by Dara Girard
“I found him,” she said when Pascal picked up.
“What?”
“Richard Engleright. I found him.”
“How?” Pascal said, clearly stunned.
“I remembered his tattoo. I just came back from meeting his parents.”
“And you’ll talk to him next?”
“Yes, but I have to still do more background investigating because this guy has quite a story. First, his real name isn’t Richard, it’s Trenton and I already have the angle I’m going to use. I’m sending you my draft.”
“I can’t wait to read it.”
“Impressed?”
“Very,” Pascal said with a laugh. “I’ll never call your work cute again.”
Chapter 5
Vera Clegg had lived in Sykesville, Maryland, all her life. She’d buried her parents, sister, husband and a stillborn daughter there. She was used to the town’s strange ways and its people. She looked over at her daughter Emma and sighed. She had to do something about her. Emma was getting up in years and her looks had never been a strong point and were already quickly fading. She had skin like sun-bleached wicker and limp black hair that barely reached her shoulders. She was a good girl, kind, generous of heart, but shy and clumsy. Vera cringed as she watched Emma knock over a salt shaker and apologize to a customer.
In the background was the sound of sizzling bacon, while cutlery scraped across dishes amongst a cacophony of conversations. The breakfast crowd had gone, but they were still busy. If her brother didn’t own the diner where they worked, she’d likely have been fired years ago. But she, like the diners, was a fixture, and people liked to see her, which helped to offset her daughter’s less than stellar qualities.
Vera looked around the diner and let her gaze settle on booth twelve where a woman Vera didn’t recognize finished her breakfast. She was definitely an outsider. Her clothes didn’t say “city,” but she certainly wasn’t “mountain.” Her movements were too refined for that. She buttered her toast as if she was using fine silverware, and she looked like the type of woman who wouldn’t know the difference between a tractor and a riding lawn mower. She didn’t belong there. But Vera could guess why she was there—she was a reporter. A whole bunch of her type had come into town, bugging poor Richard, when all he wanted was to be left alone. Fortunately, they learned fast that they couldn’t push him around and they couldn’t find out anything from the townsfolk either. They soon lost interest and vanished. This woman would do the same if she had anything to do with it.
She approached the table. “How’s your food?”
“Lovely, thanks.”
Lovely? Perhaps she was city after all. “What brings you into town?”
“Just passing through.”
“You’re looking for Richard, aren’t you?” She began to smile at the look of surprise on the young woman’s face. “How do I know? Because we rarely get newcomers, especially young ones. So are you a reporter?”
“No.”
“Ex-wife?”
“No.”
“Girlfriend?”
“No. He saved my life.”
Vera lifted a sly brow. “And you’re here to thank him?”
To her surprise the young woman didn’t look embarrassed or flustered, she just held a calm, steady gaze, which made it hard to tell exactly what she was thinking. “How long have you lived here?”
“All my life,” Vera said, surprised by the question. But she wouldn’t be distracted. “You might as well turn back right now.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not going to get whatever you’ve come out here for. You’re too soft to ask hard questions, too weak to get past his guard and too young to know your limitations. You’re not his type, honey. So if you want to thank him, just send a card.”
The woman smiled, unfazed. “I thought only customers were supposed to give tips.”
“It’s not a tip. Just some plain old-fashioned advice.”
The woman stood. “Thank you for your advice.”
“You’re not going to listen to me are you?”
She paid her bill.
“You’re going to get your feelings hurt,” Vera said as she watched the woman walk out the door.
* * *
“Eight thousand dollars?” Trenton stared at his vet, Dr. Khan, a straightlaced man with a bushy mustache. “But I don’t have eight thousand dollars.”
“She needs the surgery.”
“I know, you’ve made that clear but…” Trenton let out a tired sigh. After losing his job and getting his divorce he’d barely managed to stay afloat this long.
“She’s really sick and the tumor is growing fast,” Dr. Khan continued. “The medicine keeps the pain to a manageable level but it only hides the symptoms.”
“How long does she have?”
“Three months, maybe four.”
Trenton hung his head.
“There’s another option.”
Trenton looked up hopefully.
“You could put her down.”
“No.”
“I’m just laying out your options.”
Trenton shook his head, adamant. “No, I’ll figure out something.”
“Do you have any kind of pet insurance?”
“Hell, I don’t even have insurance.” He stood and held out his hand. “Thanks for what you’ve done.”
“I haven’t done anything yet.”
“Thanks anyway. At least I know what I’m facing.”
Moments later, Trenton helped Layla, his beloved golden lab, into the truck. It was getting harder and harder for her to make the leap from the cab of the truck to the driveway. He sat beside her and stared out the windshield. She nudged his hand and he petted her then she licked him, making him smile. “You don’t even know that you’re dying, do you?”
She licked him again.
