Till Death Read online

  When I nodded, she continued, “She’s our main housekeeping staff in the mornings and afternoons Wednesday through Sunday, and Daphne is still here, but she’s getting up there in age, so I’ve moved her to part-time. That gives her more time with her grandbabies. Angela is amazing, but a little flighty and sometimes forgetful. She is always locking herself out of the townhouse she rents, so much so that she keeps a spare key in the back room.”

  I let all of that sink in as I took a drink of the sugary coffee, just the way I loved it. Basically what Mom was saying was that she was doing most of this all by herself. That explained the deeper lines around her eyes, the new ones around her mouth, and the silvery tones to her blond hair. Running an inn or any business with a skeleton crew would take its toll on anyone, and I knew that the last ten years hadn’t been easy on her for a whole different set of reasons.

  The same reasons they’d been hard for me.

  Sometimes, not often, I was able to forget what had driven me away from my home. Those moments were few and far between, but when they happened, it was . . . the warmest sense of peace I’d ever felt. It was like the way it was before. Like I could pretend I was an ordinary woman with a career I sort of loved and a past that was common, boring even. It wasn’t that I hadn’t come to terms with everything that had happened . . . to my family and me. I had six years of intensive therapy to thank for that, but I still welcomed those moments when I forgot, and I was grateful for them.

  “You’ve been doing all of this by yourself, Mom.” I placed my cup on the table and crossed my leg over my knee. “That’s a lot.”

  “It’s . . . manageable.” Mom smiled, but it didn’t reach her whiskey-colored eyes. Eyes identical to mine. “But you’re home now. I won’t be doing this by myself.”

  I nodded as my gaze dropped to the cup. “I should’ve come home—”

  “Don’t say it.” Mom reached across the small table and folded her hand over mine. “You had a very good job—”

  “My job was to basically babysit my boss to make sure he didn’t cheat on his third wife.” I paused, grinning. “Obviously, I wasn’t very good at it since number three is on her way out.”

  She shook her head as she lifted her cup. “Honey, you were an executive assistant for a man who ran a multibillion-dollar consulting business. You had more responsibilities than making sure he kept it in his pants.”

  I giggled.

  The only thing that rivaled my former boss’ drive when it came to business was his drive to screw as many women as humanly possible. But what she said was true. Late nights at the office; dinner meetings; and a constant, ever-changing schedule with nonstop flights coast to coast and around the globe had been my life for five years. It had its pros and cons, and leaving my job hadn’t been a decision I’d made lightly. But my job had allowed me to save up some money that would make this transition into a much . . . slower life a little easier.

  “You had a life in Atlanta,” she continued, and I raised a brow. My time had basically been Mr. Berg’s time. “And your life back here wasn’t easy to return to.”

  I tensed. She wasn’t going to go there, was she? She squeezed my hand.

  She was so going to go there.

  “This town and all the memories weren’t easy for you to come back to, and I know that, honey. I know that.” She smiled again, but it was brittle. “So I understand how big of a deal this was for you. What you had to overcome just to make the decision to do this, and you’re doing it for me. Don’t belittle what you’re doing right now.”

  Oh God, I was going to start crying again.

  Yes, I was doing this for her, but I was . . . I was also doing it for myself.

  I slipped my hand free and nearly gulped down the coffee before I burst into tears and face-planted onto the iron table like I’d done way too many times in the past.

  She sat back. “So,” she said, clearing her throat. “Several boxes of your stuff arrived on Wednesday, and James put them upstairs for you. I imagine you still have some stuff in the car?”

  “Yeah,” I murmured as she rose and carried her cup to the industrial sink. “I can get those boxes up there. It’s only clothes, and I could use the exercise after being in the car for a million hours.”

  “You might change your mind after you remember how many steps you have to climb.” She washed out the cup. “We only have three guests right now, two of them checking out on Sunday, and then others—a newlywed couple—are checking out on Tuesday.”

  I finished off the coffee. “What about upcoming reservations?”

  Wiping her hands off on a dishtowel, Mom rattled off what was expected for the next week, and I loved that she could remember that.

  “Is there anything I can help you with right now?” I asked when she was finished.

  She shook her head. “Two out of the three reservations are dining here. The roasts still have some time on them. The potatoes are already boiled and cut, ready to go. If you want to help serve dinner, we still have about two hours.”

  “Sounds good.” I started to rise. Movement out of the corner of my eyes snagged my attention.

  Turning toward the window, I caught a blur of shadows to the right of the veranda. Branches from the dwarf apple tree rustled. My eyes narrowed as I leaned closer to the window. Something moved behind the trellis that was normally covered with vines, a shadow deeper than the rest and keeping close to the hedges. I waited for someone to step out, but when that didn’t happen, my gaze tracked over the garden. Not seeing anything, I returned my attention to the veranda. The chaise lounge and other seats out on the veranda were empty, but I’d sworn I’d seen someone outside.

  “What are you looking at, honey?”

  Having no idea, I blinked and shook my head as I twisted toward her. “I think one of the guests is outside.”

  “Strange.” She moved behind the hanging pots and walked toward the oven. “None of the guests are actually here. I believe they’re all out.”

