Текст книги "The Perfect Stranger"

Автор книги: Wendy Corsi Staub

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

If Landry had crossed paths with either of them in real life rather than on the Internet, they probably wouldn’t even be friends.

Making eye contact, Elena smiles with her eyes, her mouth hidden behind the cup.

Our differences don’t matter, Landry thinks. These women were there for me when I needed them. That’s all that counts.

Elena yawns deeply, then says, “It’ll be so nice to sleep in tomorrow morning. Too bad it’s back to the early morning grind on Monday.”

“I can’t believe y’all are still in session up there. My kids have been out for weeks.”

“That would be great. I always think June would be the nicest time to travel to all the places I want to go. By the time we’re out of school, it’s almost July, and then August—prime season at all the nice hotels within driving distance, and airfares are up, too. I can’t afford to fly and pay for a place to stay plus meals. So I always wind up spending most of my summer sitting around at home.”

“Sounds like my summer,” Kay says. “My life, actually, ever since I got laid off.”

She used to be a guard at a federal prison—the one where the Oklahoma City bomber Timothy McVeigh was executed back in 2001, she mentioned once in a blog comment, wryly calling it her one brush with celebrity.

“Wouldn’t it be great if we could all just go on a real vacation together?” Elena muses. “Spend a few days at some lakeside cottage or on a beach, just relaxing in the sun . . .”

“We can!” Landry doesn’t stop to reconsider the idea that just popped into her head. “My house is right on the water, and my husband is going away on a Father’s Day golf trip next weekend. If you guys buy your plane tickets—you said there were cheap fares out of Boston right now, Elena . . .”

“There are, especially last minute. I got here for less than two hundred bucks round-trip.”

“You’d have to connect through Atlanta, most likely, or maybe Charlotte, coming from the Northeast. You can stay with me and you won’t even have to pay for food,” Landry goes on. “I have plenty of room.”

“I thought you only had a three bedroom house.”

“I do,” she tells Elena, taken aback, “but how do you know that?”

“You wrote it, once. That you wished you had a guest room for when your in-laws come to stay, and then Meredith told you not to worry because you’d have an empty nest with plenty of room before you knew it.”

Landry plays back the vague memory of that online conversation, remembering, with a pang, that Meredith warned her not to wish away a moment of these precious years with her children under her roof.

Next thing you know,BamaBelle, you’ll be rocking a little baby who looks so familiar you’ll think it’s your own . . . and then you’ll remember that it’s your son or daughter’s child, and you’re the grandma.

Hey! I’m too young to be a grandma!

I thought I was, too, and the next thing I knew, I had a whole new batch of stinkerdoodles running around my house. Just you wait. It’ll happen so fast you won’t know what hit you!

Landry swallows a lump in her throat and tries to tune back into what Elena is saying.

“We can always stay in a hotel if we come visit. Are there any nearby?”

“There’s the Grand.”

“The one where you and Rob were married?” Kay asks, and adds, seeing the surprised look on Landry’s face, “You blogged about that once.”

“I did? Your memory is a lot better than mine. Yes, that’s the place. But it’s a resort, and it’s expensive at this time of year. Listen, I might not have plenty of room but I do have enough. Stay with me. This can be our girls’ getaway.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Elena says with a grin.

“I’m trying to tempt you. Have you ever been to Alabama? We have it all: beautiful beaches, history, great food . . .”

“I’ve never been anywhere down South except Disney World, and believe me, the last thing I want on vacation is to be surrounded by a gazillion little kids.”

“Well, I only have two, and they’re quiet, and hardly ever home anyway. So if you come see me, I won’t have to be lonely while Rob’s away.”

Not to mention scared. She wouldn’t admit it to Rob, because he’d promptly cancel his trip, but she’s not particularly anxious at the thought of being alone overnight in the house after what happened to Meredith. Well, alone with the kids.

Good old strength training aside, she can’t help worrying that she might have slipped online about Rob’s golf weekend after all. If not this year, then maybe in the past—it’s an annual Father’s Day event.

