Perfect Paige

by Ines Saint

  Paige got down to eye level. “No, honey, that wasn’t Bessie White. Daddy and I promised you, there are no such things as ghosts. Grandma and I were . . . playing hide-and-seek with an old friend, who happens to dress in white at night. And I won.”

  Tyler tilted his head and gave her a look. “You were playing hide-and-seek outside after midnight? With Grandma?”

  Paige got up and began leading him back up the stairs. Alex followed. “It’s, uh, a version of the game we’ve played for years. One of us gets a phone call telling us that the game is on, and then we all go out and seek our hider. We played here today because I don’t want to leave you two alone.”

  The odd thing was, Paige looked and sounded like she was telling the truth, which, in Alex’s experience, meant it was a close-enough version of the truth. Even Tyler looked stumped, as if he had no choice but to believe that incredible explanation.

  “I heard something under my bed and in the closet, though. Maybe it was Clyde Cupcake. Or Mad Madeline.” His eyes got real big. “They say she’s the craziest.”

  Paige smiled. “Ghost stories can be fun, but they used to upset me, too. How about we check under your bed, and then your closet, from top to bottom, so you can see there’s nothing there? We can check out the entire apartment if you’d like, but you have to promise to close your eyes and try to sleep afterward.”

  “Can he check?” Tyler asked, eyeing Alex. “He has muscles.”

  Alex felt a tug at his lips. In general, he didn’t get kids. Their sole means of negotiating was to whine in nasal voices, they asked too many questions, and more often than not, they had sticky and snotty hands and faces. Boyd’s daughters had messed up his pants more than a few times, although he tolerated those two well enough. Their questions were smart, for the most part. And they liked sports. Only thing was, he felt pain near his chest whenever they hugged him. It was mighty uncomfortable. He didn’t like thinking about it.

  He cleared his throat. “After seeing your mom’s tackle, kid, I think she’s tougher than I am. I’m a stranger. And I’m sure you know you shouldn’t invite a stranger into your apartment.”

  Tyler sighed. “Okay. Come on, Mom,” he said in a defeated voice.

  But Alex tugged at Paige’s shirt just before she went back inside. “I’ll wait here,” he said in a low, but firm tone.

  “For what?” she hissed.

  “An explanation.”

  “Then bring a pillow and prepare to wait all night.”

  “You want me talking about exactly who and what I saw around town?”

  “Another threat. How surprising.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine. I’ll come out when Tyler falls asleep.”

  Alex sat and waited patiently, knowing full well he shouldn’t have threatened to tell people in town what he’d seen. He’d been out of line, but the whole situation was beginning to feel unreal. The gaggle of women, Paige pretending to flirt, and now ghosts . . .

  * * *

  Nearly half an hour later, Paige came back out. Angry that he had forced her to talk to him about things that were none of his business and had nothing to with the case, she’d cleaned the entire kitchen just to make him wait.

  “So, Bessie White is an old friend?” he asked, smiling. She didn’t buy the smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.

  “Oh yeah. We go way back. She’s been hounding me for years.”

  “Well, the woman I saw tonight was definitely a ghost, I’ll give you that.” When she didn’t answer or even deign to look at him, he said, “Hey, look, I’m sorry I said I’d spread what I saw around town. I wouldn’t do that.”

  Surprised he was willing to drop the subject, and shocked he’d apologized for something, Paige thought quickly. Their association thus far had consisted of power, threats, and no guarantees on his side, and expected cooperation “or else” on hers. Now he was pretending to make nice. As much as she wanted to issue a threat of her own, her best bet was to play along. But all she could manage was, “Well, it’s good to know you draw a line somewhere.”

  “I do. I draw the line at interrogating ghosts.”

  No doubt he was trying to be funny. He was pretty bad at it. She couldn’t even pretend to crack a smile.

  He cleared his throat. “Tell me about the real Bessie White. Why does she haunt this street?”

