identification Gregor had given her had worked. She’d been too stunned at the time to question where he’d obtained the driver’s license, social security card and credit card, all with the name Jane Thompson. She suspected she wouldn’t have liked the answer had she asked. No one so far had questioned that she wasn’t Jane Thompson. She didn’t know what she’d do if the thin line keeping her safe disappeared and her true identity became known.
A shudder of dread, followed closely by a jab of guilt at deceiving the good people of Bristle Township, made her gut tighten. She prayed God would forgive her for doing what she had to in order to survive.
“I just need to make a quick phone call,” Ashley assured her landlady as the urgent drive to know who was injured consumed her.
If she could have bought a burner phone in Bristle Township she would have, but that wasn’t an option. First, none of the local stores carried one—she’d discreetly searched—and second, everyone would know about such a purchase the moment she made it.
Thankfully, Mrs. Marsh’s data plan included free long distance, as well as Wi-Fi. Mrs. Marsh’s children, who both lived in Texas, had sent her the phone so that they could communicate with her.
With phone in hand, Ashley quickly searched for the hospitals in and around the Burbank area. She called each listed and on the fourth try found the hospital where the critically injured victim of The Matador fire had been taken.
Her heart sank to have her fear confirmed that Gregor Kominski, the restaurant’s manager, had been the one hurt. Anxiety made her limbs shake beneath the khaki pants and long sleeve T-shirt sporting the Java Bean logo on the front breast pocket and the back. She had been on her way out the door for work when she’d seen the news.
Had the fire been set intentionally? Had Gregor suffered because of her?
“Are you a relative of Mr. Kominski’s?” the woman from the hospital on the other end of the line questioned.
Biting her lip, Ashley debated her answer. She didn’t want to lie, but she doubted they would give her much information if she admitted she wasn’t related to the man. Finally, she hedged, allowing the woman to make her own assumption. “I’m calling from out of town. What can you tell me? Is he going to be okay?”
“He remains in critical condition,” the woman said. “Would you like to leave a name and a number for updates?”
Ashley quickly hung up. No, she didn’t want to leave a name and number. She didn’t want there to be any trace of her reaching out for information. The call had been a risk. One she hoped she wouldn’t have to pay for with her life.
Gossip in Bristle Township traveled faster than the wind off the mountain. Ashley couldn’t help but overhear several customers of the Java Bean coffee shop talking about a detective from California asking questions about a mysterious woman.
Heart beating in her throat, Ashley spilled milk all over the espresso machine. With shaky hands, she quickly wiped up the mess and finished making the specialty drink.
Just this morning she’d learned of the fire that had destroyed The Matador restaurant and sent her friend to the hospital. Now a police officer from the same state was in town. Coincidence? Or was she on the verge of being discovered?
Ethan Johnson, a local farmer, stared at her from beneath the brim of a well-worn baseball cap as she handed him the steaming cup of mocha cappuccino. “Do you have a sister?”
Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she mutely shook her head.
“Hmm. I guess we all have a doppelganger,” he commented. His blue veined hands cupped the to-go container as if the warmth of the liquid inside was soothing to the arthritis evident in the swollen joints of his fingers.
Forcing herself to speak, she asked, “Why do you say that?”
“You vaguely resemble the woman in the photo the lawman was asking me about,” he replied with a shrug. He lifted the cup and blew through the hole on the lid as he walked away.
Though she barely resembled her old self, terror of being exposed ripped through Ashley. She’d been careful to keep her appearance understated so she could blend in better. Though the dye job she’d done right before landing in Bristle Township hadn’t turned out quite the way she’d expected. Much too flashy.
The carton of hair dye had claimed she’d end up with honey blond hair. She touched the short platinum blond strands curling around her face. Sudden sadness and anger at the circumstances that had forced her to change not only her hair color and style but also her whole life swamped her, weighing her down.
One simple distracted moment and her world had spun out of control.
Knowing things could be so much worse—she could be dead—she quickly removed her apron and hurried over to the owner of the Java Bean, Stephen Humphrey. He was a big teddy bear of a man with two teenage kids who helped out on the weekends.
“Hey, boss. I need to take a break, if that’s okay. I forgot I promised Mrs. Marsh I would help her with something.” Like protecting her from me.
Ashley’s insides twisted with guilt. She hated having to keep her true identity a secret from these people who had shown her such kindness.
She knew Stephen had a soft spot for Mrs. Marsh. The whole town did. Mrs. Marsh and her late husband had been beloved grade school teachers. Everyone who had grown up in town had been in her or her late husband’s classes. Ashley had heard so many wonderful stories of how Mr. and Mrs. Marsh had made a difference in people’s lives.
Just as Mrs. Marsh was making a huge difference in Ashley’s life. More guilt and regret heaped on her head, making her scalp tingle. She wanted to scrub the past year and a half away, go back in time and undo what was done. But she couldn’t.
The only thing she could do was run to stay alive.
“Sure,” Stephen replied. “Just be back for the afternoon rush.”
She smiled tightly but refrained from promising. It was time for her to leave Bristle Township as soon as possible. The thought pinched, creating a pang of sorrow. She liked the town and her job. She’d started to make friends, letting people into her heart. Foolish on her part.
Over the last year she’d saved up so she could afford to move on. She’d only stopped in the small mountainside community and taken the job at the coffee shop because she’d run out of the money Gregor had given her. He’d told her never to contact him again and she hadn’t wanted to put her mother in danger by contacting her.
Not that Irene Willis would have been in any position to help her only child, nor would she have made much effort if she could. Irene barely made a living waiting tables at a truck stop outside Barstow, California, and Ashley was positive her mom’s life was less complicated without her daughter to set off her temper. One of the many reasons Ashley had left as quickly as she could when she turned eighteen.
Ashley’s only option had been staying in one place long enough to earn more money to keep running for her life. She hadn’t meant to stay so long. But life had become comfortable and she’d believed herself secure in this quaint mountain hamlet. Maybe if she’d stayed in Barstow or chosen a different path, she wouldn’t be here