“Or maybe you do and you have just accepted it.” But he couldn’t. Layla was all he had left. She’d been his companion for seven years: through the scandal, his eventual dismissal and the disintegration of his marriage. Without her there would be nothing left. Eight thousand dollars. Money he didn’t have, but he’d have to find a way to get it. He turned on the ignition. Unfortunately, he had nothing of value to sell. He’d sold everything so that he could live a town-to-town existence, which is what now made up his life. It was rootless, and consisted of him not settling or staying in one place for too long. Hell, he couldn’t even sell his story about the recent plane crash and how they’d survived in the wilderness, although reporters had been eager to write about him. He was likely old news anyway. Besides, he couldn’t risk public scrutiny even with a fake name. Somehow his past would be uncovered and then all that interest would turn to shame and disgust. Besides, he knew that it would only reveal that he was no hero. Something he’d once wanted to be.
As a child he’d devoured comic books and video games. On the playground he had been the rescuer. Off the playground he would save neighborhood pets like his best friend’s rabbit when it got swept down a drainpipe, or find a cat when it had gotten lost. His father, a doctor, let him pretend to bandage him up, giving him gentle correction when he made it too tight or too loose. His life had been privileged—graduating from college with honors, his parents were proud. They were even more proud when he married.
Everything was perfect until the accident and the fallout. He knew his parents wanted to believe in his innocence, but he still couldn’t look his father in the eye, just in case he saw a hint of doubt. That would crush him. They had been there with him throughout the entire trial and afterward. He had been reduced to moving into their house after his wife left him and he was basically penniless. His parents had paid all his court expenses, but he didn’t want to live off them for the rest of
his life. So, following the verdict and then the civil suit that was brought a couple months later, his only choice was to get out of town. He hadn’t meant to hurt them, and wished he could see them again. He missed his mother’s home cooking. She was originally from the Bahamas and loved to cook his favorite treats. He missed spending time with his father, who was a Southern boy who knew how to cook anything on a grill. Remembering those times filled him with a deep ache. At times when he closed his eyes he could picture zucchini on the grill, hear his mother humming as she baked. Most times though, what he missed most was flying. He remembered taking his father on his first solo flight, and seeing his father’s face beaming with pride.
But that didn’t matter now. They still had his sister and her family to dote on. Their disgraced son would never darken their world or cause them any more anguish. They were better off without him. Everyone was. Where he lived now, way up in the mountains in northern Maryland, seemed so far from his years growing up in Delaware and Pennsylvania. The rush of excitement of his old life was far removed from the quiet small town he now called home. He felt bad taking off for good. His original plan was to escape for a few days. He needed to figure out how to rebuild his life, but as the days passed he came to realize that there was nothing to rebuild. He could never live again, he’d always just exist. That’s what he deserved. He had dedicated his life to helping others but had ended up taking one instead. Now he worked as a volunteer emergency medical technician, or EMT as they were called, with the local fire department and made extra money doing odd jobs, and that was fine with him.
When Trenton reached his property, he drove up his long driveway and spotted a car. He hit his steering wheel and swore—it was Vera’s. He’d been warned about her, but hadn’t listened. One day he’d made the mistake of offering her a smile and accepting her offer of a free cup of coffee and a doughnut. He hadn’t been able to get rid of her since. An attractive woman of fifty-three, she treated him like a son, which meant she thought all his business was hers, too, and she rarely gave him space. What was worse was that she kept trying to fix him up with her daughter, Emma.
He thought of backing out but she saw him and waved. He faked a quick grin and waved back. He groaned when he saw her open her trunk; that meant she planned to stay awhile.
“Layla, if you want to run away, I understand,” Trenton said in low tones as he got out of the truck. He noticed Vera was carrying a basket of food and resigned himself to his fate. At least that was something she and her daughter knew how to do and he was a man who enjoyed a good meal.
“Well?” she said as he walked up to his house.
“Well what?”
“I know you took Layla to the vet. What did he say?”
Of course she’d know, there were few secrets in Sykesville, except his past. Trenton went up the steps and put the key in the front door lock and turned the handle a bit too hard as he remembered the outcome of his visit to the vet. “He said I need eight thousand for surgery.” He looked at Layla, who had decided to stop and rest beside the truck. The late-spring sun touched her golden coat making it seem to sparkle like an angel. No, he wouldn’t think about death.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hmm.” He went inside knowing he didn’t need to offer Vera an invitation, she would come in anyway, which she did and pushed past him to head into the kitchen.
Trenton set his keys on the counter. “I told you that you don’t have to cook for me.”
“Someone has to look after you.” She opened his fridge. There were three bottles of beer, a carton of juice and a half-eaten loaf of bread. “I rest my case.”
“I eat in town,” he said, watching her put several packs of herbal teas in his cupboard. Emma was always giving him tea, even though he was a solid coffee man.
“Rarely. You’re too skinny. You need a woman.”
“I had a woman.”
“You need another one.”
Trenton hesitated, wanting to choose his words carefully. “Vera, Emma is a very nice girl. I’m just not looking for that right now.”
“Nothing’s wrong with being friends.”
“We are friends.”
“You could be close friends.”
“I’m not close to anyone.”
