Stranded

Chapter Twenty-seven

It had been three days since Abby had last seen Whit and she was beginning to wonder if she’d already forgotten about her. If maybe she had returned home to the someone she had waiting for her and had put Abby far from her mind.

I should’ve known better than to have gotten involved with a taken woman.

But Whit had seemed so genuine, and so kind.

Abby should’ve allowed her to explain her situation when she’d tried.

Maybe it would’ve helped her to have made sense out of all this.

Now it seemed as though it was too late.

Whit was presumably back home with her woman, and Abby was alone and getting ready to return to Phoenix.

As nice as Cozy was, and it was a quaint, nice little Alaskan town, she felt incredibly isolated and alone in her little two-room rented cottage house.

She almost preferred to be back in the hospital, where at least she was around more people.

She and Whit both had been admitted for a night to receive IV fluids and to get checked out.

She’d learned that she needed to see an orthopedist for her knee, that she may need surgery, and that she needed to consume more calories to replenish her nourishment requirements.

The latter was obvious, but the doctors had told her to take it slow, so she wouldn’t make herself sick.

So, she’d been eating a few small meals a day, just so happy to have real food once again.

She’d mainly been sticking to soups, with lots of cooked vegetables and beans, and she was already feeling a whole lot better.

And frankly, she didn’t care if she never saw another fish again as long as she lived.

Just the smell of them made her nauseous.

She’d discovered that when her guide had shown up with some sockeye salmon for her the previous evening.

Abby had had to make a beeline for the restroom where she dry-heaved, leaving her guide staring after her questioningly at the door.

I wonder if Whit’s having similar issues?

She thought about calling her, but she didn’t have her number and she wasn’t sure where she lived.

While it wouldn’t be difficult to find out in a place as small as Cozy, she thought it best to steer clear.

After all, how would it look if she showed up on her doorstep and her girlfriend answered the door? What would she say? What would she do?

So, she let things be, knowing that if Whit truly wanted to see her, she’d get a hold of her somehow. She’d better hurry though, because she was leaving in two days’ time.

Abby walked to the thermostat and adjusted the heat.

She couldn’t seem to get warm enough, despite being dressed in layers.

Her clothes, she’d noticed, were all fitting looser upon her return, and she wondered if she’d have to buy a new wardrobe or if she should wait to see if she’d regain the weight she’d lost. As it was, she could see the indentation of her abdominal muscles and she’d never been able to see those before.

And her breasts, well, they were smaller, which unnerved her.

Why did women lose in their breasts and not in other places?

She adjusted the belt on her pants once again and settled down on the couch to sip from a steaming mug of hot cocoa.

Her laptop was open and sitting on the coffee table, the cursor blinking at the end of her document.

She’d just finished her article on the Alaskan small towns and though, in her opinion, it was relatively good, she knew her heart wasn’t in it.

Something was missing.

It just wasn’t the article she wanted to write.

She’d loved the small towns she’d visited, so that wasn’t the problem.

It was just that…the story no longer seemed relevant to her.

And Whit’s words kept playing over and over in her mind.

About how she didn’t want any more tourists in Cozy, that she preferred to keep Cozy just the way it was.

Now that Abby had been to Cozy and experienced it firsthand, she could understand why.

The town was small and, well, quite cozy, with a population of under three hundred, and only one stoplight which swung on a wire down on Main Street.

The buildings were colorful and period-style, some restored, some in need of restoration, set against the backdrop of the snow-covered Ridgeline peaks.

The people were quiet, though friendly, and helped each other when needed.

There was an understanding here, an ambience of quiet resolve, of live and let live.

A sudden throng of tourism would tarnish that and, Abby suspected, send most of these townsfolk back into their homes to wait out the influx of visitors.

Yet Abby had a deadline and a responsibility. Her editor and her magazine were expecting the article. She wasn’t sure what to do.

She set down her hot chocolate and lifted her laptop. After staring at her document for a long moment, she re-saved it, and closed the top to put it back on the coffee table. She’d deal with it later.

Right now, she wanted to relax, sip her drink, and think about…

her mind kept returning to Whit and the way her lips had felt against hers, the way her warm skin had caused hers to tingle.

And then there were her eyes and their endless depths the same color as the creek dependent upon the position of the sun.

Sometimes a dark maple syrup, sometimes a coppery whiskey.

But every time beautiful and soulful and seemingly full of words she so desperately wanted to share, but ultimately shied away from.

A knock came from the door, and she nearly spilled her cocoa.

She was still unusually jumpy from the ordeal with Boyd, who, as far as she knew, still not been caught.

She put her mug down and walked hesitantly to the door.

She wasn’t expecting her guide again until tomorrow and with the exception of her one neighbor, no one else had come calling.

She peered out the side window. A uniformed policeman was standing at the threshold. She unlocked the door and opened it.

“Miss,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Yes?”

“I’m Deputy Misgreaves with the Ridgeline Department of Public Safety. I’ve been ordered to notify you that one Boyd Laird has been located and questioned.”

“He has?” She gripped the door frame, suddenly dizzy.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She took a moment to control her breathing and noticed that the deputy seemed to be waiting for her before he continued.

“You said questioned. He wasn’t arrested?”

“No, ma’am. May I…step inside a moment?”

The chill of the air outside began to seep in, suddenly noticeable to her, and she moved aside to allow him entry and quickly shut the door. She motioned toward the chair next to the couch. He removed his knit cap and settled while she sat where she had before.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, feeling like she had to be hospitable.

“No, thank you.”

Abby clasped her hands and waited.

The young deputy appeared uneasy, as if he were about to deliver some bad news. “The suspect in question, Mr. Laird, was located here in Cozy early this morning.”

