A Keeper's Truth (3 page)

I turn the
page, the magazine slick in my hands, but Karen is relentless.

“There
will be alcohol to ease your nerves, which I’m sensing you’ll need, and food to
keep your hands busy. Pig out if you want. You could use some meat on those
bones.”

“Karen, I
don’t—”

“His house
is the old
Vandemere
estate. It’s only a few blocks
from the school, so you’ll be close to home.”

She’s
really thought this through and I almost hate to disappoint her, but it’s too
soon. A night of condolences would be nothing but hell.

“I’m not
going, Karen, but ‘he’ who?”

“Have you
not listened to a word I’ve said?” She huffs. “Bryce Waters.”

Adonis. Oh
my.

Karen
grins at me, teeth showing, eyebrows lost in her hairline. “He insisted I bring
you to the party. Insisted.”

“I have no
idea who you’re talking about.”

“Liar,”
she says. She pauses, apparently waiting for a response from me. “You met Bryce
Waters on meet-the-teacher night at the school, ages ago.” She pretends to look
hurt. “I heard all about it, just not from you.”

Even with
my eyes focused on the magazine, I can see her looking at me.

“We ran
into each other. Literally. Actually, I walked into his chin. But that was it,
so I’m not sure what you’re—”

“He’s hot,
Chickpea. Like blow-your-mind hot. And single. You didn’t think to mention
you’d had a moment with the guy?”

A deep
breath whistles past my lips. A moment? Ha! A mental breakdown is what it was,
pure and simple.

“There was
nothing to mention.” Nothing I’m willing to spill.

She’s
trying to be serious, but there’s a sneaky look to her eyes. “He asked if we’re
friends, you and I. He wanted to know about you and of course—”

“The guy
looks like trouble, Karen.”

“I was curious
to know why he wanted to know. He said he found you intriguing. Oh, and
alluring
.”
She rolls the word like a red carpet. “He asked if you were
the
Tess
Morgan, the artist.”

Fish on a
hook. I sit straight up, almost knocking the nail polish off the tub.

“He
recognized my work?”

“Apparently
he’s a fan of your Wings series. He loved your showing, the one you had a few
years ago at the Landmark Gallery in Oakville.”

That show
was amazing. I sold almost a dozen paintings including my personal favorite and
the inspiration behind the Wings series, a massive, seven-by-seven-foot canvas
titled
Crimson Spirit
.

“Bryce
didn’t meet you the night of the show,” Karen says. “Apparently you were sick.
He met Meyer though.”

Abby was
the one sick that night. An hour into the show, Grams called to tell us Abby
had spiked a fever over a hundred and four, and I panicked. Meyer thought I was
being silly, that Grams had it under control and Abby would be fine. But I
couldn’t stand it, not knowing, being so far away. What if Abby needed me? What
if she felt alone or scared? I was home nearly twenty minutes before I realized
I’d left Meyer at the gallery.

“Bryce
didn’t know about Meyer’s car accident.” Karen stares at the sponge-like
substance sprouting around her ankles, and
Romi
,
thinking it’s her cue, lifts Karen’s feet out and wraps them with a towel. “I’m
sorry,” Karen mumbles.

So am I.

“Come to
the party with me.” Karen pouts like a kid who’s about to lose the battle after
giving it all she’s got. “Please. Frank won’t go, and I need a wingman.”

Romi
taps my
leg, drawing my attention. She’s painted my toenails red.

“It’s the
color of exuberance, fun, and seduction,” Karen purrs. “The perfect color to
move you forward.”

I let
Karen bask in her theory. It’s the least I can do since she’ll be flying solo
at the party. With any luck she’ll get sidetracked before we head next door for
tea and I can forget about this entire conversation. I grab my purse and slide
my feet into sandals, trying not to ruin
Romi’s
paint
job.

I picked red
because it reminds me of autumn, my favorite season.

And for
some reason I don’t care to think about, Bryce Waters.

