Chapter Six

I slept fitfully, the previous evening’s events replaying in my mind until I wasn't sure what was real and what became a tired hallucination. When I finally gave in and admitted defeat, the small clock radio on the nightstand read six AM. The sun had risen, barely filtering through a gap in the curtains, and although I was cozy in the big warm bed, I knew I couldn't lie around for long, doing nothing. Besides, I was consumed by so many questions. What was Brad doing in Calendar? Why did he come to my house? What did he expect when I opened the door? How did he find me? Did someone betray me? Did I leave a clue to my whereabouts without intending to?

Of course the questions that trumped all of those was: who stabbed him in the heart? Who murdered Brad Van den Berg?

The more my questions swirled through my mind, the more I realized I had no answers. Of course, I could guess some of them. I was sure I never even hinted about my location to anyone. I cut off all my friends and I didn't speak to my family in more than a year; not since my last check-in right after I caught a glimpse of Brad from afar and had to relocate again. Not because I didn't want to speak to them, but for their safety as well as mine. The only thing protecting my family from Brad's machinations was knowing nothing.

I added several steps between his last sighting and my ultimate arrival to Calendar. I knew I never mentioned Calendar to him or anyone else in my past because the small town wasn’t even on my radar when he found me the last time. So where did I go wrong?

I kept my first name and changed my surname. I changed my appearance multiple times, growing out the short, cropped hair I made famous during my modeling days. First, I wore a shaggy reddish bob, then I let it grow to my shoulders. I was even a brunette for a few months but eventually chose long, blonde hair. I left my flashy wardrobe behind, choosing smart but simple clothes for my new lifestyle. I darted from town to town, hardly staying in one place for any length of time with long road trips and cheap motel stays in between. Yet, he still found me, just like he always said he would.

But someone also found him. Who? Or was it a crime of the moment? Murdered for some reason completely unrelated to me... yet on my doorstep. That seemed too much of a coincidence to be possible.

Pushing back the covers, my feet landed on the area rug laid over a highly polished wood floor and I wiggled my toes in the rich softness. I briefly ruminated on how different last night in the ER was before I stood up and headed to the small attached bathroom. After inspecting my forehead, I was relieved to find very little bruising. Vanessa generously left me a basket of useful bath items I might need, which was so thoughtful, and I selected the products I needed to shower and brush my teeth.

Back in the room, I wrapped myself up in a soft bath towel. My heart sunk when I realized I had nothing to wear except the borrowed scrubs and the borrowed pajamas! I wished I had my phone so I could have called Sacha and asked her to bring a few items from the shop. She was probably getting ready for school and it was horribly unfair to put her in that position. Plus, I didn't want to freak her out. Detective Logan's words rang in my ears: he offered to go to my house and pick up anything I listed for him. Much as I hated to ask, that's what I had to do. I put the pajamas back on and opened the door. A basket sat squarely in the middle of the doorway with a note on top. I picked it up, frowning when I saw my pink sweater underneath.

Picked these out of your laundry basket. Hope they’re useful. Please call when you're awake. Detective Logan's card was pinned to the note.

The brief moment of annoyance fled as I lifted the basket. Detective Logan hadn't gone through my closet but picked out a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, underwear, socks, and a sweater from the clean laundry I hadn’t put away. I wasn't too thrilled that he also handled my intimate items, but beyond relieved to have a full change of my own clothing. That alone was a pure luxury. The joy of wearing scrubs again evaporated the instant I contemplated it. In addition to being way too big and not mine, I noticed flecks of dried blood on the inside, obviously transferred from my skin.

However, despite the detective's thoughtful gesture, he forgot my shoes, leaving me with slippers and there was no way I planned to wear them with the rubber-soled socks! I might have had a terrible shock but when it came to fashion, I had to maintain some standards. So I dressed quickly, tugged a comb through my wet hair, and opened the door again, ready to head downstairs, into the unknown.

The clatter of the radio, and someone singing over the top of the music, came from downstairs and I followed the sounds until I reached a large kitchen. A big table beside French doors led onto a veranda. Someone placed a bouquet of flowers in a glass jar in the center.

“Hi,” said Vanessa as I entered. She stood with her back resting against the counter, smiling broadly, her hands wrapped around a stoneware mug. “Did you sleep okay?”

