“Is that why you’re not leaving?”
“Partly. And partly because I refuse to let myself be bullied into leaving.”
She pursed her lips. “Yeah, I get that.”
I studied her as she sipped her tea—the dark circles under her eyes, the “waxy” look of her skin from lack of sleep. Was it true what she said? That she felt safe here?
Then why wasn’t she sleeping?
The house is whispering to me again.
I shivered, stirring my tea as a cover. I wanted to ask her more questions—to probe more deeply into what happened every night when she closed the door to her bedroom.
But I held back. I didn’t want her to think I didn’t believe her. Or to anger her.
Besides, she was an adult. She certainly could sort out her own feelings, and if she felt safe, then she felt safe. Just like she could sort out why she wasn’t sleeping, and if she thought it was stress and overworking, then it was likely stress and overworking.
So why was it still bothering me?
Chapter 20
I took a sip of my drink and checked my phone for the umpteenth time.
I was sitting in a bar called The Jack Saloon—the epitome of a “dive” bar. When I first pulled up, I couldn’t believe Mia had wanted to meet me there instead of The Tipsy Cow. Or in my kitchen or backyard, for that matter.
But her text had asked me to meet her here, followed by, Something’s come up. Need to talk.
At the time, I was more concerned about what she wanted to talk about then the place she had chosen. After last night’s conversation, I thought we had turned a corner and she was on board with everything.
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
I assumed the place Mia had chosen would be perfectly respectable. Actually, maybe “respectable” wasn’t quite the right word. I was just used to The Tipsy Cow—a popular, well-lit, and very public place.
Instead, when I found The Jack tucked at the end of a dead-end road, the parking lot filled with motorcycles and flanked by empty, industrial-looking buildings, I checked my phone again.
No, this was the place.
At least it was busy. I had to weave my way past men in leather jackets, many of them sporting beards and beer guts, and overly made-up women also clad in lots of leather. There were four pool tables crammed into the side, all full. It stank of cigarette smoke, whisky, beer, and perfume. More than a few heads turned my way when I entered.
I ordered a wine and sat at one of the tables facing the door, so I would see Mia the moment she entered. I listened to the clink of the pool balls as I impatiently waited.
Should I text again? I had already texted, I’m here and, Are you going to be here soon?
She was fifteen minutes late. Not unheard of, especially if Aunt May’s was busy and she got off late, but sitting there alone was making me uneasy.
Why did she pick this place?
I could sense I was being watched. Men glanced over at me before leaning over to line up their pool cue. Others stared at me over glasses of beer. I tried to ignore them.
Where are you? I texted. Why wasn’t she responding?
I noticed a man sitting alone at the bar, nursing a whisky and eyeing me. Oh God, hopefully he wasn’t planning a “pick-me-up” attempt. There was something familiar about him, but for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what it was. He had long, black hair, a thick, black beard, and a neck tattoo that snaked down into his shirt.
Nervously, I checked my phone again. No response from Mia. Now she was twenty minutes late. Maybe I should just leave and text her to let her know I was going home … that she should meet me there. Even though I told myself I was overreacting, I still couldn’t shake the nagging sensation that whoever had been emailing me and following me had somehow set all of this up … and that I had, yet again, fallen into his trap.
But how could that be? It wasn’t some anonymous email that led me there. I was there because Mia asked me to come.
Someone bumped into me from behind, pushing me into the table and spilling my drink. “Oh, God. Sorry.”
A scruffy looking guy put a hand on the table, but whether he was trying to steady himself or the table was up for debate. In the dim light of the bar, I couldn’t tell how old he was. He could have been anywhere between twenty and fifty, but his skin had the worn, leathery look of too much sun, too much wind, and too much alcohol.
“It’s okay,” I said, praying the red wine hadn’t ruined my cream short-sleeved vee-neck top. That will teach me to ever wear white in a bar again, I thought. I looked around for napkins.
The scruffy looking guy swore. “Al, we need a rag. Or something. And a new glass of wine.”
“No, really, I don’t ...”
“I have to make it up to you,” he said, rocking back unsteadily. His breath smelled of beer and cheap whisky.
“You really don’t ... “ I said, trying to get up. Maybe if I got home fast enough, I could throw the shirt in the wash and that would save it.
“Really, Axe,” a woman said, bustling over. “Al, some club soda,” she called out. To me, she said, “Don’t touch it, sweetie. You’ll rub the stain in.”
She was one of the older biker chicks. Her heavy makeup did nothing to disguise the lines and wrinkles in her face, but her eyes were kind as she smiled at me. “Don’t mind Axe,” she said. “He’s really a sweetheart, but so clumsy, especially when he’s been drinking.”
“Let me make it up to you,” Axe said.
“No, really, I was just about to go home,” I tried to protest, but no one was listening. A club soda appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and the biker chick walked me through how to dab the stain, while Axe kept loudly (and repeatedly) apologizing. The table was wiped clean and a new glass of wine also appeared like magic.
