CHAPTER 10

“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass; it’s
about learning to dance in the rain.”

—Vivian Greene

Saturday

She was back. Sitting in her white Altima, Jennifer took her time checking messages on her phone, retouching her lipstick, and pulling on her favorite gloves spun with alpaca. All of that took ten minutes.

It was time.

Grabbing her purse, she opened the driver’s-side door and winced as a burst of snow grazed her face. The snow was a surprise. The forecasters had mentioned snow arriving after six o’clock that evening. Not at two.

Well, she assumed the meteorologists were human, too.

If there was a plus to this, it was that the cold and snow helped her stop making excuses. She hurried into the bookstore, closing the door securely right behind her.

“You came back.”

Turning, she saw Camille standing next to a cart near a cute sign that announced they were in the Mysterious section. “Yes, I guess I did.”

“I’m so glad. Right after you left, I told Jack that you were a woman who I wanted to know.”

Whoa. “Really?”

“Any woman who can put up with my son both throwing hot coffee on her leg and his dog being a general pest is a winner in my book.”

Camille was putting a really kind spin on what had actually happened. She smiled at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I hope you will. I’m a tough cookie. Not too easy to please, you know.”

Somehow Jennifer couldn’t see that. No, instead she looked like a sweetheart. “Is Harvard around?” And yes, she was kind of also asking about Jack, though she wasn’t sure why.

Camille shook her head. “No, I’m sorry honey. Harvard is home with Jack. I bet you’re sorry to miss him. That puppy is a cutie, isn’t he?”

She nodded. She wondered if Camille was as complimentary about everything. She was kind of getting that impression.

“I came to look at the cookbooks.”

“I know! I remember.” Pointing to the stairs that were just to the right of them, Camille said, “You go right on up, honey. Have a good time.”

“Thanks.” She walked up the narrow stairs and then stopped with a gasp. She had to have stumbled upon cookbook Mecca. In a loft area that had a 1950s-style red laminate booth, shelves of gorgeous ceramic pie plates of every design and color, and a tree filled with copper cookie cutters. Next to it, in the corner, was a finely refurbished turquoise vintage stove, and a working Coca-Cola bottle dispenser, and a pair of metal chairs with shiny white cushions.

And interspersed among it all . . . was the mother lode of cookbooks.

They were everywhere. On shelves. In stacks. On the Formica table. Some were arranged by subject. Others, by author. Still others looked like they’d been simply set down and forgotten.

Glad that she was completely alone, Jennifer felt tears prick her eyes. Oh, not because of the beautiful display, but because it had been there all along and she hadn’t even known about it.

No, that wasn’t right. She hadn’t been brave enough to overcome her fears to even step foot here, a place that would give her so much pleasure.

Just as sternly, she shook off her doubts and self-recriminations. There was nothing she could do about the past. It was done. All she could do was move forward.

Even with something as simple as being in a favorite store.

Swiping her eyes, she pulled out her bifocals, walked over to the first stack, and sat down at the booth. Then she opened up her first selection with a happy smile.

* * *

Jennifer wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard footsteps on the stairs. Her muscles tensed, preparing to flee, though her head was telling the rest of her to calm down.

“It’s just me,” Camille said. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you might want sustenance.”

Jennifer noticed then that the proprietor was holding a tray with a black and yellow teapot and cup on it. It was a sweet thing—the cup was on top of the pot, making it look like Camille was holding an overgrown bumble bee. She also had a little plate of shortbread cookies.

“You brought all this up for me?”

Camille shrugged. “I was making myself a pot and thought you might be ready to take a break, too.”

Curious to know just how much time had passed, Jennifer glanced at her watch and gaped. She’d been sitting in the same spot for over an hour. “Wow. I had no idea it had gotten so late.”

“Did you find anything good?”

“Only five cookbooks,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Only five, hmmm?” Camille sat down on the bench across from her and pushed the tray toward Jennifer. “Well, now you’ve got to tell me all about them. You can do that while you have a spot of tea.” A worried frown suddenly marred her forehead. “That is, if you like tea?”

“I do. Thank you. This was so nice of you.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t anything.”

Realizing that the room had gotten a little chilled, Jennifer removed the cup from over the teapot and poured herself a steaming cup. After taking a fortifying sip, she smiled. “Peppermint.”

“It’s my favorite this late in the day. Bracing but not caffeinated.”

She took another sip. Then nibbled on the corner of a cookie for good measure.

Then, like a woman in the middle of an antique market, she started talking about the treasures she found. “I’d been wanting to see this one in person forever.”

“Julia Child’s The Way to Cook.” Camille nodded. “Good choice.”

Jennifer grinned. “There’s a French onion soup in here to die for.”

“When you come back, you’ll have to tell me how it turned out.”

“I will.”

“Now, look at this one.” It was a Junior League cookbook from Birmingham, Alabama. “Isn’t it a gem? Next, I found these two baking books. And then, of course, I couldn’t resist this one,” she said, noting that it was from a recent winner of a cooking competition she’d watched on TV.

Camille stood up. “Have you seen this one from Nigella? She makes everything sound so sinful.”

Jennifer giggled, but couldn’t resist scanning the pictures with her.

And so it continued. They scanned cookbooks, talked recipes, and shared stories about their successes and epic failures. Only after a half hour went by did it occur to Jennifer that Camille was upstairs, which meant no one was watching the shop.

“Ah, Camille, I love chatting with you, but don’t you have to worry about your other customers?”

She waved a hand. “Oh, no. No one is coming in on a day like today.”

She was at a loss. “What’s special about today?”

Camille looked at her strangely. “Um, the snow?”