“The bed was very comfortable,” I told her, since I doubted she wanted to hear about my tossing and turning. “Thank you again for putting me up on such short notice.”

“It's no problem at all. I figured you wouldn't sleep very well but that's completely natural after a shock. I see you got the things Sam left for you. He didn't want to wake you. There're breakfast items on the table but if you want something hot, my sister will be here soon and she's a far better cook than I.”

“Thank you,” I said again. Everything felt strangely surreal, like I was dreaming. Did last night really happen? I glanced around the kitchen with its huge oven and stove, white painted units and hostess table, holding a coffee pot and individual containers of cereal. A long window, the sill laden with pots of mint, flooded the kitchen with light. Small bowls of water and dry cat food were placed against the wall adjoining the French doors but the cat I saw last night was nowhere to be seen.

“Sam will be here soon.”

“He will?”

“He also said you needed a repair guy so I called Nate and he said he can fit your repair in as soon as Sam says it's okay to go there.”

“Nate?”

“My boyfriend, who, as it happens, is also Calendar's best handyman. If it needs fixing, Nate can do it.”

“It's so kind of you to help me. I forgot all about the door.”

“It's no problem at all. I hope you don't think I overstepped by calling Nate but I was sure you wouldn't want to worry. I can see you’re a little uncomfortable about it but please don't be.” Vanessa reached for the coffee pot and held it up. I nodded and she poured a cup, handing it to me, and pointing to the creamer, sugar and flavored syrups. “This is what happens in small towns like this. We help each other out.”

“So you already know I'm not from here?” I asked.

“I do, and I'm sure everyone else does too. Just as much as everyone knows I grew up here and moved back a couple of months ago. I used to live in Chicago.”

“I didn't know that.”

Vanessa grinned. “You do now. Just like everyone else.” A phone rang in the entryway and she straightened. “Excuse me while I get that. Please make yourself at home.”

I placed my cup on the table and helped myself to cereal and milk. While I ate, every mouthful tasting like cardboard, myriad images flitted through my head. I needed to open the shop... but how could I? How could I act like it was a normal day?

Somewhere, Brad's body needed to be formally identified and I didn't want to do it. Someone needed to and I had to assume I was the one person in town who could. Brad's parents and brother all lived in San Diego. Plus, I still needed some answers. Would Detective Logan come by to interview me at the Inn? I feared he might want to arrest me and although I understood why — after finding me covered in my estranged husband's blood — that frightened me too. Yet he was the one man who might provide some answers. I should probably thank him for getting the clothes and ask him if he got his jacket back. It made sense that he picked it up when he delivered my clothing... and when was that? Last night while I was in bed, or early this morning? And who delivered them to my door? He, or Vanessa?

It felt strange to think about them softly padding around the house, helping me, when I was asleep, like friendly elves. Or, at least, I tried to sleep amidst a plague of horrible images and millions of questions. Besides seeking the identity of the person who killed Brad, I wanted to know why I was holding the knife! I struggled to remember whether it slipped out of him or I yanked it out. I didn't remember holding it at all.

Finishing the last of my cereal, I took another few sips of coffee while I contemplated the last twenty-four hours. As much as I tried to get my head around it, it still seemed surreal and bizarre. A great cosmic joke. Finally, I got to my feet and took my bowl and spoon to the sink. I was contemplating whether or not to wash them, and wondering if Vanessa had a dishwasher hidden behind one of the cabinet drawers when a man said my name. A hand landed on my shoulder, causing me to jump. The bowl instantly slipped from my hand and shattered at my feet.

“Damn!”

“Let me help,” he said, hurrying to scoop it up so that we both knelt at the same time, crashing our foreheads together.

“Ow!” I exclaimed as I fell onto my butt and he grunted.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” he said when I looked right into the eyes of Detective Sam Logan.

“Well, you did,” I muttered. Porcelain shards surrounded us and a little trail of milk spread across the floor.

“I said your name three times.”

“I didn't hear you.” Peeling my hand from my forehead, I was pleased to see there wasn't any blood. With the headcrack we both received, I certainly expected some. My head still hurt however, and from the expression on Detective Logan’s face, so did his. At least, now I was symmetrical with bumps on both sides of my head!

