Chapter 13

So, what’s it like working for my brother-in-law?” Heidi’s attempt at conversation fell flat.

Rhett didn’t respond. He didn’t even blink.

Heidi had boggled everything. From her attempts at smoothing things over with Emma to her awkward exit from the Crawford home after Rhett told her—in no uncertain terms—he would drive her to the repair shop to get her car that had been mended to the point of being drivable.

Rhett’s truck bounced over a pothole as he drove her into town. Hopefully, Brad had supervised the repairs to her car, because if Rhett had worked on it, Heidi couldn’t be sure the man wouldn’t sabotage something and make it careen off a cliff just to be rid of her.

Sheesh! Heidi bit back a sigh and looked out the window at the trees whizzing by as the truck made its way toward town. This was why she wanted to avoid Pleasant Valley and her family—people like Rhett Crawford. She became a very pronounced King Midas, but instead of everything she touched turning to gold, it all turned into chaos. It’d happened several times during her preteen years, and those incidents seemed to set the stage for her future. Mom had gotten her a job at the church, volunteer of course, but helping stuff church bulletins and manage the little library. The time she’d put the books back on the shelves by alphabetization instead of some numeric system was bad enough. It’d sent the other elderly volunteer lady into a complete tailspin of disorganization. Worse was the time Heidi had inadvertently stuffed the church bulletins with half-sheet copies of the invitations for a surprise birthday party for the head deacon and ruined the surprise when he opened the bulletin Sunday morning along with everyone else. The actual half-sheet announcement page she’d stuffed in the church members’ mailboxes. Hey, at least they’d gotten the weekly activities. Yet the head deacon hadn’t gotten his surprise birthday. They were both minor mishaps in the scheme of preteen life, but Heidi could still remember the look of frustration and disappointment in her mother’s eyes. The shake of her head. The “When will you start taking things seriously?” question.

Now? Here she was. Years later. In a town her family called home but she had never been to. Perched on the front seat of a beat-up truck next to a man who had every right not to trust her—or like her. Heidi could only think of one way to try to smooth it over, and that was to talk her way out of it. Like she did most everything. Infuse the situation with humor and warmth and hope she could crack the hard shell of the person opposite her. Outside of wit, she didn’t have much else to offer.

Heidi stole a glance at Rhett. His baseball cap was firmly squashed onto his head, and his square jaw was so sharp she wondered if he was clenching his teeth. Riding next to the gargantuan mechanic was like trying to become BFFs with the Incredible Hulk.

“I’m glad Brad had you get my car towed and fixed. I tried changing my oil once,” she rambled, hoping to garner a smile, a blink, a nod, really anything from the man. “That was an epic fail. I ended up with oil all over the carport, and my landlord was not happy. But, I tried. Right? Bonus points for trying?”

She gave her head a fun-loving little toss.

No response.

Archie the cat stared at her from his well-balanced-and-yet-precarious position on the deep dash of the truck. Rüger sat beside her, his nose tipped up and staring forward as if to perfectly imitate his master.

“So, do you sing?” Heidi leaned forward and flipped the knob on the radio. A classic rock song warbled through awful speakers.

Oh, there was a reaction. Rhett reached out and switched the music off.

She eyed him.

“Sometimes,” Heidi goaded, “sometimes I wish I had a pocketful of glitter I could pull out and just toss into the air when I’m around people like you. You need a little sparkle in your life, Mr. Rhett Crawford.”

Sideways glance.

The truck bounced again, and Heidi lurched upward, grabbing for something to hold on to.

She grabbed his arm.

And released it.

He might as well have been made of hot lava, which wouldn’t make sense ’cause his arm was as hard as a rock.

“You don’t like glitter, I suppose.” This was exhausting. He was exhausting. Pleasant Valley was the epitome of exhausting, as it made her oh so aware of how inept she was at anything real or deep in life.

“What do you do for fun? I like to sing karaoke. Do you have a karaoke bar? We should sing together.” Heidi did a little mime-jive to an imaginary song.

God help her. She was annoying herself.

She slouched back against the truck’s seat. “Why are you named Rhett? Your mom go all Gone With the Wind on you?”

Rhett’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. His chest rose in a deep breath.

“Oh, for the love of Pete, say something!” Heidi rolled her eyes at the man.

He glanced at her. “What do you want me to say?”

Finally. He had a voice.

“Anything. Answer any of my questions.”

He reached up and adjusted the brim of his cap. “I don’t work for your brother-in-law. No bonus points for trying to change your own oil. If you didn’t know how, it was dumb to try. No, I don’t sing. Glitter can go to the lake of fire. I work for fun. We do have a karaoke bar. My mother named me Rhett because it was my grandfather’s name. I’ve no clue what Gone With the Wind is.”

Rhett’s lips closed. Tight.

Rüger gave Heidi’s elbow a nudge. She lifted her hand and set it on the dog’s head, scratching behind his ear. Every ounce of ambition to save herself, the moment, and her time here in this town deflated as quickly as if Rhett had reached out and stuck a needle into a balloon.

