checking in her rearview mirror often, just in case.
Just in case, what? Some unknown demon predator is stalking you? Some evil person or beast, the presence you felt in the maze? Get real, Rebecca. Pull yourself together. Just because you had a damned vision…
“Stop it,” she warned herself aloud. She could not fall apart; not now. Not when she was meeting Hudson’s sister, a woman she wasn’t even sure she liked. Snapping on the radio, she listened to songs from the eighties, which was a bad idea. High school. Jessie. Hudson. Old emotions came flooding back in a rush. Angrily, she switched to NPR and some talk radio about the environment.
Safe.
Becca ordered a glass of merlot and a small plate of fruit, cheese, and crackers, then seated herself at a table with a view of the hand-painted dishware, candles, and assorted knickknacks. She wasn’t a person who collected things. Her place was remarkably bare as, without fully realizing it, she’d systematically removed almost all traces of Ben. There were a few items still around: a photograph he’d taken of her on a weekend jaunt, the needlepoint footstool from his grandmother he’d forgotten to grab when he left, a gray parka hung in the laundry room she sometimes threw on to battle the elements.
She glanced around to find the barista cleaning the countertop of the bar. Several couples sat over coffee, and a group of three women in their thirties huddled around a small table sipping wine. Jazz floated from speakers mounted over the wine rack, and a few glasses clinked.
Renee came bustling inside under the protection of an umbrella that the wind seemed determined to snatch away. But her grip was hard and she snapped the umbrella shut and looked around, briefly running a hand through her wind-tossed hair. When her eyes met Becca’s she lifted her chin in acknowledgment, then went to the counter and ordered herself a cup of black coffee.
“Back to the beach, huh?” Becca greeted her as Renee brought her cup to her table.
She gave Becca a look as she scooted in her chair. “Tim and I keep telling ourselves that we want to work things out, but I don’t know. I’ve been staying at a beach house almost every weekend, trying to put things into perspective. Jessie’s not the only story I’ve been working on. I started on this small-town story—you know about the largest Sitka spruce tree in the world? The one outside of Seaside that recently broke apart in a storm?”
Becca nodded. Sipped her wine. “I remember seeing it on the news.”
“People have been sending me pictures from their lives, their parents’ lives, their grandparents…all of them around the tree. Really great photos. Anyway, it’s a piece for the local paper but it could get picked up as a human interest piece in national papers. You never know.” She twirled her coffee cup slowly, spinning it by its handle with one finger. Becca sensed that Renee was prattling on as a means to build up some courage to talk about what she really wanted to discuss, so she just let her go on.
Eventually, Renee wound down with, “The whole area has a kind of small-town mentality, which has been great. It’s hell staying at the house with Tim now, so I do it as little as possible. I wish he’d just move out.” She rubbed her temple with two fingers as if just talking about her husband gave her a headache.
“This isn’t why you wanted to talk to me,” Becca said into the sudden silence. She pushed her cheese and fruit plate toward Renee. “Have some.”
She waved off the offering. “Got a weird stomach thing going on. I know, I know, coffee’s not good, either, but I want to stay awake; I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping at night. All this stuff with Tim. I have to be sharp to drive to the coast. There’s been snow in the pass and I don’t do chains. Period.”
“Uh-huh.”
Renee took a breath, held it a moment, then released it slowly. “You know…it’s…kind of surprising…what you can stumble across. Like fate’s intervened. I’m not trying to sound like Tamara,” she added quickly. “It’s just, working on Jessie’s story and then having that skeleton appear at St. Lizzie’s.” She hesitated. “It would be nice to have a source in the police department to find out, y’know?”
Becca nodded.
Renee made a face. “Sometimes…well, this is going to sound strange because I really do want to write that story, but sometimes I wonder if we should really open Pandora’s box. Maybe we should let bad things lie. Go with the Sitka spruce nostalgia and leave digging into graves alone.”
“You were the one who called the meeting at Blue Note,” Becca reminded her in surprise.
“I know. I’m not giving up.” She ran her hands through her short, dark hair. “I don’t know why I’m going back and forth on this.” She switched gears and, frowning at herself, picked up a small wedge of Edam cheese. “I guess I can try this.” She took an experimental bite. “So tell me more about your trip to the maze.”
In for a penny, in for a pound.
Becca dutifully described her trip to St. Elizabeth’s, including the moment when she felt there was something there, something…if not evil, certainly not good. Renee listened attentively and Becca finished with, “I don’t want to sound crazy or anything. It was raining and hailing and windy, and I was probably more susceptible than usual. But it was more than that. I really felt like I wasn’t alone.”
“Did you think Jessie was there?”
Becca shot her a look to determine whether she was patronizing her, but Renee appeared totally serious as she blew across her cup, then took a swallow of coffee. “No. Not Jessie.”
“Who, then?”
“No one, I guess. No one I saw, anyway. It was just a feeling, and maybe I was just too susceptible. The atmosphere: the dark, the maze, the Madonna. It spooked me.”
“You don’t have to make excuses,” Renee said. “I believe you. I’ve had some experiences that weren’t…explainable.” She glanced to her side, to make certain the trio of women on their second glasses of wine weren’t eavesdropping. They were too caught up in their own conversation to give a second glance Becca and Renee’s way.
“Like what?” Becca asked, prodding.
Renee hesitated. “I know we’ve never been the closest of friends. Maybe that’s more my fault than yours, but…this should be all in the past now.” She narrowed her gaze, seemed to want to say something again, then thought better of it. Finally, she added, “Sometimes I have a feeling of persecution. Like someone’s after me. But then, I’ve written a few articles that have really pissed some people off, so maybe they are!”
She laughed and Becca saw the resemblance between Renee and Hudson’s humor for the first time. “Do you think, like Tamara, that Jessie might still be alive?” Becca asked.
“Oh, no. Those are Jessie’s bones,” she stated positively, her demeanor instantly sobering as she polished off the cheese. “I’m sure she’s dead. Long dead.” She peered at Becca. “I was told she was.”
“By who?”
“A crazy old woman who believes she can read the future.” She smiled faintly.
“Oh.” Becca watched her slowly spin her cup again. “You think it could have been just an accident?”
As