“I think it’s going to be okay,” biker chick said, putting a hand on Axe’s arm.
“Honestly, I’m just so sorry,” he said again.
“Really, it’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a shirt. And look, the stain is going away.”
“Wine is on me,” Axe said. “Your other glass, too. I want to make it up to you.”
“It’s really not necessary,” I said. “I was going to leave anyway.”
“Absolutely not,” biker chick said, giving Axe a jerk. “At the very least, enjoy your wine first. It’s the least Axe can do.”
Sighing, I picked up the glass. Maybe a couple of sips, and then I could sneak out of there. I quickly checked the bar to see if the guy with the beer and neck tattoo was still there.
He was gone.
He must have left during the wine kerfuffle.
See, I told myself. I’m being paranoid. He was just some guy wondering why on earth I was hanging out in this particular bar. I sipped my wine and checked my phone again.
Nothing from Mia.
Had something happened to her? It was completely unlike her, no-showing without a call or text. I suddenly had a very bad feeling.
I took one last sip of wine and slid off my bar stool. I had to find out what was going on, and just sitting there wasn’t going to do it.
“But you haven’t finished your wine,” Axe called out. I waved at him and kept going. The most important thing right then was getting in touch with Mia and making sure she was okay.
I opened the door to the bar and blinked a few times to acclimate my eyes to the darkness. Even though the parking lot was lit by streetlights, it seemed hazy, somehow … as if I were seeing everything through a filter. Carefully, I walked down the couple of steps to the dirt parking lot.
“You okay?” someone called out. I looked up, blinking a few times. A couple of guys in black jackets were standing by one of the motorcycles.
“I’m fine,” I said, but it felt a little like I had cotton in my mouth. What was going on with me? I had barel
y drunk any wine at all—most of the contents of the first glass had been spilled, and I only drank about half of the second.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drive,” the other one said.
“No, I’m okay,” I said firmly, drawing myself up. “It’s just been a long day.” I didn’t want them trying to stop me. I had to get home. I had to find out what was going on with Mia. And I was okay. I certainly wasn’t drunk. I was probably just reacting to all the recent stress. My blood pressure was likely sky high, and I was a little disoriented and lightheaded because of it.
I blinked a few times, located my car and marched over to it, refusing to let myself turn to see if those men were watching me. I can do this, I told myself. I quickly unlocked the car and jumped in, slamming the door closed behind me and locking it just to be on the safe side.
God, I was really dizzy. I rubbed my head, taking a few deep breaths, and slid my key into the ignition. Maybe I should sit there for a moment, just to catch my breath, before starting the car.
I realized I should text Mia before I left, too, to let her know I was headed home in case she was on her way. Maybe I should text Daniel, as well. Tell him what was going on.
I fumbled for my phone, but it seemed to slip out of my grasp, sliding away, far away, into the dark and grey mist.
***
“Becca! Becca!”
I stirred, trying to force my eyes open. They felt heavy, weighted down by rocks.
“Becca! Can you hear me?”
Finally, I got my eyes to open. I was in my kitchen, propped up on the table. “How did I get here?” I asked, my voice slurred.
“Well, this is a fine kettle of fish you’ve gotten yourself in.”
I blinked. Aunt Charlie and Jessica were across from me, both of them staring at me with stern, disapproving expressions.
“What’s going on?” I was so confused. Why was I in my kitchen? Wasn’t I supposed to be somewhere else?
“You’re not following instructions,” Jessica said. “We told you what to do, but you’re not doing it.”
I smacked my lips together. My mouth and throat were so dry. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Find the stone,” Aunt Charlie said. “Find the jade.”
“Can you just tell me where it is?” I asked tiredly. “I have a lot going on, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
Aunt Charlie frowned. “Where haven’t you looked?”
“Everywhere,” I said.
Her frown deepened. “I meant, for anything. Where haven’t you been in this house?”
What was she talking about? I’d been in every room. God, this was so frustrating. Especially since I was sure there was something I was missing, something that was way more important.
“Can you just tell me for once? Can’t we stop with the riddles?” I asked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You’re in danger,” Jessica said. “A lot of it.”
“I know,” I said.
“You don’t,” Jessica said. “You have no idea.”
“You need the jade,” Aunt Charlie said. “It’s the only thing that will protect you.”
“How on earth is a stone supposed to protect me from a stalker?” I asked irritably.
“You’ll see,” Aunt Charlie said darkly. “But first, you have to find it.”
“ I don’t have time for this,” I muttered, rubbing my head. Everything felt thick and fuzzy. I knew there was something I had to do, something more important than finding a stupid rock.
Aunt Charlie’s face softened, her expression turning sad. “You have to wake up now, Becca. Things are about to get worse.”
“Way worse,” Jessica said, her face grim.
“You need to wake up now.”
“And find the jade,” Jessica said.
“Wake up,” Aunt Charlie shrieked.