  I turned back to the window as Mom picked up an oven mitt.

  “Of course, one of them could’ve snuck past me,” she said, and the creak of the oven door opening filled the kitchen. “That has been known to happen.”

  Nothing moved outside.

  There probably hadn’t even been anyone outside. Just nerves. And paranoia. Like before, when I ran into the house and all the way upstairs. Being back home had me on edge and I liked to think no one would blame me for that.

  Worrying my lower lip, I thought back to the newscast I’d heard on the radio. My stomach twisted as I clasped my hands together. “I heard something on the radio, about a missing woman in Frederick.”

  Mom stopped halfway to the wall oven. Our eyes met, and when she said nothing, knots formed and wiggled in my belly like a hundred tiny snakes. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.

  Focused on the oven, she slipped the mitt on. “I didn’t want you to worry, and I know you’d try not to, but I didn’t want to upset you.” She gave a little shake of her head. “And I didn’t want you to change your mind about coming home.”

  I inhaled softly. Did she think I was that fragile? That a missing woman in a nearby state would change my mind? Right after everything had happened I would’ve been that frail. I would’ve broken all over again, but I wasn’t her anymore.

  “What is happening with that woman is terrible, but you know what they say. Most cases of disappearances are caused by someone the person knows,” she said. “Probably the husband.”

  Except when it happened to me it wasn’t from someone I knew. It was a stranger, someone I never saw coming until it was too late.

  Hours later, after I helped serve dinner to the cute elderly couple staying on the third floor and the family of three who were from Kentucky and visiting relatives, I stood in the middle of my new apartment.

  God, it felt so weird being back here.

  Same but different.

  Dinner service had gone fine, but it was odd doing
something that felt like second nature even though I hadn’t done it in years. In a bizarre way, it was a lot like being an executive assistant. Just like with Mr. Berg, I had to anticipate things that would be needed. These were just different things. Like when the diners needed their drinks refilled or a plate removed.

  Cleanup still sucked, just like I remembered.

  But I didn’t think as I cleared off the tables and rinsed the dishes before placing them in the dishwasher while Mom completed the turndown service. My mind was blissfully empty up until the moment I headed upstairs.

  The attic had been converted into two and a half apartments. Dad had passed away before the third had been completed, and it remained untouched behind closed doors, separating the two apartments. I wasn’t sure if the third would ever be finished, and if it was, what its purpose would be. Wasn’t like I was going to need the space anytime soon.

  Or ever.

  Absently, my right hand floated to my left, and I rubbed my ring finger. Even after leaving this town and spending six years with a therapist, I didn’t think that I would ever be able to wear a wedding dress or allow anyone to put a ring on my hand.

  My therapist said that could change, but I seriously doubted it. I couldn’t even bring myself to go to my former boss’ third wedding. The whole thing turned my stomach.

  Realizing what I was doing, I dropped my left hand and focused on my apartment.

  It wasn’t quite like I recalled and I suspected Mom had had the area renovated. Or maybe just with all of my grandmother’s stuff gone, the space seemed larger and fresher. The apartment smelled like pumpkin spice, not musty or old, and it was cute in a comfy, cozy sort of way.

  The living area shared space with an open galley-style kitchen that only had a fridge, microwave, and sink. All I needed were barstools for the island. My couch, a thick-cushioned beauty, had been shipped up from Atlanta, along with the necessities. My light gray throw blankets, the soft and warm ones made for cuddling in, were already draped along the back of the couch.

  The bedroom was big enough. Small closet, but the bathroom in the narrow hallway between the living room and bedroom featured a soaking tub and shower combo with claw feet that made up for its lack of size.

  I spent the rest of the night setting up my apartment, which pretty much meant hooking up the TV and unloading all the clothing—clothing I now wished I’d donated, because my biceps ached from all the folding I was doing.

  It was well past midnight by the time I wandered into the bathroom to wash my face. Gaze trained on the white basin of the sink as I rubbed in the cleanser, I bent over and splashed warm water onto my cheeks. Blindly grabbing for a towel I thought I saw earlier, I gave mental jazz hands when my fingers brushed the fuzzy cloth. Drying my face off, I straightened and opened my eyes as I lowered the towel.

  And came face-to-face with my reflection.

  I jerked back a step, bumping into the bathroom door. “Damn,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. I started to grab for the toothbrush, but I exhaled roughly and did something I hadn’t done in a very long time.

  I looked at myself.

  Really looked at myself.

  Because it had been ages since I had, and I’d become so good at not looking at myself that I was a freaking pro at putting makeup on without a mirror. Even eyeliner. Upper eyeliner.

  My brown eyes weren’t dark like Dad’s. They were warmer and lighter, like Mom’s. My blond hair was pulled up in a messy topknot, and had been all day, but when it was down, it fell to the middle of my back. My face would’ve fit the classic heart-shape mold if it weren’t for the square jaw.

  Clenching the rim of the basin, I leaned in close to the mirror.

  Around about my freshman year of college, I’d finally grown into my nose and mouth. Or at least that was how it felt to me, because before then, my nose had been huge and my lips plumper than the rest of my face, and contrary to how it sounded, that had not been an attractive combo. Those lips had come from my grandmother. The jaw from Dad. The body and eyes from Mom.

