, look,” Lena said. “I think you just got spooked. Get some rest tonight and I really think you’ll feel better in the morning.” She jerked her head at the sack beside Quinn marked with The Little Red Shed’s logo. “What’cha got there?”
“Oh! I brought something for you,” Quinn said, lifting the bag. “Well, full disclosure, it was for Terri, but I was so flustered when I left the office I forgot to give it to her. You like blueberry scones, right?”
A wide grin broke out on Lena’s face. “Who doesn’t?” she asked, and after putting the last pan of chicken in the fridge, snatched the bag from Quinn. She dug out the scone, popped a chunk in her mouth, and leaned against the counter next to Quinn’s stool. “My hips don’t much care for them, but the rest of me has a different opinion.”
Quinn laughed.
“So you saw Ian Wolfe again today,” Lena asked, a knowing glint in her eye.
“What do you mean, ‘again’?” Quinn replied, crossing her arms.
“I mean the last time you were here you mentioned you’d been by there for lunch. The time before that it was breakfast.”
“So? I like the food.” A faint heat began creeping across Quinn’s collarbone.
“I think the food’s not the only thing you like.”
Quinn playfully snatched the remainder of the scone from Lena’s hand. “I think you need to mind your own business.”
“What would be the fun in that?” Lena asked, raising her eyebrows and holding her hand out expectantly until Quinn dropped the scone back in it.
“I’m not interested in Ian Wolfe,” Quinn protested, shaking her head. “I’m just getting my life back on track.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I don’t need the complications.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And I tend to be trouble. He doesn’t need that. No one does.”
Lena eyed Quinn intensely. “Don’t you go limiting yourself like that.”
“We
ll, it’s true,” Quinn asserted.
“What’s true about your past doesn’t have to be the truth of your future.”
Quinn shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s interested in someone. Or at least I think he is.”
“You sound pretty observant about his situation for someone who isn’t interested,” Lena said, her words thick with irony.
Quinn stared Lena down. “Aren’t you too busy to be sticking your nose into my love life—or lack of one?”
Lena glanced at her arm, pretending to check a watch that didn’t exist, then looked up defiantly. “Nope.”
Chapter Nine
Quinn’s visit with Lena definitely made her feel better. But by the time she left the Center, after ultimately pitching in to help with the green beans and rolls, and then serving, it was six thirty. There wasn’t enough time before sunset to go kayaking, and anyway, she was pretty drained. Even though she was dying to get out on the water, rest was probably a better prescription than paddling at the moment.
But however much she wanted to head straight home and curl up with a good book, she still hadn’t been to the grocery store. Which meant her fridge was empty. The thought of strolling grocery aisles only magnified her exhaustion, so when she saw The Shed coming up on the right as she drove home, she made a quick turn into the lot. On Saturdays it was open till nine, the only day it offered dinner. She could grab some takeout and have a nice, quiet meal on her back porch.
And stopping here has nothing to do with Ian Wolfe, Lena. I’m just hungry.
The place was packed. Saturday nights were the busiest evenings for The Shed, when lots of groups held their events—painting, crafting, whatever—or just gathered to hang out and listen to the live music. Tonight a three-piece jazz band was playing a Sinatra standard, the double bassist plucking away, sending out a deep, mellow sound that wrapped itself around Quinn as she stepped inside.