  Paige sighed. He was trying hard and he’d apologized. He could be ready to renegotiate. There was one way to find out. She pointed to an illuminated bridge they could both see through the three windows in front of the stairs. “Bessie White is said to haunt the Water Street Bridge over there. She was having an affair with the town’s very first mayor, who was also courting a wealthy widow. Bessie arranged to meet him at midnight, on a moonless night, to tell him she was pregnant. She even wore a white dress, to hint at a wedding. When she told him her news, he pushed her off the bridge, hoping to make it look like a suicide. But he was caught. Though it was a moonless night, and it was dark, a few people heard the scream, ran out, and saw the mayor running away. When they looked over the bridge and into the water, it was too late. Bessie was dead. She’d hit her head on a rock. Blood pooled in the water, and the white dress billowed about her. On moonless nights, they say you can see her walking up the street, in her bloody white dress, wailing. So I guess we won’t see her tonight because the moon is bright and there are plenty of stars out.”

  “And who was Clyde Cupcake?” he asked next.

  Knowing he couldn’t care less about the street’s sordid history, Paige turned to study him. His eyes didn’t leave hers. It was somewhat disconcerting, but she wouldn’t be weak and look away. “Clyde Cupcake’s real name was Clyde Stake. He was a custodian for most of the businesses downtown, including a bakery owned by one of Ruby’s ancestors, Tilda Meriwether. Every night, he’d sneak a few cupcakes, but she’d let him, figuring they were already mostly stale anyway. But then he stole her most prized recipe and sold it to a competitor. When Tilda found out, she cursed a cupcake with a truth-telling curse—so he’d confess his crime to the judge—and she made the cupcake extra enticing so he’d be sure to eat it. The next morning, he was found dead on the sidewalk in front of the judge’s house, which is the mansion next door. He was still holding the cupcake in his hand. Ruby says Tilda must’ve mixed up her curses, while Rosa says he was probably just allergic to the special almond frosting she’d whipped up.”

  Agent Hooke stretched his long legs out in front of him. “And how does Clyde Cupcake let his presence be known?”

  “He smashes pink frosting on every door on this street, every year on the anniversary of his death.”

  He laughed. “That’s one case I’d have fun solving. Who really smashes the pink frosting? My money’s on Ruby.”

  Paige grinned at that. But the action confused her. Should she be smiling at the enemy’s jokes? No, she shouldn’t. But gaining goodwill couldn’t hurt. Before he could ask, she proceeded to tell him about Mad Madeline. “If you hear dishes breaking while jazz music plays, it’s Mad Madeline. She lived two houses down during the Roaring Twenties, and she and her husband were said to be Spinning Hill’s sweethearts. The toast of the town. Everyone wanted to be Madeline. Her husband was rich and successful; they lived in the biggest, most beautiful house in town; they hosted lavish parties at least once a month, and she was always the star. They say she glittered and sparkled.”

  “She sounds like you.” It was said in a thoughtful, matter-of-fact tone, but it caught her off guard.

  Humans didn’t glitter and sparkle. All he knew was the past eight years of her life, and he held her in contempt over what he believed to be the truth about her. That afternoon, she’d hoped to throw him off balance, to get him to question his assessments so he’d change gears and stop with the threats. It was now or never. “I don’t see how. Mad Madeline came from money, and lots of it. I didn’t. In Hidden Bend, part of me was always unsure I was doing or saying the right thing. In the neighborhood where I grew up, people tell it like i
t is, and there’s no point in keeping up appearances because no one can afford the smoke and mirrors.” She got up as she spoke, knowing she was saying what needed to be said, but not wanting to dig any deeper.

  She’d been through enough that day. More than enough. Her life had been turned inside out four months before, and today it had been turned upside down, as well. She was exhausted.

  Alex gazed up at her, his eyes narrowed in thought. “You grew up in a neighborhood called Oak View Estates . . . the town of Oak View isn’t as affluent a community as Hidden Bend, but it’s up there.” It was as if he wanted to know what she was talking about. Yeah, right.

  “You’re right. It is. And with a word like estates in it, then my old neighborhood must be one of the nicest in town, right? Because in life, everything is just like it reads on a piece of paper.” Paige shook her head. “Good night, Agent Hooke.”

