Applewild (10 page)

XI

Monroe threw on a nice shirt with skinny jeans and cowboy boots to help interview Ms. Hutter’s short list of part-time stable hands. She was running ten minutes late, thanks to Xan’s pony. She pulled on her favorite pair of fingerless leather gloves and ran up the lane to the front of the house, just in time to slide in the passenger’s seat of Ms. Hutter’s Lexus.

“Cutting it close,” she observed.

“I know. Sorry. Punky chewed through a fence rail.”

Monroe buckled her seatbelt, and Ms. Hutter drove them to the local coffee shop.

“We have five people to see this morning. Their credentials seem good and their references check out. We’ll decide on the best fit and hopefully be back by noon.”

“Sounds good. I’m meeting a friend in town for lunch, though, so you don’t have to drive me back.”

Ms. Hutter shot her a sideways glance. “Do I want to know who?”

Monroe shifted in her seat and looked out the window. “Probably not.”

The older woman pursed her lips and pulled into a parking spot. She didn’t immediately exit the car. “I like you, Monroe,” she said. “I really do. You’re a good worker and a smart girl and I don’t want to see you get yourself into trouble. If things go wrong and I get the call from Mrs. Avery there will be nothing I can do for you.”

“I know.”

“And the risk is worth it?”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

Ms. Hutter sighed. “Come on. Let’s find your new trainee.”

They went in. Monroe ordered a coffee, and they sat in a quiet corner booth. Ms. Hutter handed her a folder with each candidate’s résumé.

The high profile owner of Applewild Acres had never been confirmed, but rumors floated around the small town that the property belonged to an A-list actress. That sort of rumor tended to breed exaggerated work histories by young people hoping to somehow catch a ride on the fame train. Ms. Hutter had weeded through them, looking only at candidates with at least five years of experience, professional résumés, convincing cover letters, and glowing references.

Monroe sipped her coffee and let Ms. Hutter ask most of the questions. She tried to look simultaneously shrewd and aloof during the interviews, as though she were very important and used to deciding the fate of potential employees. She made a few notes, asked a few questions, but didn’t find herself particularly interested in anyone except one man who was born and raised on a horse farm in Kentucky and a young woman with a vet tech degree.

“Do you have a favorite?” Ms. Hutter asked as she took a long sip of her cappuccino at 11:30.

They’d sorted the files into
yes
,
maybe
, and
no
piles. The
no
’s were discarded, the
maybe
’s would be shuffled back into the slush pile, and the
yes
’s would be considered.

“Beth, I think,” Monroe said. “She has experience with horses and would know what to do if they were sick or injured. That’s an asset we haven’t had before.”

“What do you think of David?”

“I like him, too. Close second if Beth doesn’t work out for whatever reason. But he’s older and flirtatious. I get the sense it might be more difficult to establish authority.”

“Okay. Everything looks good to me. I’ll put an offer together with Mrs. Avery and give Beth a call tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll have her by Friday.”

“Great. Thank you.”

Ms. Hutter combined the papers in one folder and picked up her purse. She looked at Monroe one last time before leaving. “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want a ride back?”

“I’m sure.”

“See you at the farm, then.”

Monroe waved and finished her coffee. Alton was supposed to come in twenty minutes. She bought a second cup and sat down at the same table, scrolling through her phone and enjoying the sounds around her. The rustling of a newspaper, indecipherable chatter, the chime as the front door opened.

It was too early for Alton to arrive, so she didn’t notice the woman standing in front of her until she cleared her throat. She was dressed in business-casual attire, a cell phone in one hand and a friendly smile on her lips.

“Monroe List?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Dee Franklin with the
Chronicle
. May I sit down?”

“No, I don’t think so. I have nothing to say to you.”

Dee pulled a stylus from her pocket and tapped her phone. “The public will be curious to know what you think, Ms. List.”

Monroe’s eyes narrowed. “What I think about
what
?”

“Your father’s release.”

Monroe’s heart stopped and the whole world with it. She’d assumed the journalist was here to get a juicy scoop on Alton. It never occurred to her the journalist might be here for her, because her worst—and only—nightmare was about to become reality. Monroe was vaguely aware of her open mouth, but shock and fear paralyzed her for a good five seconds before she managed to close it.

“Have a seat,” she breathed.

“Thank you. Can I get you another coffee?”

“I just got a refill, thanks.”

“So. It’s been ten years since the attack. Can you take me back to that night?”

“No. It’s in your archives. Nothing’s changed.”

Dee cocked her head and examined Monroe. “You seem surprised.”

“I am.”

“I’m very sorry you’re finding out this way. I thought the asylum would have sent you a letter.”

Monroe shrugged. “Maybe they did. I haven’t checked my mail in a few days.”

“Well, why don’t we start with something a bit easier? You’re working at Applewild Acres, is that correct? Your former foster home?”

“Yes.”

“And how’s life treating you?”

“Fine.”

“Are you still seeing Alton Daniels?”

“We’re not talking about that.”

“Have you thought much about your father since the attack?”

“Every day.”

“Have you forgiven him?”

“No, of course not.”

“I see you’re wearing gloves. Is that to hide the scars?”

“Yes. I don’t like to draw attention. Or questions.” She said the last phrase pointedly. “So how the hell did this happen? Why is he out? Was it a technicality or something?”

Dee tapped her phone a couple of times, referencing material she’d already gathered. “Psychologists say he’s shown no signs of violence in ten years. Responding well to medication. They’ve declared he’s no harm to himself or society.”