Jennifer stood up and walked to the windows lining the front of the store. And sure enough, it was snowing like crazy, and there had to be at least four inches of fresh powder on the ground.

Panic set in. It wasn’t that she couldn’t drive in the snow, but this was a whole new level of mess. The road was covered and the sky was so dark, it was obvious that a whole lot more was on the way.

“Oh my word. I didn’t even think. I’ve got to go.” Picking up the books she’d chosen, she faced Camille. “I need to check out, please.”

Camille got up far more slowly. “Of course. Um, honey, I just assumed that you lived close by. Is that not the case?”

“I live in Bridgeport.”

Her eyes widened. “It’s going to be a mess over in Bridgeport.”

Jennifer nodded. Bridgeport was a picturesque town, filled with rolling hills, narrow, curvy streets, and a river that flowed through the middle of the town. All of it was beautiful to look at, no matter what the season. But it was hell in the snow. Everyone knew that, which was part of the reason the sleepy town had never reached the size of the other suburbs and outlying towns of Cincinnati. “Those hills are going to be really bad,” she said softly.

“Now you have me worried, especially with you being out on your own. Is there someone you want to call?”

“There’s no need.” The only person she could call was her brother, and she knew he was going to have his hands full attempting to keep the people of Bridgeport from trying to kill themselves by driving like maniacs. “I’ll be fine.”

After she followed Camille down the stairs, she placed the books on the counter so they could be rung up. Just as she was pulling out her wallet, her phone started ringing. Though she would usually ignore it, she saw it was her brother.

And that he’d already called two other times. Boy, she really had been in her own little cookbook world!

After handing Camille her credit card, Jennifer said, “I’m sorry, I’ve got to take this. It’s my brother.”

“Of course you do,” she said as she slid the card through the reader.

“Hey, Dylan,” she said.

“Where are you?”

He never talked to her like that. Well, not since her attack. “I’m at the bookstore.”

“I’ve been calling you,” he said, sounding more irritated. “Jen, you didn’t pick up.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I got busy looking at cookbooks with Camille.”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s the manager of the shop.” She smiled at Camille, as she picked up her credit card and hastily signed the receipt.

“So you’re still there?”

“Yes. I’m paying now.”

“This is unbelievable. I can’t believe you picked today to finally conquer your fears.”

Finally? “Dylan, what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I took time off to go by the house and you weren’t there. It means that I’ve been calling you and you didn’t pick up. It means that now I’m going to have to drive over there to get you and take you home.”

She might have some issues, but she really wasn’t used to being babied or talked down to. “I’m not a child. You don’t need to come get me. Not ever.”

He let out a big sigh. “Jennifer, Traci and I just spent the last hour caring for a woman who slid off the road and needed an ambulance. There’s no way I’m going to let you drive by yourself home in your Nissan. It doesn’t even have snow tires.”

He was starting to scare her, not that he needed to know just how much she was affected. “I’ll go slow and I’ll be careful,” she said in a soft voice. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Jennifer.”

“Um, excuse me.”

Jennifer put her hand over her phone. “Yes, Camille?”

“I think I have a solution for you getting home.”

“Yes?”

“Jack can take you.”

“Jack?”

“Yes. He’s a great driver. And before he became a remodeling contractor, he worked in the oil fields out in South Dakota. He’s used to driving in snow.”

“Thank you, but—”

“He just lives around the corner. And I know he’s home because he called me just before I went upstairs to see you. He’ll be happy to drive you home,” she said in her sweet, comforting voice. “I know it.”

She felt frozen. Everything Camille said made sense. But was she willing to get in the car with a strange man? “I . . . I’m sorry but I can’t.”

Hurt shone in Camille’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

Jennifer turned her back on the woman. “Dylan? Sorry, I’m back.”

“You sound different.” Worry edged into his tone. “What happened? Is everything okay?”

“Yes.” She walked a few steps away and lowered her voice. “Camille suggested that Jack could drive me because he has a big truck and used to work in South Dakota oil fields.”

“Who the hell is Jack?”

“Her son.”

“Do you even know his last name?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t you get in the car with him.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you. Sorry about this. I really don’t know what happened.”

She heard him mutter something under his breath. “I’m on my way. What’s the name of the store?”

“Backdoor Books.” Feeling Camille’s look of disappointment, she closed her eyes.

“Traci and I’ll be there within thirty. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now, don’t you stuff that phone in your purse, okay? Keep it someplace where you can hear it. If we get sidetracked, I want you to know what’s going on.”

“I’ll keep it handy. Thanks, Dylan.” Her voice sounded small and unsure and she hated that. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“No apologies. I’m sorry I sounded like such a jerk. See you soon,” he added before hanging up.

After pushing the button on her phone, she reluctantly turned to Camille. “My brother is a cop. He’s going to come out here to get me. He said he’d be here in about thirty minutes. I hope you don’t mind if I stay here a little longer?”

Camille’s blue eyes looked worried, but she smiled again. “Of course not, honey. You do whatever you need to do.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“How about another cup of hot tea?”

“Thanks. That . . . well, that would be really nice.” Finally relaxing, she leaned back against her chair and looked out the window.

The snowflakes were thick and heavy, clinging to the windowsills, the branches on the nearby trees, even on top of the mailbox. If she’d been home, she would be thinking about how it was beautiful.

Then she noticed a shadow standing next to her car. She blinked, sure she was seeing things. Obviously letting her imagination get the best of her.

But then the shadow moved, and she could have sworn she’d caught a glimpse of something familiar.

A chill coursed through her as all of her worst fears burst forth. She was probably letting every fear she’d ever had take control over her.

Because there was no way any of the men who’d made her life so miserable could have already gotten out of jail and started following her.

Was there?

She was afraid to find out.