  * * *

  Alex stared at the door Paige had just shut. It had been a long day, and though their little chat had been nothing more than give a little; get a little, it had also been a strange, but needed respite.

  But it was over now and she had given him something new to think about. He went back to 2B, fired up his laptop, and loaded Google Earth. He zoomed in and got a good look at a well-kept, but obviously old trailer park, on the fringe of Oak View. He studied the pixelated close-up, more surprised than he would’ve liked, though it had nothing to do with the case. Paige had been completely cleared of any wrongdoing early on, and so he’d never taken a closer look at her profile.

  He pulled up her file and scanned over everything he knew, down to the second paragraph in the section titled “Family Background.”

  Sisters: Miss Hope Piper, Miss Grace Dearborn. Father: Benny Piper. Mother: Laura Piper, nee Stokes (both dead). Grandmother: Sherry Stokes, nee Dearborn.

  Part of what he wanted to know was right there, in black and white, the way he liked it. Except this time, the information there only brought up more questions. Why had Sherry, who seemed like a doting grandmother, allowed her granddaughters to live in a trailer park on the fringe of a wealthy suburb? How had Paige’s parents died? And why did Gracie use Sherry’s maiden name?

  Annoyed at himself, because none of it had anything to do with the assignment at hand—an assignment he had less than two weeks to complete, and for which he needed to sleep in order to be sharp—he did a few quick searches.

  Laura Piper, a former public relations manager for a local supermarket chain, had died of acute alcohol poisoning when Paige was twenty-one. Her father, a nurse, had been in a car accident when Paige was ten.

  And the results that turned up when he entered the name Grace Piper along with Oak View made his heart ache in a way it hadn’t ached since he’d seen the disfigured child in the stairwell. It also made him just as angry at the world. No wonder she’d changed her name.

  When he searched for Hope, he found an impressive, sterling résumé. . . and one startling fact that only popped up in the National Data Exchange.

  The dates all matched up. Everything had happened while Paige had been away at school, getting the nursing degree that Hope had called a pre-wed, while, according to an old ad he’d found, Paige cleaned houses, most likely to fill the gaps between her scholarships and expenses.

  Alex blew out a breath, wishing he’d never looked. Now he was more curious than before about where Sherry had been when the girls were growing up. They seemed like a tight-knit family. It made no sense. And he was wasting time thinking about it, mad that he’d even started down this road. What had started out as a means to figure out what Paige was up to in regards to the case now felt like an intrusion into her personal life.

  And that’s when it hit him. Like a bolt of shame straight to his pride.

  He had started down this road because Paige had led him straight to it. Because in life, everything is just like it reads on a piece of paper. She wanted him to look beyond the case and see they were people, too. Why? Probably because she trusted him to keep his side of the bargain about as much as he trusted her to fully cooperate without threats.

  When things slowed down, Paige might remember something important if she hadn’t already. Something Glenn could have said or asked about Spinning Hills. Something that could lead to the journal. It was a possibility. If she didn’t trust him, she could decide to use any information she remembered to find the damn thing herself, for leverage. That would be a mistake . . . and it would be partly his fault, for repeatedly threatening her instead of trying to gain her trust. He hit Rewind on every interaction he’d had with Paige since he’d met her, this time zeroing in on his actions instead of hers. There was a lesson there, and he meant to learn it.

  * * *

  There was no way Paige could sleep. The day had been full of too many emotional lows. She knew she should be busy planning their new future, but everything had happened so fast, there was no way to keep her mind from drifting to the past, to figure out where she’d gone wrong.

  She thought back to life in Oak View. All the perfect kids with the perfect families. Dads or moms or both had great jobs, and the families balanced putting the kids first in an organized, workable way, with huge calendars on kitchen walls detailing where everyone had to be at any given time.

  Her favorite family had been the Carters. The dad was a pediatric neurosurgeon, and the mom was a teacher, but she’d stayed home to take care of the kids. The whole family was beautiful, kind, and generous, and everyone looked up to them. The kids each played two sports, one instrument, and had straight As. Everyone in town respected them. Everyone wanted to know them. To be their friend.

