Chapter 13 Frustratedly
I ventured outside the front entrance a few minutes before noon, keeping my eyes open for the black car. With the stranger nowhere in sight, I settled myself on a bench and waited for Lauren to arrive.
When she pulled up ten minutes later, she greeted me with the same smile as usual, but this time, she seemed relaxed, like the worries of the world were no more. At first, as I got into the car, I hated to even consider telling her about the SUV, but I had already decided she needed to know. If we were going to be honest, it would have to start with me.
Her smile faded slightly as I took a seat, as she could tell my thoughts had drifted since that morning. At first, Lauren waited for me to say something, but when I remained silent, she spoke up.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you lived in the same complex as me?”
Lauren’s face turned a shade of white as her skin flushed in shock. I could not believe what I was saying either, because I had had a purposeful plan that would have given her the chance to be honest, but my mouth seemed to have decided differently. Lauren was not Brooke, and if I wanted to build any type of relationship, I had to separate the two.
“How did you know that?” she finally mumbled, almost afraid to admit I was right.
“You kind of gave it away when you turned down the street, which meant you couldn’t live far. I guess I was being a little bit of a stalker, but I ran to the sidewalk to see which way you went, and well...”
“Oh...” she whispered, lowering her eyes before continuing. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I’m a private person.”
I nodded my head, then attempted to offer a better explanation for myself. “It’s fine. I just wanted to be honest with you and hoped you would do the same in return.”
“It’s not a matter of being honest, Joshua. Truly, it’s just better, for me at least, to not let people in.” Lauren lifted her head, this time locking her eyes on mine.
“Oh...” Now I was the one without words. I had seen the conversation going much differently despite my confrontation, yet clearly, she was initiating the “determine the relationship” talk, and it was not in my favor.
She lay her hand on mine, seeing that her words had hit harder than perhaps anticipated, yet said nothing more.
“So, do you still want to be friends, or should I go ahead and get out of the car?”
A deep thought consumed Lauren as she contemplated what I was asking. Maybe she had not considered an “us” at all but rather only been thinking about protecting herself. I waited for her to answer, but when she offered none, I reached for the door.
Instantly, I felt resentment for initiating my departure. How was I supposed to tell her about the SUV now? Doing so would only appear as a weak attempt to scare her into needing me. Yet there I was, left with a decision of my own and no words to speak.
Standing from the car, I went to shut the door but stopped short and leaned my head down inside. Looking at the gloom that crested her eyes, I said the only thing I could. “You know, I would never hurt you or let anyone else.”
She nodded and gave a sniffle to pull back the onset of emotions. With nothing left to say, I leaned forward, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and pulled myself from the car. Shutting the door, I began to walk away. The only option I could fathom at that point was to perhaps remain in the shadows myself, watching for the SUV and hoping I could intervene if needed. However, the passing thought meant little. Deep down, I knew what it would become, because unfortunately, like Brooke, I would not be there if she failed to stick around.
I headed in the direction of the bookstore, never glancing to see if Lauren remained behind me. Instead, I focused my eyes on the sidewalk, afraid that if I looked anywhere else, Lauren would vanish.
A crossing came into view beyond the curb. I peered up to see the stoplight and waited for it to turn green. But I never noticed if the lights changed or if I was following the steps of someone else, and upon crossing the street, I made my way a little further before noticing a car pull alongside me.
“It’s not just about me,” a voice called from inside. Turning my head, I second-guessed the possibility of Lauren’s green sedan rolling to a stop along the curb, yet the reality of her voice resounded in my head, subtle and sweet. There was no doubt she was right. The feelings between us were not one-sided, and she was honest enough to admit that. “I just can’t explain it all.”
“So why are you following me now?” I said, attempting to ease the situation for us both.
“I guess I just don’t like to leave things unresolved.”
I began to smile and opened the door to get in. Seeing her confusion, I pointed down the street, implying she could continue to drive as I buckled in.
“I’m confused,” she said.
“Me too, but it appears neither of us likes leaving issues unsettled, so we best get back to Minnie’s case. Besides, I have more to tell you about.”
“And what about earlier?” she questioned, perhaps unsure if she was comfortable locking herself in the bookstore with me once again.
“I need to clear up some of that too, but you don’t have to explain anything else unless you want to ‘resolve’ more later,” I joked. “Do we have a deal?”
“Okay . . . I mean, I do have the rest of the week off . . .”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to call your hand on that, but...”
“Hey!” she said, smacking my arm.
“I’m kidding. I don’t know what else you have going on, but I do know I enjoy our time together.”
“Me too,” she admitted, as she began to drive once more in the direction of the shop. “And what else were you meaning to tell me about?”
