Death on the Coast, M Comley [book club books TXT] 📗

“Are you serious?”

“Why not? Makes perfect sense to me. You can keep an eye on your house from there, and I’ll be around in case anyone gets any ideas about visiting you.”

Lucy was about to refuse, but when she thought the offer over to find a reason not to accept, she couldn’t think of one. “You know what? I’m going to take you up on it,” she answered spontaneously.

He nodded. “I knew you were the smart one. Get your stuff, and I’ll meet you back at the house. The door on the side goes down to the apartment.”

She nodded and was slightly less apprehensive as she walked into her house. She avoided looking at the door to the basement and raced upstairs. She grabbed her things and left.

Mr. Smith met her as promised and showed her down to the apartment, which was actually very nice. It was paneled in light pine, well-lit, and had its own bath, kitchenette, sitting area, and bedroom.

“This is lovely, Mr. Smith. Thank you for taking me in.”

“Call me Jon.”

“Thank you, Jon. You know I’m Lucy.”

He reached to shake her hand. “Laundry is through there. I do mine on Monday afternoons, but will check with you first. Here’s a key to your side door. You can lock the door at the top of the stairs behind me. Likewise, I can lock you down here.” He held out a slip of paper. “Here’s my phone number. Give me yours, and we can keep in touch while living independently.”

She swapped numbers and watched him go up the stairs. Giving him a few minutes, she sneaked quietly up, locked the door and placed the key on a hook on the wall. She trusted him and wondered why she felt the need to lock it. Was she on the verge of having PTSD? Either way, she needed to take care of herself.

Lucy took a shower, put on a comfy sleepshirt, and sat with her laptop. She brought up a spreadsheet and organized everything she had about Angie’s death and her own multiple crises. She listed the name of every person who was in any way connected and left a few blanks for names which may arise in the future. It helped considerably to see everything so structured. All the information was contained in two lists, one for the case, and a second for her personal life. She decided that the way forward would be for Mark to make the next move. Perhaps he’d change his mind—he did have a habit of being mercurial at times. She wasn’t interested in remaining married to him one iota, but if she allowed him to make the first move, then she would see the nature of how adversarial he planned to be.

Feeling sleepy after her hot shower and the mental organization of her life, she dug out a book and collapsed into bed, which turned out to be surprisingly comfortable. She grabbed her phone and sent one text.

I’M RENTING MR. SMITH’S BASEMENT APARTMENT. I HAVE MY OWN LOCKS AND I FEEL SAFE HERE.

Brendon’s response came through seconds later.

GOOD THINKING. STAY PUT. I’LL KEEP YOU UPDATED. DON’T SPREAD IT AROUND WHERE YOU’RE STAYING.

With a sigh of contentment, Lucy set aside the book, reached for the light, and turned onto her side. So, this is what feeling safe is like, was her final thought before she fell asleep.

24

Lucy’s eyes snapped open at the unfamiliar noises overhead. It took her a few moments to take in her surroundings and remember where she was. She scooted her knees up and hugged them in joy. She’d found normalcy at last. Throwing back the blankets, she slid into one of her poodle sweaters and a pair of pedal pushers. At the top of the stairs, she politely knocked until Jon opened the door.

“Hi! Here to make breakfast.”

“You should have used your key. Anyway, you’re here now. Good! I’m hungry. Do you know how to make omelets?”

“Sorry, I’ll do that next time. I didn’t want to just barge in on you. Omelets are my specialty,” she told him and headed for his kitchen. It turned out that the floor plan on his level was almost identical to hers below.

Twenty minutes later, she and Jon sat down to omelets with green peppers, sautéed onions, and swiss cheese.

“Now that was an omelet. It made a mockery of any attempt I’ve ever made,” he declared.

Lucy smiled, stood, and gathered up their dishes.

“No, no. You cook, and I clean up. That’s our deal.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do. You run along.”

Lucy nodded. “Okay, see you later.”

After a brush through her hair, Lucy was ready to go. As she got into the car, she took a long moment to study her house. She wondered how all that was going to end. Was she ever likely to call it home again?

Lucy arrived at work a little while later.

Len came to see her. “What are you doing here?”

Puzzled, she asked, “What do you mean?”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “In my office. Now!”

Her heart pounded, Lucy was afraid Len was going to fire her. He can’t do that, this is my only form of income.

He shut the door behind them and pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice shaking.

“I’m not firing you if that keeps you from crying.”

“Oh, thank God. So, what’s up?”

“First, I don’t want you coming into the office until this stuff is over. Where are you staying? Not at the house, are you?”

“No, not at the house. I have somewhere, safe.”

“And you’re not going to tell me?”

“The plan is to keep it quiet. Nothing against you, but it’s easier to find the leak when fewer people know.”

He was holding one arm across his chest, and the other cradled his chin. “Good thinking. You’re finally getting smart.”

“Is that what this is called?”

“Never mind. Just email me your stories. Get on the phone and call people. Don’t let them know where you are,