“That son of a bitch. He knew exactly what he was doing. Those psychologists are wrong. He was never sick; he was just a jealous fucking asshole on a tirade.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to use most of that quote.”

“Paraphrase.”

“Do I take that to mean you’re worried? You still see him as a threat?”

“Of course I do.”

“Are you afraid he’ll come after you?”

Monroe’s heart thudded in her chest. Her hands shook. She wrapped them around the coffee cup in an attempt to steady them. “Yes. I was the only witness. He didn’t mean to leave me alive. I was just smart enough to hold my breath and play dead and he was stupid enough to believe it. If I were him, I’d want to finish the job.”

“What are your plans? What will you do to feel safe again?”

Monroe raised her eyes to Dee’s. “I’m not sure there’s anything I can do. Knowing I was locked safely away at Applewild and he was locked safely away in the institution was the only thing that ever made me feel just a little bit safe.”

Dee stood. She was cool, calm, and professional—unfazed by Monroe’s abrasiveness. She offered a sympathetic smile.

“I truly am sorry I had to be the first to tell you. Thank you for your time, and here’s my card if you’d like to have a chat once the shock’s worn off.”

Monroe watched her go and then stared at her coffee for a long time, completely unaware of her surroundings, trying desperately to form a plan in her fear-muddled mind. When was he getting out? Was he already out? She should have asked. Did he know where she was? She needed to check her mail and read the letter for herself. She was too afraid to move, but she was too afraid to stay.

She was also too absorbed in her thoughts to notice she’d been stood up until she realized she had no way to get home. At 1:00, with shaking fingers, she dialed Alton’s number. He didn’t answer. His mailbox was full. She called Shannon next.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Shannon.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“My dad’s out. A reporter told me.”

Her friend was silent for a full minute. “Shit, I’m sorry. What can I do?”

“I’m at the coffee shop. Could you give me a ride back to the farm?”

“Definitely. I’ll be there in five.”

“Thanks.”

Monroe played with her empty cup. She already had the jitters. The last thing she needed was more caffeine. Shannon showed up right on time. The short brunette somehow managed to give her a bear hug.

“Let me buy you a drink.”

“I don’t have time. I have to get back to work.”

“Fuck work.”

“I can’t. I have to get back and bring the horses in, and I have to figure out what to do from here.”

“If there is anything I can do beyond giving you a ride…”

“I know. Thanks.”

“So where’s your truck?” Shannon asked as she led the way to her car.

“At the farm. Alton was supposed to meet me. Maybe he’s having some new publicity crisis.”

“So you really like him?”

“That’s the farthest thing from my mind right now.”

*

Alton paced the floor of his bedroom, a half-gone fifth of whiskey staring at him from the top of the dresser. He’d shown up for his date with Monroe. He’d arrived early. He was looking forward to a fresh start. Then he’d realized she was talking to one of
them
. Right there. Right in front of him. In broad daylight, ten minutes before they were supposed to meet.

What was she planning? Was the reporter supposed to sit by and listen to their conversation? He wanted so badly to give Monroe the benefit of the doubt, but all evidence was stacked against her.

And he wouldn’t be played for a fool. Not again.

He knew deep down they were done for. Another article would be released, and he’d have to face facts. Monroe was no different from every other girl he’d known—as bad as Sophie, maybe worse.

Alton downed the rest of the bottle and watched ESPN until he passed out on his bed. The ten hours he spent there were bliss. Waking up with a throbbing headache and a perfect memory of why he’d felt the need to drink himself into a stupor was not.

He stumbled into the bathroom and gulped down two glasses of tap water, then stumbled back to his bed and lay down again. He took out his phone and squinted. Sure enough, he had a text from his agent, with the link to an article and the message
Can you please just leave this girl alone?

Alton had a feeling that after reading this, leaving her alone would be too easy.

It seems Alton’s fling with the young woman now identified as Monroe List was as short-lived as everyone expected. After standing the pretty country bumpkin up for a planned date yesterday afternoon, sources tell us she’s had it.

But what could she really expect from a hot celeb on the rebound? He’s got plenty of ladies waiting in line to comfort him. And, boy, is he going to need some comfort. Rumor has it Sophie Desmarais might have to take a break from modeling for a while, due to a little “bump” in the road. Click below to read the full story.

Alton narrowed his eyes at the insinuation his ex-girlfriend was pregnant with another man’s child. It could be gossip. It could be true. One thing he knew for certain, he didn’t care. Monroe hurt more. He’d opened himself up to her, let her heal his wounds, and she’d shattered him all over again.

Rage ignited by pain dominated his senses. He threw his phone at the wall, grabbed his cigarettes, and stomped downstairs. He went out the front this time, sat on the step of the centuries-old mansion, and lit up. He couldn’t bear to see anyone right now. He didn’t want to catch a glimpse of Monroe at the barn, he didn’t want a disapproving look from Elsa, and he didn’t want to answer Ms. Hutter’s questions.

The nicotine infiltrated his system and the angry shaking began to subside. He was still thirsty. He still needed a shower. And then he needed to leave. He didn’t want the noise of L.A., he didn’t want to hear Madison say
I told you so
, but he sure as hell didn’t want to stay here, near Monroe, where everything reminded him of her scent and betrayal.

Alton massaged his temples and sucked down the cigarette. He knew what needed to be done, the only way he could take his revenge, though it would never be enough. He crushed his cigarette and went back inside. He approached Ms. Hutter’s door and knocked. She answered within a few moments.