“Still, you haven’t invited her over for a while.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You work too hard.” She finished stocking his fridge and closed the door. “Oh, by the way, there was a woman looking for you.”
Trenton paused. “A woman? Looking for me?”
“Yes, asking questions.”
“Oh, another reporter,” Trenton said, losing interest.
Vera shook her head. “Nope, not a reporter. She didn’t give off that energy. She’s not aggressive enough. Very composed, but definitely not hard-edged.”
Could Fayola have found him? Damn, after all these years did she still think they could get back together? Had she changed her mind and realized she’d been wrong about him? Why did he still care? He had no one to share his deepest pain—that of losing his wife. They had met while he was at university. He was a senior, she was a freshman. He waited three years before they got married. He remembered knowing she was his soul mate. Her father was Nigerian and her mother was from the South, similar to the cultural mix of his family. They both took pride in their heritage and firmly enjoyed spending time together watching their favorite sports teams from home. She loved cricket while he loved soccer. They both loved to dance and couldn’t find enough time going to different restaurants and dancing venues for all-night dates out. She was all that he had wanted in a woman. Smart, confident, beautiful and sexy. They had so many plans for the future; a home in Nigeria and a vacation home in South Carolina. They would have three, no two children, a boy and a girl… Richard snapped out of his fantasy… No, it couldn’t be Fayola. She had no use for him now, but maybe… “What did she look like?”
“Like a sugar plum fairy.”
He frowned. “What?”
“You know,” Vera said with an impatient flick of the wrist. “All sweetness and light, like a gingerbread cookie. She had a mess of curly dark blackish-brown hair, big brown eyes and cupid bow lips.”
No, that definitely wasn’t Fayola. No one would ever describe her as sweet. Sweet would describe that woman he’d met after surviving the crash. The one with cheeks like caramel apples, hair like cotton candy and lips like strawberries dipped in melted sugar. But she was more than just sweetness, she had an iron will. She’d taken control after he’d landed the plane and he’d depended on her to follow his lead. If he’d had a chance he would have led her down a more passionate road than that of a simple kiss.
“So you do know her?” Vera said, sending him a curious glance.
“Who?”
“The woman I just described. The one at the diner.”
“No, I don’t.” He blinked. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you’re smiling. You don’t do that often.”
Trenton let his smile fall. “I was just remembering something.” No, it couldn’t be her either, but it was a nice thought. “I really have some work to do.”
“Well, I just thought I’d warn you. She seems determined to talk to you.”
“Don’t worry, Vera. I’ll handle her. Whoever she is.”
* * *
Duane Martin slammed down the phone and sat back. The bastard was still alive. Dr. Brooks had called him, saying some woman was searching for Sheppard and knew where he was. He’d always known that it was possible that Sheppard was still alive, but had somehow hoped it wasn’t. “Time heals all wounds,” his therapist had said, but he knew that was a bunch of crap. Years later and the death of his wife still tore him up. He’d spent a year in Japan and another in Turkey just to get rid of every memory of his old life. It hadn’
t worked. He’d meditated, fasted, juiced, cleansed but nothing seemed to work. He even tried a brief affair, but it just got messy. He felt himself slowly growing crazy.
He picked up the newspaper Dr. Brooks had sent him and gripped it when he saw the grainy image. He saw the face of the man who’d stolen his life from him. Who’d forced him to bury his hopes and dreams for the future. They were calling him a hero! He sank down into a chair and read the story again, trying to keep the bile from rising in his throat. No, maybe he was just a look-alike. They were calling this guy Richard Engleright.
But no, he’d recognize that bastard anywhere, no matter how much time had passed. Dr. Brooks was right. The only way to get his life back was not to run away, but to confront his fears. He’d show the world who Richard Engleright really was and now he knew where to find him.
Chapter 6
She wasn’t going to make it. Few cars made it up his front driveway. He’d designed it that way, so he always took the back route to his house, which only a few town regulars knew about. The front entrance was an obstacle course that consisted of deep inclines, ruts and rocks. Trenton saw her car tire get stuck and grinned, pleased. Now he had her, whoever she was. She’d probably call a tow truck service to help. He started to turn when he saw the woman get out of the car. His heart stopped. Damn, it was her! He’d recognize that mass of hair anywhere. Even from this distance she had that calm, sweet quality he’d seen on the plane and after the crash. She was a great person to have at one’s side at a time of tragedy—a man could use a woman like that. He didn’t even have to imagine what she felt like or how she tasted because he knew. He’d been glad to take the chance when he could. She’d given him some nice memories. He knew that she’d not only be great by a man’s side, but in his bed, as well. He frowned, annoyed by his thoughts. Some other man. Not him. Still, he watched her, mesmerized, as she seemed to assess the situation then glance around. She spotted a board and placed it under the tire. He felt a smile on his lips. Smart girl. She was resourceful, he had to give her that. She got in the car and drove over the board and up the drive only to face another obstacle—a fence with a bolt lock no one could get past. Sorry, Ginger, you’re not welcome on this island.