She couldn’t help the shaky breath that escaped her. Heidi turned her head toward the window. A gas station. A run-down billboard for Kramer Logging. An old Methodist church that looked as though it’d been built in the late nineteenth century, with a wing added on in the 1940s.

Rhett coughed.

Archie’s feline tail lifted from his perch on the dash and then laid as soft and soundless as a feather dropping onto the floor.

Rüger rested his nose on Heidi’s leg.

At least the dog liked her. And, even better, she hadn’t tried to kill this one.

The absurdity of her first thirty-six hours in Pleasant Valley was as ironic as the name of the historic logging town.

“Emma has autism.”

Rhett’s words ripped through the cab’s silence. He waved to someone on the sidewalk by the post office.

“Your mom told me last night.” Heidi left her response at that. There really wasn’t much else to say without getting herself into a deeper hole.

“She’s adapted well and can hold her own alongside any of us.”

Heidi nodded. It was the safest thing to do.

Rhett gave her a sideways look. “But routine and processes are important. So is not talking a mile a minute about random crap.”

Got it.

No talking.

Heidi bit the inside of her bottom lip and widened her eyes at Archie, who stared at her with yellow orbs as if trying to read her mind.

She decided to try another approach.

“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a whisper. Mostly because those pesky emotions crowded her throat and didn’t let her voice it louder.

Rhett steered the truck down a side street.

“I get that you feel bad, but . . .”

The word hung between them.

But.

But, we don’t know you.

But, you just had your room busted into and graffitied.

But, you’re irresponsible.

But, you’re reckless.

But, you have no life.

Heidi looked out the windshield as they pulled into the lot of the repair shop.

Rhett’s Auto Shop.

She shrank into her seat. And there was the rotten cherry on top of old, frosted ice cream. She thought Rhett worked for her brother-in-law, Brad. Apparently it was the other way around.

Heidi gave her head a subtle shake as she reached for the door handle. It would be best to get out of the truck now. Away from Rhett Crawford.

Heck. It would be best to get out of Pleasant Valley.

Heidi stopped at the local grocery store, Vicki’s list on an app in her phone. Basics like bananas, eggs, milk, and the main staple of all Wisconsin refrigerators, cheddar cheese. She eyed the front dented fender of her car as she rounded it and headed for the store. Apparently, Rhett hadn’t charged her labor for the repairs—which was odd considering he didn’t like her—and he’d allowed Brad to fix it at cost for parts. But he’d also made it clear that body work wasn’t going to be part of any deal. Not that she had the cash to pay for it. She’d tossed the invoice for the parts onto the front passenger seat. It stared up at her with its big, black numbers. A couple hundred dollars too much to begin with, and with the deductible on her insurance, that wasn’t going to be her saving grace.

Inside the store, she began piling the items into a grocery cart. Vicki might have given her a list, but she hadn’t given her cash or a credit card. Apparently, this was to be one of Heidi’s contributions for staying at Lane Lodge.

This and the texted reminder to: Stop and see Mom again today. I can’t make it, and we try to visit her daily.

Heidi reached for a group of organic bananas, then thought better of it and opted for the cheaper bananas that probably had been doused in pesticides.

No one will talk to me, Mom’s letter had read. It’s time. The thoughts are driving me mad.

This from a woman who, according to Vicki, received daily visits? Heidi’s breath quivered as she sucked it in and rolled her cart beyond the bananas.

Mad. The handwriting on her mirror was an ironic and disturbing follow-up to the letter from her mother, which had compelled her to come to Pleasant Valley in the first place. If the woman wasn’t kept in a memory-care facility with locked doors and around-the-clock surveillance, a strange part of Heidi would be suspicious that Mom had broken into the lodge and lipstick-wrote on her mirror.

But to what end? And why the recurring theme of madness—so not a politically correct term anymore, by any means—and, if Heidi were being honest, insulting.

She gripped the handle of the cart tighter to quell the tremble in her hands. She looked around for the self-checkout but only saw six aisles with three of them manned by cashiers. One of them was an older woman, with permed gray hair and wire-framed glasses. She smiled and waved Heidi over. Solid, small-town friendliness.

“Hello, dear!” she greeted, reaching for the dozen eggs Heidi put on the belt.

Heidi nodded and continued unloading her items.

“You’re new here. I’ve not met you before.”

Heidi mustered a smile. This was a good distraction. If only her family were half as welcoming. “Heidi Lane. My sister owns—”

“Lane Lodge! Yes! Brad and Vicki! Such lovely people. We go to church together. You’ll have to tell them Jean said hi.”

“I will,” Heidi nodded. Lovely people. The description didn’t match Vicki. Brad, sure—he’d always been nice. But Vicki?

