The Seven Turns of the Snail's Shell: A Novel (41 page)
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Authors: Mj Roë
“He spoke English, but he had an accent. A French accent. I wondered whether he might be one of your long-lost relatives. All he said was that he was waiting for you to arrive home, that he had some urgent business with you. Wouldn’t tell me anything more. I asked him how he knew you, but he didn’t answer the question. I couldn’t decide what to do. If I called the police, what could I tell them? This guy, this French guy, was loitering on the beach? Wouldn’t have been any reason for him not to be there. Hell, it’s a public beach.”
“So what did you do?”
“I told him that he should move on, that you weren’t expected home yet and that I didn’t know when you were coming, which is true. It was then that he told me who he was—well, not who he was exactly, but who he is today. I guessed the
was
part.”
“Mark, you’re not making any sense. Who was he?”
Mark gulped and turned to look deep into Anna’s eyes. His face showed no emotion. He hesitated and then said finally, “I met your C-C.”
A
nna stared at Mark. Her mind raced as she tried to remember whether she had ever mentioned C-C’s name to him.
“C-C is dead,” she exclaimed. “He died in a car crash three days ago. You’re scaring me, Mark. Diamanté warned me that I could be in danger. This person has to be an imposter.”
“Anna, this guy that showed up yesterday isn’t an imposter. Well, not quite.” Mark raked his hair as he tried to figure out how to explain the unbelievable story C-C had told him, how his death had been staged and he had been given a new identity with a chance at a new life, that he was in love with Anna and would stay on that beach for days waiting for her.
“Hell with it. See for yourself, Anna.” He gunned the car and sped out of the parking lot.
Anna scanned the beachfront as they pulled into the side alley of the condo.
It has to be someone who knew. But who?
she thought, trembling with fear. Mark didn’t know anything. She couldn’t let him get involved. Tears welled in her eyes.
In front of them the Pacific Ocean sparkled in the afternoon sunlight.
Mark turned off the ignition. “Well, this is it, gorgeous,” he said wearily. “Like I said, he’s a handsome dude, and he sure loves you.”
At that moment, a figure appeared from around the side of the building and walked with a familiar swagger towards the car. Anna put her hands to her cheeks and screamed. She opened the car door and leaped out, her head spinning.
M
y sincere thanks to Peter Berkos, Robert Fertig, Lillian Balinfante Herzberg, Byron Earhart, Lorin Nails-Smooté, Morry Shechet, Karl Bell, and the late Aaron Hock, all members of the Rancho Bernardo Writers’ Group in San Diego, California, whose tough critique, diplomatic suggestions, and sound advice made this story better. A special thank you also to Jewell Hill and Harriett Staats, who so graciously read and provided extensive comments on this work, and to my daughter Kirsten who provided honest feedback along the way. Last, but most important, I owe a debt of gratitude to my husband Denny for his unwavering support, encouragement, and belief.