“Here.” Detective Logan took my hand in his warm one and launched me to my feet. I wobbled unsteadily into his chest, one hand still in his as I pressed the other against his heart. For a moment, I felt the steady, reassuring beat before I stepped back, my cheeks reddening, and feeling utterly stupid. This was like a scene from a romance novel except instead of me swooning as the sexy detective kissed me, I was about to be interrogated by him. Sexy detective? Where did that come from? He likes you, echoed Sara's voice in my head.

“Thanks for the clothes,” I said, waving a hand over my sweater as we remained uncomfortably close. Could I have sounded more awkward? But what else could I say? Should I have asked if he knew who killed Brad? Or did that kind of question only come after a little morning preamble? Since I'd never been in this position before, it was hard to say but the question engaged my mind all night.

“Why are you here, Detective?” I asked, my discomfort growing.

“I asked Vanessa to tell you I was coming.”

“She did.” I paused, then added, “But she didn't say why. Obviously, I know it's about Brad but I don't know what else I can tell you that I haven't already said.”

“I hoped something might have occurred to you over night.”

“Such as?”

“Such as the reason why your husband came to see you,” said Detective Logan, his eyes searching mine.

I gulped, then wondered if gulping made me appear guilty. I blinked hard then had an equally panicked thought about blinking. How did people behave when faced with the kind of shock I had? How was I supposed to behave? Since I didn't have an answer, I said, “I hoped you could tell me.”

“Not much,” said Detective Logan. He indicated I should take a seat at the table. When we were sitting, he continued, “I found a rental car parked a little further along the street from your house that matched the keys found near the victim’s body. Inside were travel documents along with the rental agreement for the car and a hotel keycard. Mr. Van den Berg arrived the day before yesterday. Can you think of any reason he came to town? Or why he wanted to see you?”

“No, I can't, but I didn't invite him. I doubt he would have any business here either. He's into technology, which is not exactly Calendar; and to my knowledge, he never had any reason to visit this region. I told you already, Detective, I wanted nothing to do with him.”

“Could he have possibly wanted to give you something?”

I laughed before I could stop myself, then sobered quickly. This was no laughing matter and I didn't want Detective Logan to think I didn't appreciate the gravity of the situation. “Brad made it very clear that I would never receive a thing from him, which was ironic because I never wanted anything except what was mine. He got that too, by the way. All I wanted was my freedom.”

“And he didn't want a divorce?”

“Not when we last spoke.” I shuddered, remembering the last time I saw him. He'd been gushing with sweetness and light, until his mood changed and he hissed his usual menacing threats while spraining my wrist. It barely mattered by then; my escape plan was already established. All I had to do was nod meekly, apologize profusely, and wait for him to leave for work. An hour later, I walked out with a couple of bags, Mabel in her cat carrier, and never looked back.

“Could that have changed?”

“Detective Logan, you're asking me questions I don't know the answers to. If you're asking if he might have wanted a divorce... yes, it's possible, but no, I don't know for certain. If he came here to serve me with divorce papers, I would have signed them without hesitation. He didn't need to bring them himself.” I paused, searching his face for any indication that he knew something. Surely, that couldn’t be it? A slight darkness under his eyes suggested he didn't sleep well. “Was that why he came here?” I pressed.

“I can't discuss any particulars of the investigation.”

“Can't? Or won't?”

“Both. This is officially a murder investigation.”

“Even though I'm legally his wife?”

Detective Logan frowned.

“Or are you considering me a suspect?” I wanted to know, but feared the answer.

“Right now, you're just a witness,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm while my heart pounded a fast rhythm. “You're the only person in town who knows anything about Mr. Van den Berg and it seems clear he came here to see you. Mrs. DeWitt confirmed she saw him looking through the windows of your house earlier that day. You might know something even if you think you don't.”

“It should be obvious that I wasn't the only person in town that knows Brad unless the residents of Calendar have started murdering tourists?” I retorted. “Kate told me about a man looking in my windows but I think she thought he was a realtor. Or maybe it was her husband who thought that. Detective, I want to find out what's going on just as much as you do. If I can help, I will, but I really don't think I know anything more. What else can I do?”

“There is one thing you can do.”

“Go on.”

“I need a positive identification on the body.”