“Mylanta.” Jean clucked her tongue as she bleeped the UPC printed on a loaf of bread. “It has sure been a rough one this past year. What with your mom, Loretta, and all? You never know how fast dementia is going to take one’s memories.” She bleeped a bottle of ketchup. “I know it’s just about eaten your sister alive. How are you handling things, dear?”

Heidi reached behind her head and pulled her hair back into a ponytail minus the hair band, then released it to fall in blond-and-blue strands. She wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Never mind.” Jean waved her off and hit a button on the register. “I’ve no filter. I’m sure it’s been just as hard for you.”

She quoted the total, and Heidi looked for the chip reader on the credit-card terminal.

“Just swipe it, honey. We don’t have those newfangled things yet.”

Heidi did so.

“Anyways,” Jean chattered on, “are you here for good or just short term?”

Heidi waited for her receipt to print. “I’m—not sure.”

“Makes sense.” Jean nodded, even though it really didn’t. She ripped the receipt from its feeder. “Well, you need to take some time and make sure you see the sights too. I know Pleasant Valley isn’t all that much, but Vicki will keep you occupied with stuff to do until the good Lord comes, if you’re not careful.”

Heidi laughed out loud this time. “That she will.”

Jean gave her a knowing smile. “Yes. So, you make sure you see our three sites of interest. There are the Copper Falls about forty minutes north of here. Beautiful waterfalls and a nice, easy hike along the trails. You’ll want to see Statue Park. An old resident of Pleasant Valley made metal statues with all sorts of recycled bits of things. Sort of artsy-fartsy, I guess you’d say. And then, Valley Heights Asylum.” Jean nodded and gave Heidi a mysterious grin. “That place is as haunted as they come. Have you heard the story of Misty Wayfair?”

“I’ve heard of her.” Heidi reached for the plastic handles on the grocery bags and lowered them into the cart. “But, I’m not real familiar with her, or the asylum.”

Even so, she was interested. Very interested. She hadn’t been in Pleasant Valley for more than three full days and Misty Wayfair’s name was popping up everywhere, and now the second mention of the asylum.

“Oh!” Jean gave Heidi a wave of her hand. “Well, then, before you go snooping around the asylum’s remains, you need to see if Connie Crawford—have you met the Crawfords yet?—will have you over to meet her daughter, Emma. That girl knows all things about the asylum and Misty Wayfair. She has a mind like a bear trap, that girl. Brilliant young woman. She’ll tell you all you need to know, if you’re interested in that sort of thing.”

Emma Crawford.

Heidi wheeled the cart out of the store. She was definitely interested, but going back to visit Emma would more than likely induce Rhett to charge her for the labor on her car.

She reached for her keys and hit the unlock button on the fob.

Heidi stopped.

Someone had slipped a small, white note card under her windshield wiper.

She looked around. There wasn’t anyone in the lot other than a young mother pushing two screaming toddlers in a grocery cart.

Heidi grabbed the note and flipped it over. Her keys slipped from her fingers and clattered to the asphalt. She stared at the handwriting. Shaky, almost like an elementary student just learning their letters had written it with a pencil.

Are you as mad as I?

That wicked curling of weight around Heidi’s chest made her fall against her car. Her heart pounded in her ears, and she took two, three, four quick breaths. Heidi ran her palm across her cheek and raked agitated fingers through her hair. She rammed the note card into her purse.

She wasn’t mad. She never had been. Never.

But the furious pounding in her chest and the spots dancing in her eyes made Heidi question herself. It was why she was here, after all, wasn’t it? The anxiety, the debilitating sense of helpless panic that had spiraled her into losing job after job, leaving behind an unfinished college education, and bringing her to her sister’s to stand in the shadow of her critical eye?

No, she wasn’t crazy, or insane, or any other demeaning term.

She was just Heidi Lane. An anxiety-ridden woman who hid behind a façade of “You only have one life to live.” Her excuse for her failures.

Jean’s words echoed in her mind. The asylum. A place for people who had lost their minds and couldn’t function in the real world. For a moment, such a place actually sounded like a reprieve. An escape from having to pretend that some days, just functioning with a logical, coherent thought was an exercise of tenacity in and of itself.

Heidi stared at the note card that peeked up at her from her purse.

Was she mad?

Someone else seemed to think and imply she was. Someone unknown. As unknown but also as eerily familiar as the woman who’d stared through her window. Someone who looked like her. Heidi swallowed a knot in her throat. Someone who looked like the dead woman in the photograph.

Heidi’s thoughts twisted and turned in her head. They were chaotic and overwhelming as she pondered them.

Maybe the woman had never really been there after all.

Maybe if she were to look harder at the picture, the woman wouldn’t resemble her so much anymore.

Perhaps . . . whoever had left the note card knew something Heidi didn’t. That she was mad. That these panic attacks felt like a sheer loss of mental control, even though logically Heidi knew they weren’t.

So, she did what she did every other time it became too much to process, too suffocating to manage through, and too dark to see beyond. Heidi ran. She dropped her purse, left her keys, her car, and the groceries. And Heidi ran.