A Chance Mistake

by Jackie Zack

  A Chance Mistake

  Jackie Zack

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of persons living or dead and events are coincidental. Any actual place is used factiously.

  Images used under license from Shutterstock.com.

  Copyright © 2015 Jane Simerman

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-1514638828

  ISBN-10: 1514638827

  Dedicated to you, the reader.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to my wonderful family, friends, and ACFW critique group. All of you are the best.

  Who ever loved that loved not

  at first sight?

  ~Christopher Marlowe

  Chapter 1

  Kory Slate stepped aboard the jet with seconds to spare, and he wasn’t the only one arriving late. Two men hurried one pace behind him and entered. A flight attendant slid the door shut with a gliding, whooshing sound. As Kory strode to his seat, the accordion walkway slid away from the plane. Each window he passed by gave a slightly different perspective of the retracting motion against gray clouds. Why had he chosen to go out of the country? Not his plan at all.

  His paranoid editor had been right, at least about one thing. Kory needed an updated passport. Good thing he got one and had it on him. In the back of his mind, he must’ve toyed with a foreign desti-nation. But Wales?

  He hefted his backpack in the overflowing compartment above his seat and jammed it in. He dropped down into the aisle seat. A quick glance over his shoulder told him the two men had found seats—aisle seats cattycornered from him. One man sat four seats behind him and the other six. Weird. Nothing stood out about their appearance, except the taller one closest to him had tattered green shoe laces.

  If he had to identify them in a line-up, it would be near impossible. Both had a medium build. Their jeans with muted t-shirts and hoodies could belong to anyone.

  Kind of took on the air of his first manuscript that lay moldering in his old bedroom closet. The hero of the story had been tailed for close to three months by two nefarious thugs. He was unaware of his shadows until the day he put it all together. The near fatal ‘accidents’ that the main character experienced were orchestrated.

  The novel seemed to capture his essence, since it had been his first attempt at storytelling. His close friends and family—well—the ones he could get to read it—raved about it. His editor said to keep his focus on the next new thing.

  Yeah, right. But with six best sellers in two and a half years, he needed to clear his mind. Step off the train for a while. Do a mental cleanse and stay away from Facebook. His editor had balked at Kory’s announcement that he was slipping off the grid for a couple of months, maybe more. No social media. No writing. And where was he going? Sorry, Ed. Can’t tell ya. Kory didn’t know the answer himself. Only that New York City wouldn’t be seeing him for quite some time.

  A blur caught his attention out of the corner of his eye, causing a sinking dread. Too much like his last book and, he hated to admit it, probably the real reason for the needed break. An unwanted shiver raced down his neck to his spine. Horror was his genre of choice. Why had he let himself get so freaked out? He turned to look over his shoulder. Both late-comers had their eyes on him, then glanced away.

  Should he wonder why they bought tickets at the last minute for the same location? His last minute destination based on chance. He pulled the quarter from his pocket. Heads again.

  ****

  Dafina Perry sat on a stool behind the counter and swung her leg under her long, white skirt with pink flowers. The morning had been quiet with only two customers browsing the bookstore. Her corgi looked up at her from the green and black checkered floor and pranced in a circle. “What do you want, Griff?”

  “He wants to go outside, he does.” Gweneth pushed her black framed glasses up her nose and tilted her head as she looked at the computer screen. Her white hair gained more fluffiness with the movement. The fly-away strands suspended on thin air. “Then you can put these new books in a window display.”

  “Looks interesting.” Dafina pulled a gray hardback from a box. The Unseen. Its cover art depicted a busy downtown scene at night. Shadowy type figures lurked around people who were oblivious to the transparent creatures. “Nice.”

  “Sarcastic.” Gweneth grinned and pointed at her. “I know you. But his books do sell. And he’s relatively new. Doubles the customer’s interest—you know—with his sexy picture.”

  “Huh?” Dafina jolted and nearly lost her balance.

  She’d never heard her boss talk that way in the ten years that she’d worked for her. Really? Gweneth thought the guy was sexy? He had to be some old guy with white hair and a beard. With cool reading glasses and a three piece suit. Dafina turned the book over. No. The bio listed him at thirty-two years of age. Only five years older than herself. Totally a guy she would think was sexy. But in a cute and innocent way…expressive eyes, fun eyebrows, smile with dimples—brown hair that turned to sandy colored. American. Her heart fluttered. She had to be terribly bad off to have a picture affect her that way.

  If anyone knew her plight, they wouldn’t blame her at all. Please, Lord. Wasn’t there a man on the face of the earth for her? Was she being too picky by waiting for the right one to show up? She didn’t want to make another mistake.

  “Come along, Griff.”

  The brown and white corgi stood, adding about four inches to his height and wagged his behind in lieu of having a tail. He whined and panted a smile.

  “Shhh. Now you know you can’t be loud in ‘ere.”

  Griff scurried to the back door, his toenails clicking on the tile.

