Claire nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. “If you’re sure ...”
“I am,” I said firmly, pushing the door open myself.
There was a handful of people scattered about with plates of food and the newspaper in front of them. I quickly scanned the room, searching for Alan, but I didn’t see him. Where did he go? Was he in the bathroom?
“Hey Bob,” Claire called out as she moved to the counter. “You beat me.”
Bob half-turned in his stool as Claire bustled up. “Damn cat woke me up coughing up a hairball. Thought I’d get an early start.”
He had close-cropped dark-blonde hair and broad shoulders. He wore a blue work shirt and jeans.
I blinked. Was that who I had seen?
He turned his face sideways, allowing me to see his profile. Rough, worn features, with blotchy, sun-damaged skin.
He looked nothing like Alan.
Claire glanced over at me under her lashes as she put her apron on. “Charlie, come on over. Let’s get you an apron.”
“I, uh, I need a minute,” I said before bolting toward the bathroom. My stomach churned unpleasantly, and I barely made it to the toilet before throwing up.
It was mostly bile, hot and acrid, and it burned my throat and mouth. I leaned over the toilet, panting, trying to get myself under control.
What was happening to me? Was I losing my mind?
Behind me, I heard the bathroom door open. “Knock, knock,” Claire said. “Charlie? Are you okay?”
I wiped my mouth off with a bit of toilet paper before flushing. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry about that.” It had to be a side effect of the concussion. It had to be.
Claire came in, her expression a picture of worry. “Are you not feeling well? What is going on?”
My face was drenched with sweat. I pushed the tendrils of hair that were sticking to my forehead back before heading to the sink. “I’m fine,” I said, turning the cold water on to rinse my mouth and face. “Really.”
Claire came forward. “You’re not fine,” she said, her voice low. “What’s going on? You can tell me.”
I sighed, reaching for a paper towel. “I thought Bob was someone else.”
Her eyes widened. “Bob? Who did you think he was?”
“Just someone I knew from New York,” I said, blotting my cheeks with the towel.
She was silent for a moment, studying me. “Would that be the same someone you thought you saw at the bar? The doppelgänger?”
I reached for another paper towel, keeping my eyes away from her. I didn’t want to tell her the truth, but I didn’t want to lie either. “Yes.”
She moved closer to me. “Are you in danger?” she asked, her voice low.
Yes. But I couldn’t tell her that. I didn’t want to scare her.
Instead, I settled on a half-truth. “Remember when I told you how I had fallen down the stairs before I left New York?”
Claire looked even more concerned. “Yes.”
“I’m okay. Really. But I did get a concussion. And the doctor said things like this might happen.”
“Oh my God,” Claire said. “That’s terrible. Are you sure you’re okay? But what about driving?”
I shrugged. “The doctor said just as long as I took it easy, I would be fine. And I was fine. So, I don’t know what happened.”
“Maybe you need to stay here a bit longer. Get some more rest.”
“Maybe,” I said evasively, dabbing my cheeks with the paper towel.
“Actually,” Claire frowned. “Do you think you should be working? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
“No!” I shocked both of us with how loud my voice was. “Sorry,” I said quickly. “I’m just really looking forward to working here. Let’s give it a try, okay? If this keeps happening, I’ll let you know and we can make other arrangements. Okay?”
“If you’re sure,” Claire said doubtfully. “I certainly don’t want you to get worse.”
“I won’t,” I assured her. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but Ben ...”
“Bob,” Claire corrected.
‘Bob sort of looks like him. He had the same haircut and body type. So, it might be they’re just so similar that it triggered me. So, it’s not a big deal if I work.”
“Let’s hope,” Claire said. “I do know a good doctor in town. Maybe a check-up wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“Good to know,” I said, throwing away the paper towel and taking a few minutes to fluff my hair. My skin was still too pale for my liking, and it highlighted the dark circles under my eyes, making me look like a lost little waif. I gave myself a quick shake and turned away from the mirror.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 11
To my surprise, I loved my new job.
Claire was right; I caught on pretty fast. The hardest part was remembering all the table numbers, but once I got that down, the rest was easy. Physically exhausting, yes, but easy. I wasn’t sure if I ever moved around so much in my life. And the best part about being so tired after work was that I slept like the dead, sans dreams.
All that aside, hands down my favorite part of the job was the people. Claire, of course, was fantastic, but all my coworkers were great. I also loved chatting with the customers, especially the regulars who immediately made a point of learning my name and making me feel welcome.
Until I started working again, I hadn’t realized how much I missed hanging out with other people. I hadn’t realized how much Alan had succeeded in isolating me, and how unhappy I had been.
The bell at the door tinkled merrily, announcing a new customer and interrupting my thoughts. I glanced quickly over my shoulder, not wanting to spill the coffee I was refilling, and my heart skittered in my chest. Jesse and Jonathan were walking in the door.
“Hi guys.” Claire waved at them from the counter. “Be with you in a jif.”
“Oops. Sorry,” I said, realizing I had spilled the coffee after all. I quickly wiped it up with the rag I always carried in my apron.
The customer gave me a sweet smile. “No harm done,” she said. She was an older lady, her thin white hair freshly rinsed and set. I had learned that she came in once a week like clockwork after getting her hair done.
I gave her a brief smile back before shoving the rag back in my apron and heading over to the booth where Jesse and Jonathan sat perusing the menus.
“You boys want coffee, or something else to drink?” I scrubbed my one hand against my jeans while I held the coffee pot up.
Jonathan flipped over his coffee cup. “Definitely yes on the caffeine. I need it. Someone’s car is keeping me up late.” He gave me a lopsided grin that made my heart briefly stop.
I pressed a finger against my chin. “Hmm. I thought I had taken my car to the best mechanic in town. That was the rumor, anyway. I guess I must have gotten it wrong.”
His smile widened. “Touché.”
“Hey,” Jesse interrupted. “I’m here, too. And I’d love a Coke.”
“Right here,” Claire said, swooping in and placing a Coke in front of him. Her cheeks were slightly flushed. “I figured that was what you wanted.”
Jesse turned his 50-watt smile on her. “Thanks, doll.”
She ducked her head, busying herself with her order pad. “Know what you want?”
I took a few steps back and made a point of looking around to see if anyone wanted coffee. I could feel Jonathan’s eyes burning a hole in the center of my back. Focus, Charlie. He’s here for lunch. Nothing else.
I tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. No matter where I went in the restaurant, I could feel the electricity flowing from Jonathan, prickling my skin and giving me that jittery, too-much-caffeine feeling.
This is ridiculous, I told myself firmly. You need to stop acting like a teenager. You’re a
grown woman. Get it together.
I was heading over to a table to clear it when Jesse called out to me. “How are you liking your new job?”
I began stacking dishes. “It’s great,” I answered. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve dreamed of busing tables.”
Jesse laughed.
“Actually,” I said. “It really IS great. I’m having a blast.”
“You should come out with us again,” Jesse said. “It was fun.”
My skin tingled at the idea of being so close to Jonathan. “Maybe,” I agreed. “Although I have to say, Claire is a drill sergeant. She’s got me working some pretty wicked hours.”
Jesse gave me a wink. “I’ll talk to her. I may even be able to sweet-talk her into giving you some time off.”
I couldn’t help but smile back. Jesse really was ridiculously hot. “Speaking of wicked hours,” I said, glancing at Jonathan. “How’s my car coming?”
Jesse smirked at Jonathan, who glared back.
“What?” I asked, looking between them.
Jonathan picked up a spoon and started stirring his coffee, even though it appeared he was drinking it black. “It’s been one thing after another,” he said.
My eyes widened. “Oh God, it’s going to cost even more?”
Jonathan held up a hand. “Not necessarily. It’s just taking a lot longer. First, the parts I ordered were delayed. And then they sent the wrong ones, so I’m still waiting to get started.”
“So how much longer is it going to take?”
He shrugged. “I won’t know until I get the right parts, but I’m guessing we’re looking at next week.”
My eyes widened. “Next week?” What on earth was I going to tell Annabelle? Maybe I should have Jonathan talk to her.
Jonathan spread his arms out. “I know. I can’t believe it either. This has never happened before. Usually, the guys I order the parts from are great. Fast, accurate. I can’t figure it out.”
“Look at the bright side. At least you have this job to keep you busy,” Jesse said.
I wasn’t listening to Jesse anymore. I was thinking about what Jonathan just said. “Are you telling me the truth?” I asked suspiciously.
Jonathan gave me a surprised look. “Why would you think I wasn’t?”
I put my hand on my hip. “Because of what you told me about this town. That Redemption wants me to stay. Are you sure you’re not just pretending to stretch this out to prove a point?”
Jesse burst out laughing while Jonathan held his hands up, palms facing me. “Honest. I’m not trying to do anything except repair your car. These delays are beyond me.”
“Charlie,” a voice called from the kitchen, and I suddenly realized I still had dirty dishes to remove. “I gotta get back to work,” I said, carefully picking up the pile of plates, silverware, and cups.
“Don’t drop it,” Jesse said. I crossed my eyes and stuck my tongue out in return.
I passed Claire on the way to the kitchen. She was holding a tray with Jesse and Jonathan’s food. “Oh, I could have grabbed that,” I said, feeling a tiny dart of shame.
“Not a problem,” she said, her voice breezy as she swept by me.
“There you are,” Sue said, her voice as frazzled as her short, curly brown hair. She wiped the sweat off her bright-red cheeks. “It is unbearably hot in here.” While the kitchen was warm, I wouldn’t have called it “hot,” but I murmured an agreement. Claire thought Sue was having hot flashes and told me it was best just to agree.
“Order up,” Fred, the cook, yelled, hitting the bell with his metal spatula and pushing a cheeseburger with fries under the warming lights.
“I’m right here. There’s no need to shout,” Sue snapped before turning back to me. “Can you help with the dishes? Jack is on break.”
“Of course,” I said, trying to squelch the little disappointed feeling rising up since that meant I would have to leave the dining room. It was probably best, I told myself firmly.
I was in the middle of stacking clean plates when Claire burst through the kitchen. “You won’t believe who’s here,” she said.
“That restaurant critic from the Milwaukee Journal?” Fred asked.
“In your dreams,” Claire said. “No, it’s Helen!”
“Helen?” Fred asked. “The Helen?”
“Yes,” Claire said. “And she’s asking for you.” She pointed at me.
My mouth dropped open. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“But I don’t even know a Helen,” I said, completely mystified. Could this be some sort of game Alan was playing? But how would Fred and Claire know anyone connected with Alan? “Why would she be asking for me? Who is she? How could she even know who I am?”
“It’s Helen Blackstone,” she said. “The owner of the Witch House.”
I almost dropped the plates. Helen Blackstone knew who I was? And had come looking for me? In my mind’s eye, I saw the flick of the tail of the black cat as I heard the echoes of the Holly Hobby girl’s wail.
“Why would Helen be asking about me?” I asked. “And how does she know my name?”
“Well, she didn’t, actually,” Claire said. “She asked if there was a new employee here, and when I said yes, she asked if she could meet you.”
I was feeling a little lightheaded, like things were in motion that I couldn’t do anything about. I put my hand on a metal counter to help steady myself. “I don’t understand. Why would she want to meet me?”
“Well, maybe you should go ask her,” Claire said, taking me firmly by the arm and leading me out of the kitchen. “You have no idea how incredible this is,” she said in my ear, her voice low. “Helen rarely leaves the house, remember? Usually just to go to the store, and in recent years, she hasn’t even done much of that. I can’t even remember the last time she came in here for a meal. It’s really quite extraordinary.”
“I guess I should feel honored,” I said, although what I really felt like doing was running away. But why? I was about to meet a harmless old woman. Well, maybe “harmless” was the wrong word. Perhaps a better one was “eccentric.” After all, who chooses to live in the same house in which her own mother did awful things? She was probably just lonely.
Although that didn’t explain why she was asking about me specifically.
Helen Blackstone sat at a booth in the corner of the diner, seemingly oblivious to the stares. She studied the menu in front of her, a pair of silver glasses perched on her nose.
I hadn’t realized I had stopped walking until Claire gave me a little push. “Go talk to her. She won’t bite.” Mechanically, I took a few steps forward. Thank goodness Jesse and Jonathan had already left; I wasn’t sure I could deal with both them and Helen at the same time.
She wore a simple black tunic. Her long, silver hair was pulled back in a thick, loose braid, and her skin had that tough leathery look of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun. The color contrasted with her lipstick, which was way too pink.
I stood awkwardly by the side of the table, trying to figure out how to start a conversation. Finally, I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Blackstone? I’m Charlie. You wanted to meet me?”
She raised her head, peering at me from behind her glasses. “It’s Ms. Blackstone, but you can call me Helen.”
I smiled, but it felt stiff and forced. “Helen.” I paused, but she didn’t seem like she was going to say anything. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“A cup of tea would be nice,” she said. I left to fetch a miniature silver pot of hot water and the tea bags, feeling Claire’s (and everyone else’s) eyes on me, watching me like a hawk. She was still staring at the menu when I returned, and I wondered if I should ask her why she asked for me. Maybe she was suffering from dementia. I started to carefully arrange the tea items when she looked up with a start. “Oh, no dear. That�
��s not what I want.”
I paused, my hand still holding the tea bags. “I beg your pardon. I thought you said you wanted tea.” Yes, she was clearly suffering from dementia.
“I’m sorry, dear. Yes, I did say that, but I forgot you would only have those horrid little tea bags.” She let out a rusty laugh. “I make my own tea, you see. Grow the plants myself. Or at least, I used to. But, enough about me. Could I trouble you to bring me a cup of coffee instead?”
“Of course,” I said, gathering up the tea pot but leaving the mug. I went to fetch the coffee pot.
As I poured, she studied me. “So, you’re Charlie,” she mused. “I thought you would look different.”
I blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
She shook her head slightly. “Oh, don’t mind me. Why don’t you sit down?” She lifted one arm up and gestured. Her knuckles were thick, and her fingers were twisted in a painful kind of way.
“I’m actually working,” I said regretfully.
Her eyebrows went up. “Oh, of course. Silly me.”
“Would you like something other than the coffee?” I wasn’t officially waiting tables, but I figured this might be cause for an exception.
“Why yes, I would love a piece of apple pie.” Her fingers scrabbled to grab the menu, and I picked it up for her.
“Ice cream?”
“Oh, I shouldn’t. But that would be lovely.” Her eyes had a wicked gleam.
I took her order back to the kitchen, wondering how she was able to take care of herself with her fingers knotted up the way they were.
Claire was waiting for me in the kitchen. “So, what did she say?”
I shrugged as I headed over to the case in which we kept the pies, cakes, and other deserts. “Not much. She makes her own tea, or at least she did. It looks like she has terrible arthritis in her hands.”
Claire’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s too bad.” She stood on tip toes to peer out of the window in the door. “I thought she looked a little thin when she came in.” She glanced at me plating the pie. “Is that all she ordered?”
“Ice cream, too.”
Claire shook her head. “She needs some real food. Do you think she’s eating enough?”
The Summoning: A gripping psychological thriller (Secrets of Redemption Book 4) Page 10
