Only a brief answer to one of my texts.
My unease over her silence has been riding shotgun since sunrise.
I cut the engine and sit there for a beat, watching the front door. Sunlight spills across the porch. No fog or gloom today.
Inside, the scent of coffee greets me. Mrs. Applewood looks up from behind the desk. Her warm smile flickers for a second before she schools it back into place.
“Oh,” she squeaks. “Mr. Sterling.”
My bullshit meter dings. Something’s off with her today.
“Morning, Mrs. Applewood,” I say. “I’m looking for Emery.”
She hesitates. Glances down at the papers on her desk and shuffles them around.
“Ms. Corbin checked out a little while ago,” she finally says.
No.
Why would she leave without telling me?
“Checked out? Are you sure?” I ask.
“Spoke to her myself. Watched her load all her stuff into her car and drive off.” She waves her hand toward the back door.
Emery left without saying goodbye.
I nod once, smoothing my face into a mask of indifference. I’ll deal with this information later. “Okay. Thanks.”
“But when I was cleaning her room, I found this.” She pulls a long white envelope from behind the desk and hands it to me. “It seems to be for you.”
My name’s scrawled in loopy purple ink across the front. The seal’s intact. At least Mrs. Applewood didn’t open and read it.
I take it, my fingers closing around the paper, painfully aware this is the last I have of Emery.
“She seemed tired,” Mrs. Applewood adds, then smiles. “And surprised you paid her bill.”
I don’t trust my voice, so I nod.
Outside, the cold bites at my skin but I ignore it, slide the envelope in my pocket, and get behind the wheel.
The short drive to my apartment is a blur.
She’s not waiting for me by the back door with that adorable let-me-ask-you-some-questions smile. And a quick jog to the front of the shop only shows an empty sidewalk.
I stomp upstairs to my apartment.
No room is safe. An extra toothbrush on my bathroom sink. The T-shirts she borrowed to sleep in tossed on the bed. One of her sweatshirts hanging on a hook by the door. I stare at it like it’s proof she was planning to return.
So why did she go?
Dreading the answers, I take the letter out of my pocket, drop down on the couch, and carefully open it.
Declan,
I’m not very good at saying goodbye.
Thank you for everything you did for me while I was here. I know you weren’t thrilled about me poking at the town’s past, but you never made me feel foolish for asking questions or wanting answers.