I cautioned her to wait until we were at the store. Knowing better than to frighten Lauren while she was driving, I wanted to make sure we were locked inside to provide her assurance.
By the time we reached the store, there had been no other sightings of the SUV. I reconsidered the idea of wanting to tell Lauren, but whether I was wrong or right, I would rather error on the side of caution while still giving her a choice in the matter.
When I unlocked the front door to the bookstore, I peered around, but there seemed to be no one watching us from the street or sidewalk. Finally, wanting to avoid entrapment, I let Lauren inside and let the door close without locking us in.
As she stood waiting for me to do so, I decided now would be the best time to include her.
“Aren’t you going to lock it so no customers come in?” she asked, noticing my hesitation.
“Yeah, but first, I think you should know...” I began, trying to ease into the subject without causing more fear than necessary. “Lauren, do you remember how I thought I saw something the other night in the storm?”
“Yes...” The confusion on her face soon transitioned to worry, as it became clear my previous lack of concern had been falsely portrayed. “What? What did you see?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure at the time because it was so dark. Initially, I saw a car parked along the side of the road. I only noticed it through a flash of lightning, which is why I ran after you. It appeared to be a black SUV, much like the one that almost hit us. However, only this afternoon did I really consider that I think you are being followed.” Lauren’s eyes widened as she gave a hard swallow in response. The fear painted along her face adamantly portrayed, there was something to my prediction. “Lauren...” I began, hoping for a response, but she stood motionless. “Should I lock the door?” I offered. With the nod of her head, I turned to fasten the lock quickly so I could resume our conversation. “Is it something bad?”
Lauren released a few breaths to settle her nerves, then closed her eyes as if hoping to hide herself from reality. “It’s possible.”
“Should I be worried?” My hopes were to protect Lauren if she so desired, but I was unsure of how to do so when I had no idea who or what the reason was. As I placed my hand on her shoulder, she jerked away. “Lauren, you’ve got to give me something; otherwise, I can’t help.”
“I don’t need you to help,” she snapped, prematurely blurting out her words and wincing at her own harshness. “I’m just afraid I’ve already pulled you into my life further than I should have, and now...” she stopped, shaking her head in confusion.
“Are you comfortable being locked inside here? If not, I can make sure you get home safe, and I’ll come back later.”
“I don’t know...” I could tell she needed time to think, so I stepped back to give her space. As Lauren had nothing further to say, I turned and headed toward the backroom. I would be of no use to her unless she was speaking, but for now, she could stay here until she figured things out. “Why this afternoon?” she called.
“Huh?”
“You said you were unsure until this afternoon. What happened?”
I stopped, then decided against walking back toward her. “When I saw you turn back into the apartment complex, I cut through to see where you were going. While I was watching, the black SUV appeared to be doing the same. The driver never got out but waited until you were inside, then left. It unfortunately means whoever it was knows where you live.”
“So does that mean that neither your place nor mine is safe?”
“I can’t say for sure if they saw me get out. The only time I saw the car was after you parked.”
To this, Lauren slowly sank to the floor, allowing her composure to completely dissolve as she hung her head and cried. Never had Brooke fallen apart in front of me. To my knowledge, she either held everything inside until no one was looking or failed to convey emotions at all, thus leaving me now in an unexplored territory.
Unsure of what to do, I walked over and sat beside Lauren. I situated myself without draping my arm over her shoulders or offering consoling words, yet somehow, I found Lauren’s head buried in my shoulder, soaking the sleeve of my shirt with tears.
When I finally welcomed her into my arms, I lifted her chin and kissed her on the forehead. The simple acceptance of her state of fear seemed to pacify her, and she began to dam her emotions.
“Who is it?” I asked, knowing that, if she was willing to cry in front of me, she might reveal more.
“I can’t...” she muttered. “My life is a mess, full of baggage and tears.”
“More tears than I just experienced?” I poked sarcastically.
“You’re terrible. You know that,” she huffed, only to cave in to my jab.
“What can I say? I’m here to help,” I replied, my offer still riding along the joviality.
“But honestly, I’m not sure if you can.”
The hopelessness she portrayed felt like an iron poker thrusting into my stomach. “There has to be something.”
“I just need time . . .”
“Time? Like the-rest-of-the-week-spent-going-through-boxes time?” I joked once again, but the lightness of my voice had no effect.
“Something like that.”
“Okay, but seriously, I need you to tell me something first. Are you afraid of someone hurting you?”
“The hurt has already been done, but I guess it could always get worse.”
I laid my arm across her shoulder, pulling her in tighter before gathering my feet underneath me.
“Where are you going?”
“We . . . are going to get to work.”
“Just like that? No more questions or concerns?”