Combing her archives using search terms didn’t turn up any evidence that she’d ever mentioned it, and she knows paranoia is probably getting the better of her, but still . . .

She forgot she’d ever posted about having only three bedrooms, and about the Grand Hotel . . . who knows what else she’s written and forgotten?

“If you’re serious about that,” Elena says thoughtfully, “I might be into it. When would it be, exactly?”

Landry notices that Kay sits quietly listening as they discuss the details.

“So you’ll come?”

“I’ll come,” Elena says. “What do you say, Kay?”

“You said you’ve never been south of the Mason-Dixon line,” Landry reminds her. “It would be nice to have some fun together after this sad weekend, wouldn’t it?”

She smiles. “It would. It would be great.”

“Great. And we can invite Jaycee, too,” Elena decides, as Landry is distracted by several new customers walking in, all wearing dark, formal clothing. Are they coming from the funeral service, too? It seems as though the whole town turned out for Meredith.

“So what did you think of Meredith’s family?” she asks the others.

Kay clears her throat. “They were just like she described them, don’t you think? The daughter, and the sons . . .”

“That poem her daughter read was beautiful.” That comes from Elena.

“It was,” Landry agrees. “It had to be really hard for her to get up there and do that.”

“She was amazing. Meredith would have been so proud.” After a moment’s reflection, Elena adds, “But I didn’t like her husband at all.”

“Why not?” Kay asks in surprise. “The poor man just lost his wife. I’m sure under other circumstances he would have been—”

“No, not Meredith’s husband. The daughter’s husband.”

“Oh! What was his name again? Keith?”

“Right. Keith. That was it.”

“What didn’t you like about him?” Landry asks. Her own contact with the man was limited to a brief handshake after being introduced.

But now that the subject has come up, she decides there really was something off-putting about him.

“He just seemed aloof,” Elena says with a shrug.

“You shouldn’t judge people under those circumstances, though,” Kay speaks up again. “They were all hurting. Can you imagine what they’ve been through?”

“I can,” Elena says, “but everyone goes through rough times. That doesn’t change the fact that some guys are jackasses under any circumstances.”

Her words land like a brick tossed onto the table.

Kay’s bushy eyebrows rise above the rims of her glasses.

“Something tells me we’re not just talking about Meredith’s son-in-law anymore,” Landry tells Elena. “Who’s the jackass in your life?”

“Harsh language for a sweet southern belle like you,” Elena fake-chides her.

“I’m just quoting you, my dear.”

“The jackass’s name is Tony, and I can’t believe I’m even bringing it up . . .”

“Why?”

“Because I promised myself that I wasn’t going to think about him at all while I was here. And I definitely wasn’t planning to talk about him.”

“It might make you feel better.”

Elena shakes her head. “Probably worse.”

“What happened?” Kay asks her.

“With Tony? One night stand. Last night. Ever have one?” Elena’s expression makes it clear she already knows the answer to what she just asked Kay: no one night stands there. Certainly not recently; probably not ever.

Kay shakes her head and looks down at her teacup.

Elena looks at Landry. “You?”

“A million years ago,” she confesses, remembering. It isn’t pleasant. “I was in college.”

“Really? That was the last time?”

“I’ve been married forever, Elena.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot.”

“So what happened?” Landry asks. “Last night, I mean.”

“Basically—wine. Wine happened. Does that explain it?”

It might have, years ago. In college. Wine, beer, potent spiked punch at a fraternity party . . .

But Elena is a grown woman. Does she have a drinking problem?

Reminding herself not to jump to conclusions, Landry asks, “So you had too much wine, and you didn’t know what you were doing? Is that it?”

“Pretty much. It’s been such a stressful week, between issues with the kids in my class, and Meredith, and . . . well, you know. Bad week. Crazy time of year. We had this school function last night, and we were both there—”

“You and the jackass?” Landry cuts in with a wry smile that is returned.

“Right. He teaches P.E. at my school, and—well, I did go out with him once, last year. It’s funny—I told Meredith about it because I was psyched about the date before it happened. And I promised to let her know how it went, and she was waiting and expecting to hear that he was the love of my life, but . . .”

