Rest, Relax, Run for Your Life
Written By: Katherine Brown
Cover Design by: Breezy Reads
Copyright © 2019 by Katherine Brown
Visit Katherine at www.katherinebrownbooks.com
All rights reserved.
Imprint: Independently published
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Acknowledgements
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
Human Trafficking
About the Author
Sneak Preview Book 2
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is a process!
I want to thank Patrick and Lexi for all that you did at home to give me time to write this story and loving me through all of my moods.
I want to thank each one of my incredible beta readers. Without you this book would have suffered from typos, long sentences, and Gladys wouldn’t have found her new hobby. Thank you from the bottom of my heart: Cammie, Ginger, Kathy, Leslie, and Elicia.
Thank you to my fabulous cover designer at Breezy Reads. You went beyond my expectations.
This book would not have been possible without each one of you.
ONE
“Sam. Hey Sam!” I called out. “Sam, why is the news crew outside?”
My business partner and best friend, Samantha Lowe, poked her head out of the supply closet. She had been tucked away in that closet doing inventory since we arrived an hour ago. “What?” she asked. With her light brown hair pulled up in a sleek ponytail, the bottom half which she recently dyed a vibrant red, was very visible today, making me smile.
Samantha Lowe’s only rebellious streak against her snobby, picture-perfect parents was the rainbow of colors she continuously displayed in her hair, changing it every few months, ever since she went away to college four years ago. Her parents were constantly disappointed that she showed no signs of outgrowing that phase.
Thanks to an impromptu girls’ day at the hair salon yesterday, I am also sporting a more colorful look today; much more colorful than usual for me, at least.
Me? I’m Piper. I’m messy buns, cargo pants, and chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. I wouldn’t call myself a tomboy, but I’ve never been a high heel and makeup kind of girl either.
My own dark brown, shoulder-length, wavy locks were typically drab in comparison to Sam’s flashy hair, which never bothered me in the least. However, Sam had begged me all day yesterday to join in on her hair appointment and do something “to bring a little fun” to my hair. I finally agreed to think about getting highlights, to which she gave a massive roll of her eyes and began purposefully muttering about “a complete lack of imagination” under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear.
On a whim, more as a prank on Sam than anything else, I got in the chair and asked the hairstylist to color the ends of my hair both silver and a pastel turquoise. I thought after I freaked out Sam that I could have the ends trimmed off in favor of a short hairstyle.
Sam had been speechless when the stylist unveiled my new look. Considering the minimal amount of times that I’ve witnessed Sam speechless, I grimaced, and turned toward the mirror preparing myself for the worst, pangs of regret already tightening my stomach. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was gorgeous! “Oh. My. Gosh.” At last, Sam managed to break free of the shock and stepped forward to run her fingers through my hair, lifting it to get a better look. “I am completely jealous, Piper. It looks amazing on you.”
Giving my head a little shake to snap out of the memory, I pointed at the large white van with KDOP Channel 17 News plastered on the side of it. The van had parallel parked at the curb directly in front of our store. While we watched, a lanky teen fumbled with unloading the camera equipment while Missy Sims, the local anchor, sprayed clouds of hairspray on her already perfectly springy curls.
Missy was busy snapping a barrage of orders, pointing all over the place, her hands waving frantically in the air, I think she even stomped her foot once. Nodding to Missy, scrambling to and from the van with all of the equipment, the pale-faced teen quickly began setting up the camera on the sidewalk right in front of our door. Sam and I shared a puzzled look. Closing the pocket knife that I had been using to open boxes of new kitchen utensils, I slipped it into my pocket, wiped the cardboard dust from the white and blue marble countertops, and grabbed Sam to head outside to investigate.
“Samantha Lowe and Piper Rivers?” Missy asked, jutting the microphone toward me the moment the door swung open.
“I’m Piper, and this is Samantha” I confirmed. “What’s going on here?” I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans. Having a camera pointing at our doorway before 7 AM made me more than a little nervous and, I’ll admit, a bit abrupt; I couldn’t imagine what this might be about.
Samantha, the picture of politeness as always, inquired smoothly, “What can we help you with this morning?”
Completely ignoring Sam, Missy turned to the camera boy, whose name was Pete according to his badge, and made a “rolling” motion with her finger. A small, red light blinked to life on the camera and Missy immediately jumped into her spiel, a wide smile plastered onto her face. “Good morning to all of you early risers. I’m here today with Samantha Lowe and Piper Rivers, the owners of the Ooey-Gooey-Goodness Bakery, and winners of the four-day spa stay at O Heavenly Day Spay.”
My mouth dropped open in disbelief.
The O Heavenly Day Spa! We won?!