“Yeah. There is no point in sitting around and worrying. Besides, Ms. Debbie had an alarm system installed years ago, so if there is someone following you, they can’t get inside the store.”
Picking up the book from the night before, I questioned if we should keep reading or continue to sort through boxes. It was not until Lauren began to open another box that I considered she had reached an emotional high for the day and needed to busy her mind. She took a seat on the floor and began sorting through the papers. Lifting a box, one that was empty, I tossed it aside. Then, as I lifted another one to dig through, I moved back toward Lauren. However, before I could settle down beside her, I found myself towering over Lauren as she stared oddly upward at me.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
She lifted her hand and pointed in my direction. Turning, I looked to see what she was referring to, but there was nothing.
“No,” she began. “On the bottom.”
Still holding the box, I knew better than to flip it around for fear of dumping everything on the ground. So, I let the cardboard slide down my legs, and as the corners met the floor, I balanced the edge against my toe before laying it on its side.
I squatted next to Lauren and focused my eyes on a set of faint words scribbled along the bottom. “Beehives Safe Keeping.”
“That’s interesting. I didn’t notice anything on the other boxes.”
“Did you check any of them?” Lauren questioned, flipping over hers.
“Well, no, but who writes the contents on the bottom?”
“Nothing here,” she mumbled. “Maybe she wanted to keep what’s inside a secret.”
Laying the box flat, I opened the top and began to rifle through the papers. Having found it hidden among the vast stacks, I wondered why the box had been written on but not isolated. Then, I realized this particular box had been, in fact, separated. It had been methodically placed along the outer side of the stack, easily accessible from the side yet buried among the rows, with only an empty box perched on top.
The first couple of pieces of paper appeared to be what I had been looking for. They included the tax returns for the past seven years and a few other important pieces of information. However, it was what lay underneath that proved the most interesting.
I placed the papers out in front of me so we could read them together. There was little to convey, as what we saw spoke volumes by itself. Neatly stacked beneath the tax returns were much older collections of forms, each with a different name written on them.
Lois Debra Collins, Lois Debra Redding, Lois Debra Mason, and Willow Gladis Murphy claimed the name section of each paper, marked with signatures all in the same handwriting. And at the top of each document read the words, “Official Change of Alias Form.”
“Wow,” I mumbled under my breath.
“We were right; she did write the book,” Lauren whispered, pointing to the signing of Willow’s name under one of Ms. Debbie’s better-known aliases.
“You mean you... You were right,” I corrected. “But what’s curious is Willow was not her pen name. Since that’s the case, there must have been a reason to continually change her name.”
“What do you suppose it was?”
I wanted to say the pure accounts in the book were evident enough—a way of separating the stories from herself—but there was another reason. Much like writing in a journal or publishing a blog, there would be little harm in writing your life story unless you had gathered a large following of readers. Perhaps whoever she was writing about could have brought up a slander lawsuit, but what would be the purpose unless there was money involved?
“Search the name of the book online.”
Pulling out her phone from her purse, Lauren searched the title but received songs, poems, and everything else under the sun as a result. “Let me try adding W. G. Murphy,” Lauren suggested. It only took a few seconds before her countenance changed. “Look,” she said, turning the phone toward me.
In black and white, a valuable missing piece of the puzzle fell into place. There was more than money involved; much more. However, it was not the green so much as it was the red. The first article’s headline sat glaring back at us in bold letters, reading, “Millionaire Author Perishes in Fire.”
“Dead?” she asked.
“That’s what it says.”
“But clearly she’s not, or wasn’t.”
“Uh, right,” I stammered, trying to keep a logical hold on the story.
“So that does mean Ms. Debbie faked her own death to get away from the fame of her book.”
“Unless you think she had another motive to do something so obscure, I think the only way we can truly know the answer is if we finish the book.”
Looking doubtful, Lauren questioned the suggestion. “What if we did some more research instead? That book gives me the creeps.”
“Okay. What did you have in mind?”
“We need to know who the guy is in the book.”
“Well, that’s not so hard,” I said, shutting the cover. “The front claims it’s a work of fiction. So, anything we conceived based on the thought it was her own accounts would be wrong.”
“But is it?” Lauren questioned. “I’m sure her readers thought the same thing, but what if that was her plan to protect herself?”
No doubt she was right. Claiming something was made up was one thing, but how much truth could be packed into a string of lies to be called fictitious?
“That’s going to be difficult. I highly doubt the husband in the book shares the same name. And this article doesn’t list anything about who she was survived by.”
“It doesn’t have to be so long as we find out who she married, and I’m sure she has something in this box...” Lauren’s voice trailed as she revisited the papers inside, quickly shuffling through the mix.
Only a few moments later, Lauren lifted her hand, holding up not a marriage license but a restraining order.