“No?”

“No way. One date was enough to convince me that I can’t stand him—and it took him forever to get the message even though I felt like it was loud and clear. But apparently I somehow forgot all that last night, and . . . now he’s kind of . . . stalking me.”

“Stalking you?”

Seeing the alarmed look on Landry’s face, Elena backtracks quickly: “I probably shouldn’t say ‘stalking.’ That’s a little extreme. But he’s just . . . this is how it was after we went out. He’s really persistent and oblivious that I’m . . .”

“Just not that into him?” Landry supplies.

“Not into him at all! But somehow he must think I want to hear from him, and he’s been trying to get ahold of me ever since I got here. Before I left this morning he said he wanted to pick me up from the airport tomorrow and I said no, and then he wanted to come here with me, and of course I said no to that, too. I don’t want him here. I don’t want him there. He makes my skin crawl. Did you ever have someone who just—” She breaks off with a shudder.

“Is he dangerous, do you think?” Kay’s fleshy face is etched in concern.

“Who knows? He’s a creep.” Elena shakes her head.

Landry persists, “But do you feel threatened?”

Elena tilts her head as if contemplating the question, then shrugs. “I don’t know. But, I mean, look what happened to Meredith. You never know what people are capable of doing.”

There’s a long silence.

“Do y’all think—” Landry cuts herself off, realizing now might not be the time to bring this up.

“What?” Elena prompts.

“I’ve just been wondering—what if Meredith’s blog was responsible for . . . I mean, what if some crazy person was following her online—you know, even stalking her, like this Tony guy is with you, Elena—”

“No, I said he’s not really stalking me.”

“I know, but . . . you said yourself that there’s something you don’t like about him and he’s scaring you.”

“No, I didn’t say ‘scaring.’ ”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m just jittery because of what happened to Meredith, and—anyway, what I’m trying to say is, what if she attracted some crazy follower on her blog? And what if whoever it was went after her because he knew she was alone in the house, and he knew where to find her . . .”

“I’ve thought of that.” Elena nods. “She really put it all out there, you know? More so than some of us.”

“I know. I hate to think that someone evil could have been reading all of her innocent posts, watching her, waiting to—” Seeing the horrified look on Kay’s face, Landry breaks off abruptly. “Kay, are you all right?”

“I am, I just . . . I thought it was random. A burglary. I didn’t think . . .” She shakes her head. “Oh my God.”

“It’s definitely made me think twice about what I’m willing to share online,” Elena tells them. “I mean, anyone out there can be reading our blogs.”

“Including your friend Tony.”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought about that, Landry. Maybe it’s time to stop.”

“Stop blogging?”

“Stop spending so much time with the online group. The public one, anyway. It’s one thing to spend so much time networking online when you’re first diagnosed, dealing with the shock and the treatments and feeling alone. But lately I just do it out of habit. I mean, the three of us can still stay close. Now that we’ve met, I can’t imagine losing touch with you guys. But the others—not that I don’t appreciate all the friends I’ve made online, but with Meredith gone . . . I don’t know. Maybe it’s time to take a step back. Especially if . . . do you really think something happened to Meredith because of what she wrote?”

“Do you?” Kay looks up at last.

“Maybe. How about you, Landry?”

She nods slowly. “I do. In my gut . . . I really do.”

Finding herself within arm’s reach of Landry Wells for the second time today, Jaycee doesn’t dare turn her head as she listens to the conversation unfolding behind her.

She couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw the familiar rental car pull into the parking lot as she sat at the table by the window, sipping the last of her coffee.

For a split second she wondered if the three of them had spotted her at the funeral and followed her here.

She had to remind herself, once again, that they don’t know what she looks like. She’s just jittery because she’s fairly certain the lady cop recognized her. But not, of course, as Jaycee the breast cancer blogger.

As Jenna Coeur.

And Jenna Coeur has nothing to do with Landry, Kay, or Elena.

They’re here, she realized, for the same reason she herself is here; for the same reason most people go to Starbucks. The coffee is good and the chain is popular. Plus, it’s near the funeral home—not to mention their hotel.