Sandy Shores Evangelical Church was the largest church in our beachfront town of Seashell Bay. In fact, the church was so massive that there was an entire campus complete with child-care programs, primary school and, of course, the spa. The spa operated as a spiritual retreat center for both members and numerous women’s groups statewide. Often one set of dormitories at the spa was opened to domestic abuse victims or single mothers; they were given jobs and use of the facilities. It was Sandy Shores Church who sponsored the contest and put up the prize for the Breaking Chains fundraiser, to encourage community members to partner with them in broader ministry opportunities. They donated several weeks a year free of charge to victims of crimes and trafficking or women struggling to get back on their feet after the death of a spouse or divorce.
The spa also accepted paying appointments from members and non-members, as well. Samantha’s mother, for one, had weekly appointments booked for months in advance.
Missy turned back to us while I was still processing everything. Samantha nudged me and I slammed my open mouth shut. “What an honor,” Samantha placed a hand over her heart and launched into speech mode – a necessary skill as a part of her prestigious family. Did I mention they are one of the original five founding families of Seashell Bay? Or that her father
is the mayor? Thankfully, when Samantha spoke she was always genuine; my friend has a heart of gold. “I’m so pleased we were able to come together with local businesses and community members to raise funds and awareness for prevention of such horrific practices…”
I tuned out the conversation, nodding and smiling, knowing Samantha had it covered. I still couldn’t believe we won. I thought back to the day the contest had been announced.
~
It was on a regular Sunday afternoon, I was elbow deep in a bowl of batter and barely heard the soft sound of the bell out front announce someone’s entry. Sam yelled for me to hurry up front for some exciting news. Samantha almost never yells so, of course, I stopped everything I was doing and hurried out to see what the deal was. Licking the last bit of cookie dough off of my fingers, I pushed through the white metal door separating the kitchen from the storefront. And I grimaced. Sam’s brother, Griffin, stood before the counter. It wasn’t that I had a problem with Griff - not really. He just seemed so uptight sometimes, a hazard of his upbringing I’m sure. Griffin was a building inspector and a by-the-rule-book kind of guy. I just knew I would get a lecture on the health code violations of licking my fingers in a public bakery. He gave me a long look, but to my surprise, the lecture didn’t happen.
“Piper, look! There’s a contest for local businesses. We just have to enter! It would be a great way to attract more customers and help people, too. Say yes, please?” Sam batted her eyelashes.
I rolled my eyes. “Come on, that face doesn’t work on me. Now let me see that paper.”
Griffin handed over the flyer that he had been holding up to show Sam. He only slightly raised his eyebrows as I wiped my damp fingers on my jeans, and that might have been a smirk he was trying to hide.
Prize donated by Sandy Shores Evangelical Church scrolled across the back of the flyer.
~
Missy pulled my attention back to the here and now. “Piper,” she began, but I was barely listening.
“Piper, do you have anything you would like to say about this contest or what winning means to you?” Missy waited for my response.
My brain was now kicked into high gear, working on overdrive trying to figure out what to do with the bakery during a four-day absence. Could someone run it for us? Would we need to bake everything before we left? It would really be a shame to miss out on all the new business we had gained from the contest. Then again, I could really use a break and I’d been hearing fantastic rumors about the spa since it opened. Having never been, I have to admit I was more than a little curious.
“Piper?” Missy asked once more.
I willed up a composed smile – I hate public speaking – and tried not to look directly at the camera as I answered, “Thank you for asking Missy. Actually, this fundraiser is very close to my heart. Much too often people think that human trafficking is a third world problem, a problem in poverty-stricken places where nobody is paying attention. The truth is, human trafficking can happen in our very own backyards. And it does.”
I paused to collect my breath then carried on, “When I was a child, I lived only a few counties away from here; my best friend Landon and two other children were taken from a school field trip. Eight months later, during a raid on a drug house, several children including Landon were found. One of the girls has never been recovered. After being taken they were forced to work like mules for the gang, kept under the influence of drugs to be easily manipulated, and coerced with threats against their family if they tried to escape.”
I think for a moment you could hear crickets in the background. Sam had placed a hand over her heart, unshed tears forming at the corners of her eyes.
Missy, wide-eyed and somewhat stunned but always the consummate professional, recovered in a flash. “Thank you for sharing that grim reminder of why we need to be vigilant and supportive of the organizations such as Breaking Chains whose mission it is to put a stop to such evil.” She turned to completely face the camera, blocking Sam and me from further view. “Thanks for tuning in to KDOP Channel 17 News. And now, back to Korina for the weather forecast.”
We may as well have dawned our invisibility cloaks at this point. Missy barked orders. Much hustle and bustle began and in no time at all the news van was pulling away from the curb without even a backward glance.
As the proverbial dust cleared, Sam pulled me back into the bakery. “I’m fine, really,” I insist over the sound of the tinkling bell on the door.