  It was my freshman year when I’d realized that I’d moved from passably average to blonde-girl-next-door pretty. Right now I thought I looked like the kind of woman who’d be bringing baked apple pies to the neighbors and currently be working on percolating my third child.

  My lips curled up at the corners, and the smile was weak and sad, and a little empty. There were faint shadows under my eyes and a wary glint that never seemed to fade, no matter how many years passed or what I’d come to terms with.

  If I could go back in time, I would’ve told the nineteen-year-old Sasha to live it the hell up. To go to the frat parties I’d been invited to. To stay out late and wake up even later. To have more confidence in myself. To know what I had when I’d looked in the mirror.

  To take the huge step in the relationship with the boy I’d met in Econ 101.

  Out of everything I regretted not experiencing before . . . before the Groom found me, it was probably that, because he had taken my firsts and twisted them into something revolting and cruel.

  Pressing my lips together, I glanced down. Pink toes poked out from the frayed edges of my jeans. I placed my hands on full hips and then slid them up to where my waist tapered in just slightly. What did I look like naked?

  I honestly had no idea.

  Even with the men I’d been intimate with in recent years, I really didn’t check myself out. Actually, come to think of it, I never got fully nude with anyone.

  There were reasons for that.

  Two of them, to be exact.

  Uncomfortable with where my thoughts were traipsing around and about to belly flop into, I stopped feeling myself up. Quickly finishing up in the bathroom, I flipped off the light and walked out.

  Before crawling into the unfamiliar bed, I padded out into the living room and into the kitchen, the tile cool under my bare feet. Seeing the apartment key Mom must’ve left on the kitchen counter, I made a mental note to add it to my ring of keys. Beside the kitchen island was a door. Each apartment had separate outdoor access in the form of wooden staircases that led up to a narrow balcony.

  Stopping at the front of the door, I double-checked that the deadbolt was locked. My stomach wiggled with nervousness. Feeling neurotic as hell, I turned the handle just to make sure. Locked. Definitely locked. Breathing easier, I made my way to bed, tugged the warm comforter up to my chin, and . . . stared at the shadowy ceiling. Exhausted from the drive, my all-over-the-place emotions, and the endless folding of clothing, I still couldn’t close my eyes.

  Sleep did not come easy. It hadn’t since . . . well, since I was nineteen. Since sleep had become a time when I couldn’t see what was coming at me and I couldn’t protect myself. For six days, sleep had been something I’d fought with every cell in my body before ultimately caving in to it and instantaneously regretting it.

  I did eventually drift off, and when I did, it happened, like it always did.

  His forehead presses against mine, and I know he isn’t ready to let me go—he never is, and I like that about him. Love it actually. “You need to get back inside,” I tell him as I slip my hands off his chest. “You still have a lot of studying to do.”

  “Yeah,” he murmurs, but doesn’t leave. His lips brush over my cheek and find my mouth with unerring accuracy. He kisses me softly and he lingers, dragging it out until I’m so close to asking him to forget about his study group. But then he pulls away and picks up my forgotten backpack. He slips it over my shoulder, scooping my hair out from under the strap. “Call me later?”

  Later would be late, but I agree.

  “Be careful,” he says.

  I smile, because he’s the one who has the dangerous job when he’s not in class. “You too.” I wiggle my fingers and turn away, because if I don’t, he won’t, and we’d be standing outside the university library half the night kissing.

  I make it halfway across the lawn when he calls out, “Call me, babe. I’ll be waiting.”

&nb
sp; Smiling, I wave at him and hurry across the lawn, taking the path behind the science building that leads to the parking lot. It is late, the sun already gone, and thick clouds block the stars. The parking lot is barely lit, because three out of five of the tall lamps are out, and the school hasn’t gotten around to replacing them. There are only a few cars in the lot, and as I walk down the short set of concrete steps I spot mine, parked where I left it.

  My steps slow as I cross the cracked pavement. A dark work van is parked next to the driver’s side of my Volkswagen. It wasn’t there before, and a sliver of unease shuttles through me.

  I bite down on my lip as I draw closer, eyes squinting into the dark interior of the van. I don’t see anyone in the front. A horrible thought emerges. What if someone is hidden in the back? I immediately push that aside, because even though with everything that has been going on recently with the Groom, I’m being paranoid. It’s just a van, and everyone is on edge.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I tell myself as I walk between the work van and my car. Stopping at my door, I twist my backpack to my front and unzip the front pocket to root around for my keys.

  I hear it then. A smooth grinding of metal against metal, of a door sliding open behind me, and everything slows down. My fingers brush over my keys as I turn sideways. An odd smell surrounds me, and I open my mouth to take a breath, but I’ve already taken my last breath before I know it. A rough hand clamps down. Fear jolts up my spine as I’m pulled back. Another arm circles my waist, pinning my right arm. The odd bitter smell is everywhere, clogging my nostrils and throat, and I open my mouth to scream as my heart seizes in my chest. I lift my legs to fight back, but it’s too late.

  Too late.