She should have considered that before she stopped. Or if she had to stop, she should have jumped back on the highway and gotten out of here with her coffee.

When she saw them coming, it was too late. She knew she was trapped. Leaving now would mean walking right past them. She sat hoping they’d take their coffee to go, but of course they didn’t. And as fate would have it, for the second time today the only vacant spot in the place is right next to her.

It’s almost as though somebody up there is trying to tell her something.

Meredith?

If so, she’d better cut it out, because her nerves were edgy enough before all this.

Then again . . . now that the three of them are settled into the next table, she finds herself almost glad for the encounter. After spending so much time wondering what it would be like if things were different and she actually could have met them in person, it’s almost as if she’s a part of things after all. She’s heard every word they’ve said since they sat down, and almost choked on her own saliva when Landry mentioned her blogger name.

But right now they’re discussing Meredith. More specifically, her murder.

“I still can’t believe anyone who read her blog could have been evil enough to come after someone like her.”

That’s Landry talking. Jaycee finds it easy to distinguish her drawl from Elena’s rapid-fire Boston accent and Kay’s flat midwestern one.

“What do you think the detective is going to ask us when we talk to her?” Kay asks, and Jaycee realizes she wasn’t the only one at the funeral who captured the attention of law enforcement in their midst.

“She probably thinks we might know something. Which we don’t.” Elena pauses, then amends, “At least, I don’t.”

“Maybe there’s something we didn’t realize at the time,” Landry tells her.

“I can’t think of a thing.”

“I can’t either. I’m just glad for the opportunity to feel like I’m doing something constructive after feeling helpless about it.”

“Me too,” Elena replies. “And I hope they’re going to do whatever it takes to make sure this guy doesn’t get away with it, whoever he is. Did you see how that detective was looking at everyone leaving the service? Like she thought maybe the killer was right there with us?”

“But it’s been a week since . . .” Kay again, hesitating. “I mean, don’t you think he’s long gone by now? Why would he show up at the funeral today?”

“Maybe it’s not someone online. Maybe it was some local thug, and for all we know, they already have a suspect.” Landry again.

Elena gives a short laugh. “I didn’t see anyone there who looked like a thug, did you?”

“Sometimes thugs don’t look particularly thuggish.”

“True. But even if it was an unthuggish thug—and someone local who knew her—he still could have been reading her blog.”

“I know. I bet that detective has been combing through every word Meredith ever wrote, and everything anyone ever wrote to her.”

“I’ve been doing the same thing,” Kay tells Landry. “I keep looking back over her old posts, trying to see if there’s any clue that she might have run into some kind of trouble, or . . . you know, if she made someone angry.”

“Meredith was pretty outspoken. She made plenty of people angry,” Elena points out. “But angry enough to track her down and hurt her? I don’t think so. I really think it had to be some random person who was just plain crazy.”

“All I know,” Landry says, “is that the world already feels emptier without her in it.”

Jaycee listens to them chatter on, moving back to the topic of what Elena should do about Tony.

“I don’t even want to turn my phone on again,” she says. “I’m afraid I’ll have more hang-up calls from him.”

“Just keep it turned off, then,” Kay advises, but Landry has the opposite advice.

“I think you should deal with it now, or you’ll be dwelling on it all weekend—and so will he. If he’s truly obsessed, he might . . . I don’t know . . .”

“Snap and kill me?” Elena asks, then groans. “I’m so sorry. I forgot, for a second, about Meredith. I was kidding.”

“We know you were,” Landry tells her. “It’s okay.”

“Let me see if he’s called again.”

Jaycee hears a rustling behind her. After a few moments Elena says, “Two more hang-ups just since we’ve been sitting here, and a third call with a message.”

“Listen to it.”

“Okay. You know, I hate myself for wasting all this time and energy on him. And I hate him for making me . . .” Another long pause. “Oh, God. You have to hear this message. I’ll put it on speaker, here, listen.”

Despite the coffeehouse background buzz, the call is clearly audible to Jaycee.

