It would be better to just leave. Immediately. She turned to the closet to retrieve her suitcase, the one she always kept ready. As she reached for the handle of the case, tears rolled down her cheeks. Before she knew it, gulping sobs wracked her frame. She sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her middle, and rocked. Why was this happening to her? Hadn’t Jeffrey been bad enough? What had she done to deserve this?
She needed to let Myra know. But her boss was out of touch, somewhere between here and Florida. Anne knew she couldn’t just take off and leave the woman who had given her a job, found her a home, and helped her rebuild herself. Besides, she couldn’t just take off without a plan. Where would she go, what would she do? She’d come here with nothing, and she could leave with nothing if she had to do so.
Anne sniffed and brushed away her tears. Why was she acting like the heroine in some gaslight melodrama? She was made of tougher stuff. It was just a letter and a bunch of creepy flowers. No one had threatened her or tried to hurt her. She’d survived Jeffrey’s fists, survived being dumped from his car, survived the loss of their child. Compared to those things, this was a harmless prank, nothing more. Still shivering, she curled up on the bed and pulled the blankets over herself.
Maybe I’m coming down with something, she thought.
The cozy bed made her realize how exhausted she was. It wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes and take a little nap before going back to the shop for the quilt group’s meeting.
****
Brad turned the car onto Wilson Avenue, slowing down as he approached The Stitching Post, hoping for a glimpse of Anne as he drove by on his way to pick Jennie up from an extra piano lesson at Mrs. McGuire’s house. He drove past the shop a lot these days, quite often going out of his way to do so, like an adolescent boy finding excuses to drive past the house of a girl he liked on the off chance he’d see her. Since the quilt group met that evening, Brad figured his odds of seeing Anne would be almost assured.
Good thing I didn’t play those odds, Brad thought with chagrin when he reached the quilt shop and found it dark with the all shades drawn. Still, it was very unusual for the place to be closed. Anne had recently told him how the group members almost always arrived before the shop closed for the day just to set up for their weekly pot luck. So, where was Anne? Had she gone out to eat? Or maybe run back to her apartment to get something she’d forgotten? Neither thing seemed like anything Anne would do, so he pulled to the curb and stared at the shop.
A couple other cars pulled into the lot while he sat there. Brad recognized Ellen Wheeler and her friend as they got out of their vehicles. The two women went up to the door, each balancing a covered dish as well as a purse and big, cloth tote bags. They stood on the porch, knocked then tried to open the door. He saw their puzzled expressions in the light thrown by the street lamps.
Since no traffic came down the road, Brad made a U-Turn and drove into the lot shared by The Post and its neighbors.
“Hi, Mrs. Wheeler,” he called as he exited his car. “What’s up?”
Ellen turned at his voice. “Oh, hi, Brad. I was looking for a note or something from Anne. I thought she would have something posted if she had to cancel our quilt group meeting.”
“I was surprised to see the dark shop, too, since you ladies are always here on Tuesday nights.”
Ellen turned a speculative eye on him. “Oh? Are you and Anne spending a lot of time together these days?”
Brad felt his face heat. Good grief, he was blushing like a teenager. So what if he spent time with Anne? They were both grown adults. “Um, well, she’s helping with the wardrobe for the high school play. And Jennie has sort of befriended her, too.”
“Your daughter has good taste, Mr. Carmichael,” Ellen’s friend — he suddenly remembered her name was Sylvia — said. “Anne is a lovely young woman.”
“She’s usually very responsible, too,” Ellen added then turned a wistful eye at the shop. “Well, I guess we’re not going to get any work done on our quilts tonight, Sylvia.”
“It might be a good thing any ways,” her friend replied. “Dave heard we’re supposed to get a storm tonight.”
“I heard the same thing,” Brad admitted. “I suppose I’d better get over to Mrs. McGuire’s and pick up my daughter so we can get home before the bad weather hits.”
“If you talk to Anne, please tell her we were worried about her,” Ellen said as she put her things back in the car.
“I certainly will,” Brad promised then climbed into his car and waved goodbye.
In fact, he thought, I’ll be dialing her cell phone number to check on her just as soon as I get home.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Anne fussed with a shelf of jelly roll cylinders, stacking and restacking them until the arrangement showed off the spring pastels to her satisfaction. Since Myra had returned two weeks ago, Anne had more time to devote to building displays and making samples for the shop instead of trying to fit such projects in with the dozens of things she’d juggled all winter. It had been a relief to turn over the responsibility, especially the nightly bank runs. No more listening for footsteps or feeling like she was being watched. Still, it felt odd to have so much time on her hands, and she worried her boss might decide the place wasn’t busy enough to need both of them.
“You have such a knack for color, Anne,” Myra said, coming up behind her. “Your displays are so much nicer than the ones I always did. I don’t know what I’d do without you here.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Myra. I’ve worried you wouldn’t need me around any longer.”
Myra tilted her head and frowned. “Why wouldn’t I need you, dear?”
“Well, business has been rather slow—”
“Slow?” The shopkeeper laughed. “Honey, you just got so accustomed to rushing around all day, doing the work of two people while I was gone. You probably don’t realize our sales are nearly double what they were last year at this time.”