  Dafina opened the door and Griff leapt into the grassy fenced-in yard. She loved what Gweneth had done with the yard. Boxwood bushes were formed and trimmed into giant chess pieces—a knight, three pawns, and a rook that were at the back. Old-fashioned rose bushes bloomed on either side and framed the iron claw-footed benches. Regulars enjoyed sitting out there with coffee and a book. Today their faithful customers must be busy.

  She breathed in the fresh air mixed with a soft scent of flowers. Griff raced around and lay down under a bench. “Okay poppet. You can stay there awhile.”

  She stretched her arms in the sunshine then headed inside. As she stepped up into the store, dog tags clinked and a scuffling noise sounded of paws racing along a path. Griff’s warm, furry body bumped into her ankle. Staying outside didn’t last long. What did the little dog think? He didn’t like her to get out of his sight. Was he afraid of being abandoned? Did he have a compulsion to protect her? “You’re a mystery, yourself, you are.”

  “Eh?” Gweneth leaned from behind a bookcase.

  “Griff.”

  “Oh.” She disappeared back behind the shelves with a book in hand. “Don’t forget the new books.”

  “I won’t.” How could she forget the handsome author? She perused the box. Four each of six different books. Same smiling face on the back, although in different locations. One in front of a bookcase. One a black background, a forested area, by an old house, a chain fence, an alley. Each
picture corresponded with the cover art. Brilliant. “But he writes horror?”

  “Hmm?” Gweneth partially reappeared, her eyes peeping above books.

  “He smiles in each picture in plucky form, but the stories must be pretty gruesome, eh? You know, blood, guts, that sort of thing. Not my cup of tea, it is.”

  “Oh, go on now. Give it a try. Can’t be that bad. You do like a good mystery. That’s not too far away from that type of book.”

  For an answer Dafina scrunched up her nose. The genres seemed a world apart. She moved books out of the window and replaced them with Kory Slate’s. There. The customer could see the cover and she the author. “Alrighty then, which one?”

  “The one that takes your fancy.” Gweneth nodded.

  If only finding a man were that easy. The doorbell jingled. Ah, great. A customer. But he looked like—her eyes darted to the window display.

  ****

  Kory couldn’t believe he was actually in another country with foreign currency in his billfold. A bus had taken him away from the Cardiff airport, and he’d decided not to get off at the first stop or the second or third. A name of a store caught his attention and the books in the window gave him a rush. He jumped off at the next stop and made his way back.

  At first, he didn’t think he could find the place, but there it was—the old, dark green store with gold lettering. “It’s a Mystery.” He could identify. The door jingled softly as he pushed it open and stepped inside.

  Someone stared at him; he felt the person’s eyes boring into him. Next to the checkout desk, sat a vision from heaven with long, wavy, platinum blonde hair. Face—beautiful, wistful. Aquamarine eyes with black lashes, dark blonde eyebrows with an intelligent arch, and soft, pink lips that matched the color of her sweater and the flowers in her skirt. The lips moved and said something, but apparently he’d gone deaf—and dumb.

  “Can we help you?” A voice came, but not from his vision’s mouth.

  He turned his head toward the sound, but his eyes wouldn’t move away from her. With sheer determination, he moved his gaze. An older lady with white hair must’ve been the one who spoke. Her hair floated on the air. Was it due to an electric shock?

  “Something in particular you’re after?” The white-haired lady spoke again, rolling her Rs.

  He shook his head. “Just browsing.”

  But wait, he was looking for a map. The platinum blonde had taken away his ability to think. What had she said to him? Could she tell that he was clueless? He moved toward a shelf of hardback books. Did she still have her steady gaze on him? Whew. He broke out in a sweat. Hopefully he didn’t stink, too. Come on—antiperspirant.

  He pulled out a book, any book, to look like he was normal and several clung to the one he took. They promptly tumbled off the shelf and slipped out of his grasp. No! He squatted down to the floor like he’d been shot and picked them up. His face turned hot and felt like it was swelling up like a balloon. The best in erotic thrillers. No—no—no! They probably thought he was a real creep now. He pushed them back on the shelf, and as calmly as he could, strolled to the next aisle over, daring a glance at the platinum princess. She was looking. A dog sat at her feet. He was looking, too, getting ready for attack mode. At least the dog was close to the ground. A bite on the ankle would be the only possible damage.

  Clicking noises headed in his direction.

  “Griff.” Not the older lady’s voice. Had to be the platinum princess.

  The short dog stood by his shoes and looked up. Both ears at full attention, head angled to the side.

  “Hi, fella.” Kory bent down to scratch the dog’s chin and got his hand licked in the process.

  “Griff, come along.”

  The dog jumped to attention and scurried back to the owner of the voice. Kory wasn’t in the habit of thinking that dogs were cute, but that one—he’d never seen one quite like it.

  He meandered through the store and found a section of blank journals. The leather covered ones set his imagination on full throttle. Drat it all. He hadn’t been writing for two, maybe three days and now, all he wanted to do was write. He picked one up, held it in his hands, and breathed in the rich leather and paper smell.