“Babe, it’s Tony. Where the hell are you? Why aren’t you calling me back? I told you I just want to talk to you. Are you ignoring me, or did something happen to you? Call me as soon as you get this. I mean it.”

Everything about the call—the harsh words, the menacing tone—sends chills down Jaycee’s back.

Where the hell are you . . . ?

How many times has she heard it before? Sickened, it’s all she can do to stay seated, back turned to the three of them, pretending to sip from a cup that’s long since been empty.

“Why is he calling you ‘Babe,’ as if he’s your boyfriend or something?” Landry asks.

“Because he’s creepy and crazy and he probably thinks he is. He’s delusional.”

“Delusional?” That’s Kay, worried.

“Definitely. That’s what my friend Sidney is always saying, and I’m starting to think she’s right.”

“Well, I definitely think he sounds like a jerk,” Landry says. “If I were you, I’d call him back and tell him off. Maybe that’s what he needs to hear.”

“Maybe. But I don’t feel like dealing with him. Maybe I’ll just call the cops instead.”

“Seriously?”

“No. I guess I can always block his number from getting through to my phone. There’s a way to do that. I really don’t need this kind of stress in my life. It’s dangerous, like Meredith was always saying, remember?”

“What?” Landry sounds shocked. “Meredith talked about being stalked by someone crazy and delusional?”

“No! God, no! I meant stress!” Elena says. “She blogged a few times about those studies showing that breast cancer patients who have daily stress have much shorter survival times.”

“Oh—I misunderstood.”

“Geez, Landry, a few minutes ago we were talking about Meredith’s murder. Do you really think I wouldn’t have brought it up then if I knew she had a crazy stalker?”

Elena’s tone is sharp, Jaycee notices. She seems to have a quick temper. Or maybe she’s just aggravated by the situation, and who—having overheard that phone message from crazy Tony—can blame her?

Landry—good for her—changes the subject, announcing that it’s getting late. They decide they should get back to the hotel. From the sounds of it, the detective is meeting them there.

Behind Jaycee, chairs scrape. She takes another pretend-sip, distracting herself from panic with the amusing notion that if the cup weren’t empty, she’d have downed a gallon of coffee by now. She focuses on her phone, thumb-scrolling through her in-box as if she’s absolutely absorbed by her e-mail.

Then it happens.

She hears a clatter on the floor, and something skitters under her chair. Glancing down, she sees a cell phone coming to a stop between the pointy toes of her two black pumps.

Elena’s cell phone, judging by which of the three voices utters a curse.

“Sorry about that,” Elena says—to her? Is she talking to her?

Not daring to turn around, she holds her breath.

“Ma’am?”

She’s talking to me! Oh, no!

Jaycee’s mind runs wildly through her options.

She can continue to sit frozen, completely ignoring Elena and forcing her to crawl under the table to retrieve her own phone—which will certainly attract attention not only from the three women behind her, but from everyone around her, increasing the likelihood that they’ll scrutinize her and perhaps recognize her.

Or, she can remind herself—again—that there’s no way Elena or the others would possibly realize she’s Jaycee the blogger, and she can do what any normal person would do in this situation, which is pick up the phone and hand it back to its owner with a polite smile.

That is precisely what she does, facing Elena head-on with a pleasant, “Here you go.”

“Thanks. Sorry about that,” she repeats.

“No problem.”

They nod politely at each other, and then Elena walks away with Landry and Kay.

Heart beating as if she really did drink a gallon of coffee, Jaycee watches them go, feeling as though she’s just had a close call, when really it wasn’t.

To them, she was just a stranger.

Then she sees Landry turn back over her shoulder. She levels a long, searching look at her, frowning, almost as if . . .

She knows!

No, wait—how can she know?

It’s impossible. She can’t recognize her as Jaycee.

She can, however, recognize Jenna Coeur, just as the lady detective did.

And Landry, like the detective, has Meredith’s murder on her mind. What if she starts to wonder how Jenna Coeur could possibly have known Meredith Heywood?

I shouldn’t have come. This was stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid . . .