Identical Stranger. Alice Sharpe

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life, right?”

      Their voices faded to white noise. Sophie couldn’t feel her feet. In fact, numbness seemed to be spreading up her legs toward her heart.

      She stood abruptly, catching both of their attention. Looking from one pair of startled eyes to the next, she mumbled, “I have to go.”

      “Where?” her mother demanded.

      “The school,” she said. Where else would she go?

      “Since when is the school open on a Saturday? What’s gotten into you?”

      “It’s a...PTA bake sale,” she muttered.

      “I’ll drive you,” Danny said, starting to stand.

      “No, thanks,” she called over her shoulder as she forced her legs to carry her into the kitchen, where she grabbed her coat and purse from the hook by the door and moved quickly outside. Oscar the cat scooted past her into the warmth of the house before she closed the door and ran through the pouring rain to the curb where she’d parked. For once the aging compact started without trouble and she drove down the street with no plan except escape.

      After a couple of miles and ever-increasing traffic, she pulled to the curb, turned off the car but kept an iron-fisted grip on the wheel to still her shaking hands.

      Her cell rang and Danny’s name flashed onto the screen. Damn if she wasn’t tempted to answer the call. As soon as it stopped ringing, she picked up the phone and turned off the power.

      The panic that had fueled her this far now began escaping into the atmosphere like steam rising from hot bread. She attempted to review the pieces of what had just happened, who said what, all of that, but the words were muted now, details washed out, a blur. What remained was the one moment when she’d glimpsed her life through a different lens and hated what she saw.

      Had she run from her mother’s negativity, Danny’s condescension or her own sudden fear?

      A woman exiting a shop caught her attention. Tall and svelte, what really made Sophie look twice was her crown of platinum curls that seemed to announce to the world that this woman took no prisoners. The shop she had left was a hair salon.

      “I want to trade places with her,” Sophie said aloud. She got out of the car and walked into the salon.

      The hairdresser turned as Sophie entered.

      “I need help,” Sophie said.

      “Honey, all I can do is fix your hair,” the woman said with a half smile.

      “That’s a start,” Sophie said. And in her heart she knew she could never go back to the way things had been.

      * * *

      JACKSON TRAVERS SAT across the table from the very pretty wife of his best friend, though right now she looked exhausted. It had taken him hours to drive here from his house in Northern California, and as of yet, he still had no idea why Sabrina had summoned him. What he did know was that there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for Buzz and, by extension, Buzz’s wife.

      “It was really nice of you to come,” she said after the waitress delivered coffee. “I’m sorry the hotel is so crazy. As far as I know, this is the first February they’ve hosted a conference here. I had a reservation but I’m worried you’re going to have trouble—”

      “Don’t worry about it. The front desk connected me with a little place a couple of miles down the road, so it’s okay. I have to admit I’m curious why you called,” he added. “You sounded spooked on the phone.”

      As she pushed aside her dark hair, a series of fresh red scratches on her forehead caught his attention. Since he’d already noticed the abrasions on her palms when they shook hands and the stiff way she moved as she preceded him into the coffee shop next to the hotel, his curiosity ran rampant. “I’ve never called a private investigator before,” she said.

      He flashed what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Think of it more as calling a friend. I know we’ve only met a few times, but you’re Buzz’s wife and that makes you family.”

      She smiled. “Thanks.”

      “So...”

      “First of all, I don’t want Buzz alarmed,” she said quickly. “He has enough going on right now.”

      “You’re referring to him being in Antarctica.”

      “Yes. The whole scientific team is currently aboard a Russian ship visiting outer islands. I can reach him by radio but holding an in-depth conversation is really hard. He doesn’t need to worry about me.”

      Jack studied her for a second. He’d had a feeling of destiny when she called, something not common to him, something he didn’t even believe in. He’d just had the sensation that her call was the catalyst of a crucial moment in his life and he’d rearranged his plans to travel here without a second’s hesitation. “I can’t promise you I won’t notify Buzz until I know what we’re talking about,” he told her at last. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on.”

      She swallowed a sigh and fidgeted a bit before finally speaking. “It started a couple months ago when I was in the kitchen cooking lasagna. The neighbors across the backyard were having their porch painted. I was at the window draining pasta when I saw the painter taking photos of me with a big camera. By the time I set aside the strainer, his back was to me and then he left... I just had the strangest feeling he’d been doing more than taking pictures, the feeling of, well, invasion.”

      “You were cooking?”

      “Yes.”

      A painful lump appeared in his throat as her words awakened painful memories. They had no place in the present and he did his best to ignore them. “Why do you use the word invasion?”

      She shrugged one shoulder. “It felt...personal. Stupid, huh?”

      “I don’t know,” he told her, the lump refusing to budge. “Did he paint the porch?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Did he finish the job?”

      She thought for a second. “I don’t know.”

      For a second he just stared at her, forcing himself to let go of out-of-context parallels between Sabrina’s issues and his own past. She was sitting here, alive, proof that his imagination was getting the worst of him. “What happened next?” he finally said.

      “A day or so later I came home from work to the feeling that someone had just left our house. No one was there, of course, but I swear, there was just some lingering essence, something that sent chills up my spine. It happened the next day, too. I searched the house but nothing was missing, nothing was even out of place. There was just...nothing.”

      “Did you call the cops?”

      “Of course not. What could they do?”

      “Well, something made you uneasy,” Jack said, not only to reassure her but because he was a firm believer that reasonable people picked up on offbeat vibes

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