“Sit down,” she said, ignoring my protests like any good friend. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about any of that. I’m getting us some tea and cookies.”
Within a minute, Sam settled a heaping plate of Walnut Dark Chocolate cookies on the small table between us. Taking a sip of the delicious iced tea and enjoying a bite of chocolatey-goodness, I knew there was no getting around talking about it now.
“It was a long time ago,” I said shrugging. “We were eight. When they found Landon, he had lost around twelve pounds from malnourishment. It was close to a year before he stopped suffering from withdrawals of the drugs that they had been pumping him full of. Three years of counseling. I’m not sure the nightmares ever went away; he moved before we went into junior high.”
“That must have been pretty traumatic for you as a kid too, first finding out he was missing and then not understanding why your friend wasn’t the same anymore, not being able to help him,” Sam said, nodding and encouraging me to continue.
I finished off my second cookie in two giant bites, then took my time wiping crumbs from the table, avoiding looking her in the eyes. “The worst part I think is that sometimes a little part of me still feels guilty. I was home sick that morning and missed the field trip. I cried for weeks after school because I thought that if I had been on the field trip Landon would have been with me and maybe that would have changed things.”
“Piper Rivers!” Sam exclaimed and raised an eyebrow. “You know that is not true,” she continued emphatically, “your eight-year-old self might have been kidnapped right along with the others for all you know.”
“I know, I know. Mom put me in therapy for a month when I told her my feelings. Truly, I do know there is nothing I could have done.” I sighed. “The contest flyer was unexpected; it managed to bring each of the painful memories rushing back. And fresh guilt. I don’t even know the last time I even thought about Landon; I have no idea where he is or how he’s doing now.”
“Tell you what,” Sam smiled. “Right after our spa retreat, I’ll help you search for Landon. He’s likely to be on Facebook, Instagram, or some other social media somewhere, almost everyone is, and maybe he is still close by.”
Looking at my watch, I stood and hugged my best friend. “Sounds like a plan. But for now, we have to be ready to open in seven minutes so we better hustle.” I hurried away, trading the pain and memories for busyness.
~
“Looks like the morning rush is over,” Sam called as the tinkling bell announced the exit of yet another satisfied customer.
I could feel the wide grin split my face. The morning rush! I loved the sound of that; it made me so proud of the Ooey-Gooey-Goodness Bakery. Who knew when we started this “irresponsible and childish” business, as Sam’s mom Deidra preferred to call it, that it would become popular so quickly. We had opened a little less than a year ago and were already in the black.
It had been a whirlwind of activity ever since the 6 AM broadcast of KDOP’s morning news segment airing Missy’s impromptu interview of Samantha and me. Our regulars, the business crowd who came for muffins and scones on the way to the office, congratulated us, of course. Then we had our second unexpected visit of the morning, this time from Mayor Lowe and his PR team to discuss how proud he was of his ‘darling daughter taking such a stand against these deplorable crimes against humanity.’ She was ‘a chip off the old block’ and he knew she had a bright future.” I was very proud. Samantha didn’t roll her eyes once. Until after he left.
&nb
sp; A few new faces trickled in as well, some of the retired generations who admitted they had been hesitant to try this “fancy-pants” bakery. One such lady, Mrs. Gladys Hill, was quick to let us know she had been wrong, “I was drinking my coffee this morning, all by myself since my Joe passed on last year, and when I saw you sweet young ladies on the morning news and your kind hearts – well, I just said to myself ‘Gladys, you get yourself up and encourage those dear girls to keep doing good and being open-hearted.’ So here I am. And now that I’ve had this scrumptious cinnamon and apple scone, I am especially glad that I listened to my own advice.”
There were also some hateful responses to our win. Flo from Flo’s Flowers almost refused to even speak to me when I went next door to offer her some of our fresh scones, and she did refuse the scones. Before the contest, she would often order three or more a day.
Several of our competitor’s friends and family posted rude comments on Facebook, insinuating Sam’s family had bought our way into the spa trip. Ha! If only they knew that the mayoral family hadn’t even contributed to our bit of fundraising.
Later that morning, Griff came in to snag a to-go bag of cookies, not unusual for him. “Hey sis, nice hair. Has Mother seen it yet?”
“Sadly no,” Sam grinned, reaching under the counter for the crisp, white to-go bags. I found myself hoping that one day we could afford bags with our logo. As soon as we committed to a logo. Okay, so probably that day wasn’t anytime soon but a girl can dream.
“I need half-a-dozen to go please, whatever is hot,” Griff told her. Griff loves dessert.
I was folding napkins with my back to them, closest to the kitchen doors, so it was no surprise to me when Sam turned and asked, “Piper, can you run in the kitchen and grab six of the monster cookies that just came out of the oven?”
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