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Lydia Everett froze, moments from death. She trembled as shock mingled with terror. It was too cold out for her to last much longer. The sheriff’s wife and Honey Pot’s amateur sleuth crouched beneath the bridge and prayed.
“Dear Lord, please let Ethan find me.”
The boots of her assailant clattered across the bridge above her. Beneath her, an icy creek spelled out certain hypothermia if she were to fall into it. She didn’t dare move an inch. Both directions held nothing but death.
Under her feet, damp and frosty moss threatened her every muscle twitch. With one hand, she kept her balance. Her frozen fingers nearly carved into the rocky bank. The other hand kept pressure on her throat. It was bleeding. Lydia hadn’t checked to see how badly. The leap from her captor’s van had cost her a beloved scarf and at least two layers of skin.
Her scarf, a birthday present from her missionary daughter, Joan, and her adopted daughter, Ivy, had both saved her and injured her. Launching oneself from a moving van was never a great idea. Lydia hadn’t seen another way out.
The driver of the van snatched her and tied her hands with duct tape. Then, on a call to what Lydia could only guess to be an accomplice, he grew wildly agitated.
Lydia rolled in the back of the van, listening. She gleaned every morsel of information she could from her side of the phone call. All while she chewed at the duct tape binding her hands together.
She couldn’t see much of the driver from her position. It didn’t appear like he could see her, either. Laying on a plastic sheet atop the cold metal interior, Lydia could sometimes make out the driver’s boots. Brown, dirty, with a square toe, they reminded Lydia of biker boots or maybe steel-toed boots for construction workers.
Lydia struggled to piece together what was happening as she hurried to get free. She couldn’t remember there being any construction work around Pottersville, aka Honey Pot. She also didn’t recognize the driver’s voice.
There wasn’t much more to go on but that. It’s not like she’d been unraveling another mystery and angering a suspect or two. This was one time Lydia had minded her own business. Her only earthly focuses were healing from the last battle and helping Ivy plan Scout’s first birthday until she’d been kidnapped.
When she finally tore away the duct tape from one hand, Lydia flung open the back door of the van and jumped. Her scarf snagged for only a second. It jerked her away from a perilous drop into the creek before unwrapping and driving away with the van.
Lydia hit the ground with a gut-churning thwack. She angled her body, doing her best to tuck and roll without skidding down the hill and into the frigid water.
Once air came back to her lungs, she scurried beneath the bridge. She was shivering there when the van returned. There she clung, waiting for the sound of her attacker’s boots to lead him back to his vehicle and drive away.
Lydia hoped he’d leave soon. Or else. A tear warmed her cheek as she offered silent petitions to her Heavenly Father.
“You will never leave me or forsake me.” Her heart repeated the promise as she held her breath and waited.
***
THINGS HAD BEEN GOING so well. Earlier in the evening, Lydia Everett sat smiling in her favorite spot in Honey Pot. Possibly her favorite spot in the entire world. She drained the last swallow of caffeinated nectar from her coffee cup and sighed contentedly.
3 Alarm Coffee was her home away from home. Though only a five-minute drive from her actual house, it offered her a warm place to visit with friends or slowly soak in a moment of much-needed solitude. Oh, how she’d missed 3 Alarm Coffee. The place and its signature brew got her thoughts flowing.
It had been three long, and tiresome weeks since last she’d lounged in her favorite booth. Lydia steeped in every second of her reunion with the local coffee shop. Even the dull thrumming in her temples couldn’t diminish her enjoyment of being back home.
The last time she ventured out of Honey Pot and graced an out-of-town dining establishment, Lydia became embroiled in yet another murder case.
Being tossed into dangerous investigations, alongside her gal pals, was quickly becoming the new norm. Her husband, Ethan, also the sheriff of Honey Pot, couldn’t help but object to Lydia’s blatant involvement in such situations especially since the last one landed Lydia in the hospital with a head injury.
Doctor prescribed rest was non-negotiable.
Ethan had forbidden Lydia’s best friends, Kat Miller and Flora Brandes, to even mention any suspicious activity to his wife. Technically, Lydia really wasn’t supposed to have visitors. The girls came under the guise of helping Ivy, the Everett’s informally adopted teenage daughter.
Ivy lived with Lydia and Ethan. As did her nearly one-year-old daughter Scout. Scout was newly mobile and cutting teeth. Kat and Flora took turns visiting to help Ivy with Scout so that Lydia didn’t.