Anne felt a weight lift from her shoulders. “Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to have to find another job.”
“Not a chance,” Myra assured her. “Your friends in the quilt group would stage a strike. Then what would Ed do on Tuesday nights? He’s made himself a regular fixture at their potlucks each week. Those ladies can cook as well as they quilt.”
“That’s for sure,” Anne agreed. “I think I’ve gained ten pounds over the winter.”
“If you did, they are in all the right places. I’m sure your young man hasn’t complained.”
“Myra, Brad isn’t—”
“I know, I know! You keep telling me he’s just a friend…”
“A good friend. He helped me get extra sewing work, and—”
“And he’s mighty easy on the eye. If I was single and thirty years younger…”
Anne couldn’t help but grin. “He is pretty good-looking.”
“All hail the Queen of Understatements,” her boss teased. “That’s like calling a lion a pretty large cat—” She cut off and snapped her fingers. “Which reminds me, Anne, have you seen anything more of the stray you told me about?”
“I never did see it, Myra. Only the gifts it left for me.”
“Well, I talked to Helyn, and I called Animal Control—I know you’ve hesitated to do it…”
“I hate my name being in any public records, but those carcasses have been pretty gruesome.”
Myra grimaced. “They’d be even worse in warm weather. But Animal Control will surely find the animal long before then. And you don’t need to worry about the files. Helyn and I lodged the complaint in our names.”
“Thank you.” Anne said, giving Myra’s arm a quick squeeze. “You’re so good to me.”
The shop owner waved away the thanks and changed the subject. “Are you off to work on costumes again this evening?”
“Yes. I’ve finished the ones for the main characters, but I need to alter the ones we chose for the smaller parts. The drama department has a pretty big wardrobe
from previous plays, and Mrs. Alt, thankfully, never cut down the costumes to size. She left the seams in place just taking them in a bit further. It makes my job a bit easier with such a large cast. I scheduled a fitting for some of the bit players for six-thirty tonight.”
“Why don’t you take off early today? It will give you time to grab a bite to eat before you head to the high school,” Myra offered.
“Well… I wanted to use the computer after closing to—”
“You don’t need to wait until after closing to use it, silly. Just go in the office and close the door.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Go! I’ll see that no one disturbs you,” Myra answered, making a shooing motion, then added, “Unless, of course, Brad Carmichael stops by.”
Anne nodded and hurried to the office before her boss teased her any further. Closing the door behind her, she put a hand to her heated cheeks. Why did the mere mention of Brad make her react like an adolescent schoolgirl? It was no wonder Myra, Sylvia, and Tee loved to tease her about him. Not that she minded. Brad Carmichael was exactly the sort of man she might have wanted in her life if things had been different.
If.
Shaking off the thought, she moved to the desk and booted up the computer. The monitor came to life slowly, giving Anne time to settle in the chair. When the computer was ready, she clicked the icon for the Internet then typed in the website for OTIS. With her mind preoccupied with the upcoming costume fitting, Anne typed in Jeffrey’s name and case number almost on auto-pilot.
When the file opened, she glanced at his picture, taken on the day of his intake at the G. Robert Cotton Correctional Facility. She doubted the prison barber kept him quite as stylish as his hundred-dollar haircuts had. Relieved to see his classification hadn’t changed, she reached for the mouse to close the program. Her hand stopped in midair when Jeffrey’s current location caught her eye. Her ex was still in Jackson, but he’d been moved from the Cotton Correctional Facility to the Cooper Street Facility. She scanned the file, trying to determine the reason for the move, but all the other information appeared the same.
Anne clicked on the hyperlinked name of the new facility. It opened a page about the facility on the Michigan Department of Corrections website. She skimmed the address, name of the current warden, and general information until she came to the middle of the page. “Cooper Street,” she read, “also serves as a centralized staging point for prisoners transferring to the Camp Program and as a release facility for prisoners who are about to parole…”
Parole? Oh no! Jeffrey was going to be paroled already.
How could it be? Her ex had been sentenced to seven and a half years, but was getting out — or at least was being prepared for release — after a little over two years. Were the prisons so overcrowded that something as serious as embezzling taxpayers’ money was dismissed this lightly? And what would happen if he got paroled? Would he search for her? He had threatened to kill her during the one visit she’d made to him before his trial. He blamed her for ruining his life. But he’d been the one who’d secretly filed for divorce, planning to dump her for the wealthy heiress he claimed he’d met on one of his business trips to DC. They’d actually met in Atlantic City, where they’d gambled and partied and blown through nearly a couple hundred grand in taxpayers’ money over the course of a year.
But Anne hadn’t known anything about it until much later. During the year he was fooling around, he’d kept Anne shut off from everyone, with no cable or phone. She’d had no inkling about what her husband had planned. They’d still shared a bed when he felt like it, but more and more often, he’d slept in the guest room — a room carefully decorated and maintained for the guests they’d never had. Anne shuddered, remembering how scared she’d been when she’d realized she was pregnant. Isolated as she was, she hadn’t been able to see a doctor to confirm it, but weeks had gone by since her last period. Finally, she’d had to tell him. At first, he’d pretended to be pleased, and his parents had been delighted at the thought of an heir. His mother had sent over some of Jeffrey’s baby furniture for the nursery. But it had been a sham as she’d discovered when the police had come for Jeffrey. The aftermath still haunted her dreams at night. His actions had scarred her mind far worse than her body.
What would she do if he found her again?
Blood rushed to Anne’s head, and her heart raced as her body went into fight or flight mode. She gasped and gulped air as if she’d just run a marathon. When the room started to spin, Anne realized her accelerated breathing had brought her to the verge of hyperventilating. She fought against the panic attack. She couldn’t allow — wouldn’t allow — Jeffrey to do this to her. Never again.
Leaning back in the chair, she rested her hands in her lap, closed her eyes then focused on the meditation technique she’d learned after leaving the hospital. Anne filled her mind with a picture of a beautiful, sunlit beach and forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She let the peaceful scene push everything else from her mind as she imagined the warmth of the sun on her skin and the sound of the waves lapping the shore. After a few minutes, her tense neck muscles relaxed, and her panic receded.
Fear remained, but it always did. Anne had lived with it since the earliest days of her marriage to Jeffrey. She’d learned to control it and become stronger than it. The death of her unborn child had made her stronger still. Except for her panicked flight from the quilt shop after receiving the anonymous letter at Valentine’s — which she’d been able to pass off to Brad and her friends as having gotten sick — Anne never allowed herself to lose control. She had changed so much different from the naïve and frightened girl Jeffrey had married. This quiet interlude in Grandville had allowed her to regroup and build her finances in preparation for this inevitable day.
What will you do about Brad and Jennie?
The thought of leaving them cut Anne to the quick, but a part of her had known the day would come when she’d have to flee and start over again. She just hadn’t realized how hard it would be. Still, she wouldn’t put Brad and his daughter or any of her new friends in harm’s way. Leaving was her only viable option, but first she needed to plan. To do it successfully, she had to know what she was up against.
Opening her eyes, she glanced once more at Jeffrey’s picture on the screen. She’d been young and naïve when she’d met him, but how had she not recognized the man’s arrogance? Even dressed in an ugly, blue-and-orange prison uniform, he appeared smug and ever so haughty. Anne shivered and forced her eyes away from the picture. She quickly scanned the file, searching for tidbits to help her plan her next move.
There! The entry in the box called Earliest Release Date said Jeffrey wasn’t eligible to be paroled for almost three more months. Three months gave her plenty of time to finish up projects here, sock away every cent she could, and find the next place to hide. This time, she wouldn’t leave the destination to chance. She’d find somewhere far away. Maybe down south or out west. Parolees couldn’t leave the state without permission, and those who posed flight risks usually were required to wear a GPS monitoring device, weren’t they? Jeffrey, with his parents millions backing him, definitely should be classified as a potential flight risk.
But what if he found her? What if he somehow already knew where she was? The flowers! Good grief, what if he’d sent those horrible, blood red roses on Valentine’s Day? What if he had people watching her?
Feeling the panic again, she took a deep breath, held it then exhaled to calm herself. She would not let Jeffrey harm her or those she loved. She’d started over twice before in her life, and she could do it again. If she was being watched, the best thing would be to act as normal as possible while she planned.
Maybe it was better this way. She’d been in Grandville for over two years. With the Harpers’ wealth and connections, she’d known the longer she stayed in one place, the better the chance was she’d be found. Still, she hated the thought of leaving. She had a job and friends here an
d special people like Brad and Jennie. Tears filled her eyes and her gut clenched. She took another calming breath. She could do this. She’d get another alias, another profession.
Another profession? Who was she kidding? She’d never had any kind of a profession, no degree or formal training. She’d been a clerk in a gas station when she’d met Jeffrey. When they married, he’d told her he needed her at home. Her place was there, taking care of him. Everything else had come in a distant second place to his needs. With no experience, it had been pure luck landing the job at The Stitching Post. Thankfully, her practical grandmother had taught her to quilt.
Thinking of her grandmother reminded Anne of one of Grams’ favorite sayings, “Nothing is impossible to a willing mind.”
She squared her shoulders. She could do this. She would start over again if only to protect those she loved.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“Hi, Brad,” Anne called when Brad walked into the shop on Friday afternoon. He was so gorgeous with his dark hair tousled by the blustery winds and his cheeks ruddy from the cold. She drank in the sight of him, making a mental image she could treasure when she left Grandville. “Where’s your sidekick today?”
“Jennie’s at a classmate’s birthday party — a pizza party sleepover with four giggly little girls.”
“Birthday party?” Anne remembered the birthday party the previous fall that had brought Jennie into The Stitching Post for the first time. Had it only been five months ago?
“Don’t worry. This mom is super responsible. She’d never leave a child all alone. Besides, they’re staying at the house the whole time. I checked.”
Chagrinned he’d been able to read her so easily, Anne ducked her head. “Just call me a worry wart.”
“It’s okay to be concerned for people we care about.” Cupping a hand under her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “Is everything all right?”
The Friendship Star Quilt Page 24