  A movement caught the corner of his eye. His muscles tensed, and he turned to face it. Thank goodness. Only the beautiful woman. Had she seen him smell the journal? How could he have made a worst first impression? First erotic books then smelling things in their store.

  “Anything I cane help ew find?” The words came in a lovely Welsh accent. Her expression unwavering, cool, and aloof.

  Did he need something? There was something. “Uh…oh. Do you have any pens?” Definitely, he would need some.

  “We do. See there down below?” She motioned.

  “Ah, thank you. Oh—and maps? I need a map of Wales.”

  “Up by the checkout then.” She nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Yes.” Why hadn’t he thought to ask before? “What reading material would you recommend—for a mystery?”

  She smiled, ever so slightly. “This way.”

  He followed her to the back of the store. A teal door with a window gave entrance to a relaxing outdoor area with a bench, from what he could see.

  “Here you go.” She motioned to a bookcase of paperbacks.

  Agatha Christie. “Thanks.” He smiled. “Which one would you personally choose?”

  “The Man in the Brown Suit.” She blinked and scrutinized his khaki Dockers and dark brown sweater.

  “Okay.” He picked it up and added it to his collection. And he’d wanted to travel light.

  “I would tell you to get the Unseen, by Kory Slate, but I’ve only just started reading it.”

  A lightning bolt seemed to shoot his heart. Was it because she’d said his name in her attractive accent? Did she know who he was and meant to tease? Her expression wasn’t telling.

  Chapter 2

  “Are you into reading horror?” Kory looked for a name tag on her person. No such luck.

  “Actually, no.”

  “Uh, well. Don’t bother with that one.”

  “Why is that?” She turned to head back to the desk. “I thought it seemed quite the solid scare. Hits you like bleach sort of tale.”

  When he didn’t answer, she turned to study his expression.

  He rubbed his forehead. How could he tell her? Ah, maybe it was nothing. His nerves were paper thin due to all the stress. Thanks to crank-another-one-out Ed. To be fair, it wasn’t all his fault. “The plot is weak.”

  “Really, now?”

  He nodded. The plot wasn’t weak. It twisted and turned like an old oak tree’s roots trying to grow in the remains of a buried junk yard next to a cemetery. But there could be someone on the face of the earth who thought so.

  When they reached the counter, she gave him a closed lip smile and showed him the back of The Unseen.

  He lifted his eyebrows. “What? You think that’s me?”

  “It’s not you?” She scrutinized the book. “Could you smile for me?”

  Could he indeed. He gave her a fake, cheesy grin. Her fingertips covered part of her lips as she laughed. The platinum princess got a genuine smile out of him.

  “It is you. Plus you’re wearing the same sweater as your picture on the first book.”

  He winced, took in a breath which he held, and nodded. “You’re right. It’s me.”

  “Why on earth would you talk someone out of reading your book?” Her eyes widened. She waited four seconds for an answer as he tried to formulate it into words then said, “Are you ready to ring up?”

  “Yes.” He handed over the items and added a paper fold-up map. “It’s…too…over the top.”

  “Top of what?” She typed on a calculator.

  “The phrase you used. Hits you like bleach?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s worse than that. In fact, you might want some bleach when you’re done reading it. It’s not worth it. Agatha Christie is much better.�
��

  “Eh…well.” She acted like his words had no meaning and slipped his items in a bag.

  He read the amount on the read-out screen and handed her some bills. It almost seemed she’d forgotten he had to pay.

  She took the currency, counted it, and handed him some coins. “So you’re a long way from home? What brings you to Wales?”

  “It’s complicated.” He hated the worn out phrase.

  “More complicated than your book?” She batted eyelashes at him. Oh, she was a spunky one.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, have a good day. Come again.”

  “I will.” He laughed at her light-hearted teasing attempt to shoo him away, since he gave no further information. “Oh, could you tell me where I can get a mountain bike?”

  “Surely. Next door at the antique shop. He sells bikes, too. Has some in the back, he does.” She sat on the stool. “Riding some trails while you’re here?”

  “I thought I would. That way I can take my time and see all the beauty that is Wales.” Watch it Kory. That was a bit on the sarcastic side. But what he’d seen so far was like a dream—a good one of a far way place with old-world buildings. And the princess was—

  “Do a lot of biking, do you?”

  He blew out air in a whooshing sound. What had happened to him? He’d turned into an old teapot. “Not since I was a kid.”

  “Think you still can?” She seemed to take inventory of his leg muscles.

  “I should. Since a person is able to remember doing it. Just like riding a bike.”

  “Some of the mountain trails are pretty tricky, I suspect. One wrong turn and vroom.” Her hand did a swan dive off the desk. “Why don’t you rent a car?”

  Oh, boy. “Er…um.” She was going to think he was nuts. “I haven’t driven a car in…about…ten years.”

  “What?”

  He’d enjoyed watching her eyes get bigger with each part of his sentence. “I live in New York City. No cause for a car there. I take the subway, a bus, or a taxi. Or I walk.”