“I’m fine, mom,” Christine replied moving her mother’s hand away. She finally looked away from Elijah, a mask slipping into place and she forced a smile to her full lips. “Mr. Stanton ordered his usual, I’ll go make it. Be right back.” She glanced at Elijah quickly and then left without another word, her hair hanging by her face and disguising her expression.
“I swear, she’s like a little sparrow that one. As nervous as anything.”
“Nervous? Because of me?” Elijah asked, his gaze still on the doorway that Christine had just gone through. Of all the things he’d expected to find when he followed Michael, it hadn’t been this—a Delores lookalike. And that, Elijah knew for certain, was not a coincidence.
“Oh heavens no, she’s always been that way, nervous and flighty. She’s shy. Take a strong man to marry that one,” Mrs. Seager laughed, looking up through her lashes mischievously. “But I can guarantee she’ll make a good wife. Obedient to no end.”
Elijah opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. Before he could say anything Christine came back holding his sandwich in her hand. It was already wrapped and packed in the brown bag that he had seen Michael’s with only five minutes ago. She gave it to her mother, and then scuttled off into the back room again without even a glance backwards.
Mrs. Seager pressed the sandwich bag into Elijah’s hand. “Enjoy, Officer Schiver.” She smiled.
Elijah nodded. “Thanks.” His gaze was still on the space that Christine had occupied only moments ago, his heart thundering in his chest. He turned back towards the door.
“Don’t forget about the leaflets,” Mrs. Seager called after him.
Elijah grabbed some of the leaflets by the door, smiled and then pushed back outside into the warm day. He walked away knowing he’d just stumbled upon one of Michael’s dirty secrets. Because Elijah didn’t believe in coincidences. Only facts. And the fact that Michael Stanton bought his lunch from a woman that looked the spitting image of his missing wife was not something to be dismissed.
Back in his pickup, Elijah unwrapped the sandwich and took a single bite before wrapping it back up and throwing it in to the nearest trashcan. Knowing he was eating the same thing as Michael felt almost traitorous to Delores.
He started the truck back up and began to pull away from the sidewalk, glancing in his rear-view mirror and seeing Christine crossing the road behind him. Her face was pale with panic and her hair whipped behind her. Her hands were clutched together in front of her, her knuckles white.
A large honk startled him, and Christine glanced his way. He cast his eyes forwards, waving his apologies at the car in front. When he looked back in his mirror, Christine was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Elijah
The shrill ring of his cell phone woke Elijah.
He sat up groggily, struggling momentarily to focus his tired eyes on anything but the inside of his eyelids. The cell phone continued to vibrate noisily on the table in front of him, dancing around on the polished surface like it had a mind of its own. Elijah reached for it, cricking his neck to one side as he did.
“Hello?”
“Elijah, it’s Paul.”
Elijah huffed. “Tell me what you know.”
Sleep dropped away and the remnants of Elijah’s dream disappeared like dust in the wind. He stood and made his way to the kitchen for coffee. His mind was alert, but his body was still exhausted after being up all night. The ache in his back from sleeping hunched over the table throbbed tenderly. He twisted at the waist holding in a grunt of pain.
“The kid woke up; the one from the motel. He’s gonna be alright, mostly anyway. The bullet missed the important stuff,” Paul was talking quietly, his words muffled as if he was cupping the phone to his mouth.
“Paul?” Elijah huffed again, flicking the switch on his coffee pot. He cradled the cell between his shoulder and ear, and replaced the filter on the aged pot before filling it with fresh coffee and water.
“Sorry, one second,” Paul’s voice was muffled for a moment as he covered the receiver and gave an order of coffee and bacon to someone.
Elijah reached into the cupboard, his hands moving objects around as he searched in vain for some painkillers for his aching back. He finally found the small white container, his hand hesitating over one of Delores’s medicine bottles. She’d forgotten it after a particularly bad day about two weeks ago. Her large brown purse had fallen from the table, its contents spilling out for him to see. Such an odd collection of things in a woman’s purse, he’d thought at the time. He’d helped her pick everything up, chasing lipsticks and tampons, pens and notepads which had scattered across the floor.
Her meds had been the last thing he’d found later that night; they’d rolled under his sagging sofa. He’d worried all night about it, frantic that she would need them, knowing that there was no way to get them to her without Michael being aware. He’d phoned Delores’s cell phone at eight fifteen the next morning, knowing that Michael, without fail, left for work at eight o’clock sharp.
She’d answered, her voice groggy and tired, and told him that she always had more. Cupboards stacked full of meds.
No need to worry, she’d said.
Keep them at your place as spares, she’d said.
Only if you’re sure,he’d said.
He’d researched the meds later that evening, wanting to know more about her illness and how he could help her. He wanted to know ways in which he could make things more manageable for her. Because, it seemed at least to him that something wasn’t right with her. Her mind recently was a fairground ride, constant dips. Highs and lows. Twists and turns. Half the time she didn’t even seem to know what she was saying, and seemed petrified that she was losing her mind. Other times she was more like her old self again: compassionate, caring, witty.