  To be just like them.

  And where others sometimes shunned Paige as a friend for their daughters, Mrs. Carter had always treated her with respect and admiration, for her good grades and manners. She had also been the only one to defend Gracie . . .

  Paige had adored her mom, but she wanted to be like Laura Carter, not Laura Piper. It had felt like a sign that they’d had the same first name. Two Lauras. Two paths.

  Laura Carter had written a happily-ever-after for herself by making good decisions on every page, while Laura Piper had started sneaking sips of her father’s liquor when she was just thirteen. Nobody realized it, nobody even knew how it had all begun until those final days in the hospital, when there was nothing left to do but talk, and wait, and love. It was one of those things . . . somebody’s fault? Yes. No. Maybe. Plenty of blame, plenty of reasons, plenty of excuses. Stories were more than words. Even black and white was more than just black and white.

  But it ended up being everyone’s burden. A bad gene. A dark disease. Good, but clueless parents. Good, but clueless husband. And by the time Laura Piper was thirty, married, and had three kids, she was an alcoholic.

  Paige had vowed to make good decisions. Yet somehow, she’d failed. Again. What did the Laura Carters of the world know that she didn’t? Tears threatened to fall, but she held them at bay, forcing herself to scan her memory and think of a successful single mom she could use as inspiration.

  Jill Walsh came to mind. A marketing executive. Her husband had left her for an old girlfriend out West, but had then moved back with his new girlfriend to still be near his kids. But Jill hadn’t run. She’d stayed and used her marketing skills to carve out a wildly successful career selling really pretty jewelry.

  In a town with few divorced families, everyone had learned to look up to Jill Walsh. With the advantage that Jill had learned who her real friends were in the process.

  An idea began to take shape, and Paige drifted off to sleep, thinking about ways she could make it happen.

  The next morning, she ushered the kids out of bed, energized by her new idea.

  First stop; the Gypsy Fortune Café and Bakery because the Wi-Fi there was faster. Her first goal was to put up ads to sell her car ASAP so she could put some money away and buy a good, used minivan. The lawyers had already negotiated that both she and Glenn would keep their res
pective cars in the divorce, but she’d still need his signature.

  She was about to hit Submit on the ad, but mixed feelings got in the way. At first, she’d been uncomfortable with the one-hundred-and-fifteen-thousand-dollar Range Rover Supercharged. Deep down, she’d known Glenn had gotten it only because Hope had bought herself the car of her dreams, a Mercedes-AMG GT S, and Glenn had wanted to compete by buying something a little more expensive. Glenn had blamed Paige’s discomfort on the fact that she wasn’t used to luxury, but it hadn’t been that. Most everyone had interests, passions, or extravagances they were willing to spend on, but cars had never been Paige’s “thing.”

  Until the moment she’d started driving it. Wherever she went, she’d been treated with instant respect. It had been a heady experience. It had made life a lot easier, she wouldn’t deny it.

  She also couldn’t deny the respect had never felt authentic. Hope commanded respect wherever she went, no matter what she drove or what she wore, so when Hope bought anything for herself, it had nothing to do with what people thought. Paige had once been like that, too. What had happened? She shook her head and hit the Submit button for the ad feeling a mixture of reluctance and conviction. A lot of her decisions going forward were bound to feel that way. Focusing on conviction would help until she made peace with it all.

  Next, she set up a spreadsheet and was about to begin doing some research when Ruby, Rosa, and Grandma Sherry surrounded her. Grandma Sherry whipped out five days’ worth of newspapers. “I’ve highlighted nursing jobs that ask for little to no experience. It’s a good thing Hope pestered you into keeping your license current.” She leaned over and pointed to one that she’d circled, highlighted, and asterisked. “This one here says it’s the seven a.m. to three p.m. shift at the Children’s Hospital, and it’s only fifteen minutes away. I wake up at five thirty every day, anyway, and I can come over while the kids sleep and before it’s time to get them ready for school, and then you could be off of work in time to pick them up. It’s perfect.”