A shiver ran through her, and she hugged herself. She didn’t like hearing that he had been so close. Had he been looking for her, or for Whit? She didn’t ask, but rather waited for the deputy to continue.

“He was taken to a holding cell here in town and we were notified and came directly. We questioned him thoroughly and well, ma’am, it seems that Boyd Laird could not have been your perpetrator.”

“What?” She felt dizzy again.

“He claims he’s been here, in Cozy, for days and we’ve corroborated his story with witnesses.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. We saw him. He was there, in the woods.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it wasn’t Mr. Laird.”

“So you let him go?”

“We had nothing to hold him for.”

“He stole all our food!”

“He admitted to that, ma’am, but it’s hardly anything we can charge him with.”

She stood. “But we nearly starved. He—tried to have us killed.”

“Ma’am. I understand it’s upsetting. What you went through and all. But it couldn’t have all been Mr. Laird.” He pulled his cap back on and stood to look at her somberly.

Abby panicked. “Wait, you can’t just tell me that and leave. What about the investigation?”

“We haven’t been able to locate any other suspect.”

“So what does that mean?”

“We’ve moved on from the case.”

She blinked, disbelieving. “Is it closed?”

“Not officially.” He headed for the door. Abby followed him, feeling completely lost and helpless.

“But that’s it?”

“If you can think of anything else,” he said. “Let us know and we’ll look into it.”

He opened the door and walked away. Abby watched him go, wanting to call out to him, to tell him he was wrong and that it was Boyd, that he was just a good liar. But she knew she’d sound ridiculous. She closed the door and went back to the sofa where she collapsed and cried.

* * *

The next day, when Abby still didn’t hear from Whit, she decided to call her guide to see if she knew where she could find her.

Turns out she did, and she gave her the address.

Abby told herself, as she was walking through town, past the old buildings, listening to the ATVs driving by, that she was going to see her solely to discuss Boyd and her visit from the police.

And not for any other, more personal, reasons.

Her heart still raced with anxiousness nonetheless, even as she stopped at the town’s one and only small grocery store to get some more hot cocoa.

The clerk greeted her politely and sold Abby the box of hot chocolate for twelve dollars, a steep price she was expecting considering it was Alaska and things were harder to come by.

“Can I get you anything else?” the clerk asked.

“Oh, no thanks. This is good.”

“You the writer everyone’s been talking about?”

“Am I that obvious?” Abby chuckled.

“In these parts, all new faces are obvious.”

“Well, I’m leaving tomorrow, so I’m afraid I’m not here for too much longer.”

“You out exploring the town? So you can write about it?”

“I’ve already done that. I’m actually on my way to see a friend. Her name’s Whitley Travers. Do you know her?”

“Sure, I know Whit. She’s good people. Although…”

“Yes?”

“She just seems to work so much. Always taking off to go fly people around. I don’t see much of her. Not even when she’s home. She just holes up in that house.”

It took a moment for Abby to comprehend what she was saying.

“Seems to me she’s a bit lonely. I mean how could she not be? Working all the time and you know, her home life—”

The bell above the door jingled as another patron walked in.

The clerk greeted her with a smile and the two women began talking about someone else in town.

Abby excused herself and exited the store.

She stood in the early winter sun, got her bearings, and then headed for Whit’s house one street over.

When she reached the tiny home, painted a robin egg blue, she stood at the door and observed a wind chime made of small rectangular mirrors and bird feathers. It made a delicate noise in the cold but gentle breeze, and she allowed it to relax her enough to ring the doorbell.

It took a moment for someone to answer, but when they did, they pulled the door just slightly ajar. Abby couldn’t tell who it was peering out at her.

“Uh, hi, I’m Abby. I’m looking for—”

The door inched open wider, and Whit’s face appeared. She had a dish rag in her hand and Abby could smell the distinct scent of frying onions and peppers wafting from inside.

“Abby, hi. How did you…find me?”

“Small town.”

“Right.”

When Whit didn’t say anything more, Abby continued. “I came to talk about Boyd.”

Whit’s face contorted. “What about him?”

“Did a deputy not come and speak to you?”

“Someone stopped by earlier, but I wasn’t here. Why? What’s going on?”

“They’re saying that they’ve questioned Boyd and that he’s not our perpetrator. That he’s claiming he’s been in Cozy for days and that he even has witnesses to back up his story.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“That’s what I said.”

“It’s impossible. He’s just so—fucking manipulative.”

“I know! So we have to do something. Say something. Anything. We have to get them to believe us. Boyd—he could’ve had those people cover for him. I mean, we don’t know, do we? So how can the cops be so sure?”

“They can’t. I wouldn’t put anything past that guy.”

“I’m so glad you agree with me. I’ve been so torn up over this. I’ve—”

Someone came into view behind Whit and Abby stopped talking. It was a woman, close to her own age, and very attractive with long black hair down past her waist. She placed a hand on Whit’s shoulder.

“I need you,” she said.

“Can it wait?”

The woman’s dark, obsidian eyes flicked to Abby. “No.”

Abby’s heart lodged in her throat. She began to back away.

“That’s okay. You’re busy. We can talk another time.

” She turned to leave, tears burning her eyes.

Whit did have someone waiting for her back home.

She wasn’t lonely at all and when she was holed up at home, she was holed up with another woman.

A beautiful woman, who wanted and needed her attention.

“Abby, wait,” Whit called.

But Abby kept walking, quickening her pace. When she reached the dirty, snow-encrusted street, she started to run. She ran until she reached her place and hurriedly unlocked the door to go inside and collapse back onto the couch.

And once again, she buried her face in the cushions and cried.