We fumble
next
door: me walking awkwardly in flip-flops, Karen’s
three-inch heels getting stuck between stones. The pilfered magazine burns hot
in my pocket. It’s been years since I swiped something, but old habits don’t
die. And I couldn’t leave it to rot with the likes of beauty tips and greasy
oils. I need to read more.

The café
is quite large, in the shape of a giant L. The smaller section up front has a
set of glass showcases displaying pastries and baked goods. The smell of almond
and custard sweetens the air. Massive chalkboards hang from the ceiling by
chains. The bulk of the place is a stretch of street-facing windows featuring floating
tables with backless stools. The sun is bright, setting patrons aglow. Wobbling
to the end of the café line, I scan the signage for something good. There is an
endless list of organic white teas and natural lattes. Not sure what makes a
latte “natural,” but what I really want is a drink, something strong or
straight up.

Did I
mention old habits?

Karen
nudges me. “I actually saw Bryce with Sonia a few weeks ago, at the Olive Twist
next door. My sister and I were having dinner with the kids, and Sonia was at
the bar, hanging all over him.”

I sigh. I
can’t help it. “I care because . . .?”

“It’s a
big deal. Well, sort of. It could be. The police don’t think it’s a big deal,
but you never know. You
gotta
report this stuff,
right?”

Karen
picks a long silver hair off the jacket of the lady in front of us in line, and
the woman turns and glares.

“You
talked to the police? Why? And who the hell is Sonia?” I ask, peeking at my
cell. I can’t be late getting Abby from school. Karen’s kids are older and
don’t need to be walked home. Two are in high school, Frank’s from a previous
marriage, and one is in her last year at Carlisle Elementary.

Karen
glares at me. “You really need to get your head out of your ass,” she says,
shaking her head. “Do you not watch the news? There are posters at the school.”
She notices I’m not getting it. “Sonia, you know, the blonde bombshell with the
two-inch waist. My neighbor’s daughter.”

I don’t
know anyone named Sonia. I step to the counter and order a decaf tea and bran
muffin then turn back to Karen. “I thought your neighbor was the old guy with
the blind parrot.”

“The other
neighbor,” she hisses.

Karen
orders a double latte with extra skim milk, heavy on the foam, three sugars,
and two lids.

I shake my
head. “Two lids? Really?”

“Burns my
lips,” she says, smacking her lips. She taps her fingernails on the glass
showcase, directing the barista to the pastry she wants. He pulls out a
chocolate donut oozing orange gel from various holes and places it on a plate,
handing it to Karen.

I snicker
with distaste.

“The
neighbor farther down, to the right,” she says. “The house around the bend. The
ugly one with puce siding.” Her eyes bug out:
puce
siding
. “Sonia
has been missing since Wednesday.”

“Shit,” I
say, a sudden knot in my gut. “I hope she’s okay.”

“She works
at the restaurant next door, the Olive Twist. Cops found her car out back, but
she never came home from work.”

We move
down the line, waiting for Karen’s latte.

“Her
parents must be freaking.”

That has
to be every parent’s worst nightmare, without question, no matter the age.

Karen
hums. “That girl has always been trouble; heavy drugs, drinking, a revolving
door of men. Her mother isn’t much better. The woman spews profanities like a
trucker. Sonia probably ran off with some badass biker. They’re always gunning
it up her driveway, shooting rocks.”

I take a
bite out of my muffin and look away.

That was
me. When I was thirteen, we landed in Toronto and I fell in with the wrong
crowd. I had good marks and went to school enough to fly under the radar, but
nights were spent drinking, smoking anything I could roll, swiping necessities,
and having sex. My mother never brought men home, but her suicide only made
things worse, and by eighteen I was out of control. It took an unexpected
pregnancy to set me straight. That and a school counselor who insisted I had
talent and should enroll in art school. The baby didn’t survive past the first
trimester, but by then I’d gotten my head straight, straight enough to know
what I wanted when I met Meyer two years later.

Maybe
Sonia wasn’t so lucky.

