Page 55 of Strict Confidence (Rochester Trilogy 2)
A quick change out of sleep shorts into yoga pants, and I’m ready. We make a detour on the way downstairs to brush our teeth.
Beau’s door is still shut. He’s been tense lately. Stressed. If he can sleep, I’ll let him.
Marjorie’s already in the kitchen when we come in. It’s just past seven so she’s getting breakfast ready. She turns away from the countertop and smiles at Paige. “I’m making waffles,” she says. “Want some?”
“With extra syrup,” Paige says, climbing onto one of the stools at the island.
“Of course.” Marjorie winks at her, then turns back to a waffle iron perched next to the stove. “I’ll have bacon and eggs along with it, and coffee’s ready, too. I got this new creamer the other day that’s absolutely delicious if you like hazelnut.”
I’m used to drinking my coffee black, which was always the cheapest way to have it when we could get it. There was a convenience store that Noah and I would stop at on the way home from school sometimes.
The flavored coffee was always out of our budget.
“I’d love some.” Especially since my eyelids are still weighted from last night. I slept deeply, but it’s early, and the last few weeks have been a lot.
I find Marjorie’s new creamer in the fridge. It’s a boutique brand with a sleek logo and a list of accomplishments on the front. Organic. Hand pressed. Superfood. The last one makes me raise my eyebrow, but I pour into my mug anyway.
The creamer turns the coffee a sandy color. It’s probably too much, but I’m already dressed in this new life. My new phone is in the pocket of my yoga pants. There should be no guilt in enjoying expensive coffee creamer.
And it tastes really good. I must make some sound, because when I open my eyes again, Paige is making a face at me. “Coffee’s gross,” she says.
“Not this coffee.” It’s scary how easy it is to get used to the good life. How will I go back to canisters of black powder in a Mr. Coffee we picked up at a garage sale?
A thump at the front door of the inn makes Paige’s eyes go wide. “What was that?”
Marjorie smiles over her shoulder at her. “The morning paper. I like to have one out for the guests. Do you want to go grab it, Paige?”
Paige scrambles down from the stool, eager to be helpful.
I lean my hip on the countertop and take another sip of coffee. God, it’s good. Sun slants gently through the window over the sink. A new day. Hopefully one without Joe Causey in it.
Things did not end well with Joe yesterday, but there’s nothing more I can tell the police. I doubt Beau will let them come back. We should be able to breathe.
At least for this one day.
The waffle maker dings. Marjorie tilts the fresh waffle onto a plate with a spatula. “Have any plans for the day? Weather looks gorgeous so far.”
“Maybe we’ll go to the beach.” It’s hard not to relish how easy this question is. This is what Marjorie would ask if we were really staying here for a vacation and not living here because of a house fire. If I were the version of myself who wore crewneck sweaters that cost seventy dollars and yoga pants that cost more than my clothes budget for entire years. If Beau was mine, the way I’m beginning to think I belong to him. “Maybe—”
The scream from outside starts shrill, cuts off abruptly, and starts up again.
Paige.
I push my coffee onto the countertop so hard it tips over and run for the front door. She left it open. My heart beats high in my throat. My toe catches the doorjamb and I stumble out onto the porch, scanning for the woman in the nightgown, frantic that Paige is hurt. Footsteps behind me, heavy and uneven on the stairs. Beau’s coming. “Jane—”
“Sweetheart.”
Paige stands in the middle of the porch, her shoulders hunched forward. She clutches the clear bag the newspaper came in, a spray of plastic rising from two fists that haven’t lost all their childhood chubbiness. Her chest heaves, and as I take the last step toward her, another scream tears out of her. “Jane,” she screams. “Jane, Jane.”
I turn her into my side and pull her with me. Across the porch.
Away from the thing that made her scream.
Beau barrels out the door as soon as we’re out of the way and looks. “Christ.” He picks his head up and scans around us. There’s no one. There’s no one in sight. His eyes land on the two of us. Paige, her face pressed into my belly, her whole body shaking.
“What was that?” Every word is interrupted with a sob. “What was it, Jane?”
She already saw it, so I won’t lie. “It was a… an animal.”