Ethan was grateful to the ladies. That didn’t mean he was foolish enough to think Kat and Flora didn’t skulk upstairs to the Master Bedroom to chat with Lydia during their visits. Even though his wife should have been resting her freshly injured head, Ethan knew there was no way of keeping the friends apart. He settled for their solemn oaths not to spill any adrenaline spiking tidbits of town news to Lydia.
It drove Lydia crazy. At first, the quiet was nice. But after the second sleepless hour of nothingness, Lydia was nearly clawing at the wallpaper. Talking with Ivy about Scout’s upcoming birthday was the highlight of her waking moments.
Finally, after waiting for weeks, she was free to come out among the people again. Even if it was for work purposes, Lydia was thrilled to be out of the house and around the living.
Now, sitting in her booth, she knew what all the fuss, over rest, was about. Though her heart was full, her head was not happy. It pulsated in protest. Lydia settled her back against the vinyl seat and closed her eyes. Just for a moment.
Her meeting with Mrs. Roberts had gone well. Lydia would begin tutoring her little boy at the beginning of the new year. Mrs. Roberts didn’t want to wait that long for help. But Ethan had strongly suggested Lydia pause her tutoring for a few more weeks. Lydia obliged. She’d sent Mrs. Roberts on her way with a prayer, a few informational websites to investigate, and a copy of Diary of a Dyslexic Homeschooler. Just enough to calm the worried mother’s heart and stop her loudest pangs of panic until the new year.
Their two-hour meeting had exhausted Lydia. Thankfully, Ethan wasn’t letting Lydia drive yet. He’d pick her up in another hour or so. Lydia took time to enjoy 3 Alarm all on her own and people watch.
She repositioned her new scarf and tucked her arms inside her jacket. With her eyelids slightly closed, she tuned into the chatter beginning around her.
Early November brought writers to 3 Alarm Coffee. Lydia listened to them set up their workstations. They scattered notebooks and Sharpies across the tables and spooned with their laptops. She pictured them shuffling in their seats, casting anxious looks around the room, perhaps searching for any distraction to keep them from slaving away at their stories.
A throat cleared among the scribes. Lydia opened one eye and saw a young woman smiling toward the awkward writers. She was definitely their ring leader.
“Okay now.” The brown-haired woman drew attention to herself. “I suggest we spend the next fifteen minutes ordering our drinks and dispensing with the greetings. After that, we’ll get down to writing. Then we’ll do a round of sharing.”
It sounded like fun to Lydia. If only her head didn’t ache, she might have asked to join the group. A new barista paused in her duties to listen to the writer wrangler. She, too, seemed interested in the gathering.
The name on the barista’s badge was hand-scrawled in marker. She was so new she didn’t sport a permanent name tag. No doubt Hobo Joe, 3 Alarm’s secret owner, or Tamas, its manager, had one on the way for this fresh employee.
“Excuse me.” Lydia’s throat croaked when she spoke. She was even more tired than she’d thought. “Penny?”
The red-haired girl shook off her momentary hyperfocus and offered Lydia a soft smile. “Yes?”
Lydia tapped her mug. “Could I get a refill, please?”
Penny wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure we do that here,” she said. “But I'll ask. I may have to charge you for it. Is that okay?” Penny shoved her cleaning rag into the pocket of her brown apron.
The server was very new. Lydia smiled. “Of course.”
Tamas watched the scene and frowned. He hurried over to Lydia’s booth, carting a carafe of coffee with him. “Sorry, Lydia, Penny has only been waiting tables for a few days.”
Penny blushed as Tamas poured. “You’re that Lydia?”
“Of course, she’s Lydia,” Tamas spouted. “Didn’t I just say that? Lydia’s basically got a tab going.” Penny’s lip twitched downward. Tamas turned to her, softening his voice. “You’ll get used to the faces around here in no time. Especially this face.”
Penny averted her eyes as Tamas returned to the front counter. A line of thirsty writers began to grow. The young waitress watched her manager go and offered a shy grin to Lydia. Lydia wriggled in her seat, strangely anxious.
Lydia started. “What exactly did you mean by that, Lydia?”
Penny snickered softly. “Let’s just say I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Lydia’s eyebrows tented. “That can be really good or really bad.”
Penny didn’t answer. She scooped up a bowl of unused sugar packets from the table and sorted them. “Maybe both?” Lydia said, casting concerned looks toward Tamas.
“Maybe.” Penny’s timid flash of grin returned to her youthful face. She excused herself from Lydia’s booth as two rushing women charged in her direction.
“Lydia!” Kat hooted. “You’re out!”
The pounding in Lydia’s head increased as Kat, flanked by Flora, charged over to greet their long-absent friend.