Red-orange light burst through the kitchen, as if a fireball had exploded.
I jerked away. I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of The Jack, behind the wheel. My cell phone was ringing, and the bright-orange sun was shining directly into my eyes. Sharp pain seared through my temples as I struggled to pull the visor down. My head was pounding.
Squinting my eyes, I peered out the window. The bar looked closed, the parking lot deserted.
What the ...
My cell phone kept ringing, the noise aggravating my headache. I reached over to answer it, mostly to stop the shrill sound.
The screen showed it was Mia. Mia. I ran my tongue across my teeth, my mouth thick and woolly.
There was something about Mia. I was ... searching for her? Or that wasn’t precisely right. What was it?
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I answered the phone.
“Becca! Oh, thank God. You’re alive.”
“Why wouldn’t I be alive?” I croaked.
“Because of what happened! Didn’t you hear? Where are you?”
“Hear what?” I asked.
“Gwyn is dead. She was murdered last night.”
Chapter 21
The phone dropped from my numb fingers. Just like that, the memories of the night crashed into me.
Mia texting me to meet her.
Mia not showing or responding.
Axe spilling wine on my shirt, which, looking down at it now, was still stained pink.
Me stumbling to my car, feeling woozy and dizzy, before apparently blacking out in the driver’s seat.
What on earth had happened?
From far away, I could hear Mia’s tinny voice calling out. “Becca? Did you hear me? Where are you? Why aren’t you home?”
The sun was so bright. Too bright. And too hot. Prickles of sweat tickled the back of my neck, dripping down my (likely) ruined shirt. Shading my eyes, I reached down to scoop up my phone again. “I’m here.”
“Here? Where’s here?”
I squinted against the glare, staring at the empty bar. “At The Jack Saloon. Right where you told me to meet you.”
“What are you talking about?”
I could feel the drops of sweat trailing down my spine, between my breasts, leaving a slimy, sticky trail in their wake. “You were supposed to meet me last night,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. Oh my God, what was happening?
“Meet you? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“You texted me,” I said, my voice growing louder. “You said you had something to talk to me about. Something important. You wanted to meet me here.”
“Becca, I didn’t text you yesterday,” Mia said. “ I ended up having to work late.”
“But I texted you! Didn’t you get my texts?”
“Becca, come home,” Mia said. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but I didn’t get any texts from you, either. Come home and let’s sort this out.”
My chest felt like it was being squeezed. I couldn’t catch my breath. How could Mia have not gotten my texts? Was she lying? Why would she lie? What was happening?
I dropped the phone on the seat next to me and started the car. Mia was right. I needed to get home. As quickly as possible.
My head was pounding, and my eyes burned. I squeezed the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white, but at least my hands didn’t shake. It took everything I had to focus on my driving, but I forced myself. Just like I forced myself to drive below the speed limit and be extra vigilant watching everything around me. The last thing I needed was an accident. I needed answers, not another distraction.
The moment I pulled into the driveway, Mia burst out of the house. “Oh, thank God, you’re okay,” she exclaimed, running over to me as I wrestled with the door before realizing it was locked. I stiffly unfolded myself out of the car. “Jesus, what happened to you?”
“I told you,” I said, shielding my eyes
and trying to work the kinks out of my neck and back. My legs were wobbly, like they had fallen asleep, and I propped myself up on my car as the blood rushed painfully through my limbs. “I was in my car at The Jack Saloon.”
“All night?”
I winced at a twinge in my back. “I think so. I don’t really remember.”
“I don’t understand. Why did you fall asleep in your car? How much did you have to drink?”
“Like a glass of wine. Not even.” I took an unsteady step toward the house.
“No way,” Mia said, grabbing my arm to help steady me. “You look completely hung over.”
“I feel completely hung over. But it’s the truth.”
Mia helped guide me up the driveway. “So what exactly happened? What texts do you think you got from me?”
I carefully navigated the steps on to the porch.
“Because I didn’t text you.” She held up her phone and I squinted at the small white screen. “See? No text messages.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. I sat at that table and texted you, asking where you were.”
Mia shook her phone. “There’s nothing here. Are you sure it wasn’t someone else you texted?”
“Positive,” I said, but now I wasn’t so sure. “Let’s get into the kitchen and I’ll show you.”
Mia propped the door open for me. Now that I was moving, my muscles were loosening up and it was easier for me to walk. I got myself into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“Want coffee?” Mia asked.
“Oh God, yes.” I started to get up, but she waved me back down.
“I’ll get it.”
“Thank you.” I took a deep breath and fished out my phone from where I had shoved it in my purse. “See, here, I’ll show you.”
I opened up my texts and clicked on Mia’s name.
There were no texts to or from Mia the day before.
I blinked, trying to focus my eyes.
Still nothing.
I could feel the pressure in my chest start to build and my breathing become erratic.
No, this couldn’t be.
The Evil That Was Done (Secrets of Redemption Book 3) Page 18