“If I was
twenty-one and having the time of my life, I wouldn’t call home either,” says
Karen. “She’ll turn up. Someone must know where she’s run off to, and they’ll
tell the police.” A sly smile lights her face. “Secrets are hard to keep in a
small town like this.”

“Every
day, Karen, every day I thank my lucky stars you and I get along.”

Karen
bursts into laughter. “We’d get along better if you’d come to the party with
me.” She waves a ten-dollar bill in my face. “
Gotta
pee. Grab Frank a caramel brownie to go.” Her laugh tapers off as she heads to
the bathroom.

The café
is busy so I organize our stuff on a tray. I turn around to find a seat and
instantly my body goes into shock, my mind fighting to rationalize what it’s
viewing. The entire room falls away, the hum of chatter gone. The sensation of
nausea rises in my throat. Somewhere in the depths my gut instinct screams
run
,
but I can’t move.

It’s a
man. He sits, one cheek on a stool, leaning slightly forward, his weight
supported by a foot firmly planted on the floor. His other foot casually rests
on the bar around the stool base. Every muscle on his perfectly chiseled body
stirs with flourishing, almost elegant movements. I can see every
detail—he’s naked. Not a no shirt, no shoes, no service kind of naked,
but a run from the place screaming exhibitionist naked. In his arms is a woman.
She’s nude, wearing only a pair of high-heeled black leather boots and tiny
black lace panties. She’d be beautiful if she didn’t look
so . . . stoned, drunk, drugged. He is fixated on her, his hands
ravaging her ass and back. His face is buried deep in her neck, her head tilted
back like a ragdoll’s.

He moans
and she shudders, her face turning toward me.

Holy shit!
Sonia! My intuition screams this is Sonia, the missing girl. She looks
familiar, I think, until she shimmers like her form is a hologram, and I
squeeze my eyes shut and try to focus. My hands are shaking, the tray held
tight in my grip.

He moves,
slowly, running his fingertips over her stomach. She drops back, her body
falling into a dramatic arch. Her long blonde hair sweeps the floor. She lifts
her head, her chest rising and falling, grappling for air. Her nails hold tight
to his sides. His skin is dark, tanned, and his jet-black hair hangs chin
length in disheveled curls. Tattoos of intricate wave-like symbols cover large
portions of his body, the sun providing a radiance that nearly gives life to
the raised contours.

I can’t
believe this is happening. How is this happening? I scan the room, frantically
searching the faces of people within view, but no one looks in their direction.
No one cares at all.

My muscles
lock in place, stunned motionless. I can’t take in enough air and my chest
heaves in protest. I try to scream. Only a gasp escapes my lungs.

He looks
at me, his eyes an unnatural shade of blue. For a moment he seems to stare
right through me, as if I don’t exist. Then his lips part and he belts out a
snarl, displaying two rows of thin, needlelike teeth.

Holy shit.
What the hell is he?

My eyes
grow wide and my heart quickens to a dangerous rate. A deafening ring vibrates
the walls of my skull and the tray trembles in my hands. All this, yet I can’t
look away. He radiates evil, and I have the sense to know I should be afraid. I
am afraid. But I’m scared for the woman in his arms. What the hell is he doing
to her?

“What’s
up?”

My gaze
flickers to my right, where Karen stands beside me with her arms crossed, a
concerned expression on her face.

“Don’t you
see it?” I shriek. “Them?”

“Them
who,” Karen says, stepping back. “The guys in the suits? The tanned one is
rather hot, although long hair doesn’t do it for me.” She shelters her eyes
with her hand. “Cool stools.”

This is
insane! She doesn’t see him? Them?

“Is it
Sonia? The woman with him, is that your neighbor’s daughter?” I search Karen’s
face for a sign, anything to show she sees what I see, that I’m not imagining
it, but it’s blank.

“Right
there.” I scream and point, but when I look back they’re gone. “What the hell?”
I turn in circles. They’re nowhere. “They’re gone! Gone!”