White Lies Read online

  “Sure,” Katrina said. “Maybe I’ll just set up a canvas and paints.”

  John grinned. Officer Murray, seemingly impervious to sarcasm, simply asked if she had a gun.

  “Of course not,” she replied.

  “I suggest if you don’t feel safe, Ms. Burton, you go out and buy yourself one.” He tipped a nod to them both— all in a good day’s work, ma’am, it seemed to say—then returned to the living room. He paused at the front door to hike up his belt once more. He nodded at the front bay window. “I also suggest you get some blinds.”

  He left. John and Katrina remained where they were, in silence, listening to his booted footsteps descend the front steps. The slam of the cruiser door—which Katrina no longer thought of as the archetype of authority. The grumble of the engine, fading, fading.

  “That didn’t go too well, did it?” John said, breaking the protracted silence.

  She sighed. “I suppose I was a little rough on him. He was just doing his job.”

  “I think you handled yourself quite admirably. You’ve been through a lot. God knows how my wife, Carol, would have reacted had she caught some man peering through her bathroom window.” John chuckled. “Yee-gad! That would be something. Likely she would want to move to a new state.” He shook his head, still contemplating that. He added, “Just lock up carefully tonight. And I wouldn’t be too frightened, if I were you. Officer Murray was right about one thing. These guys are cowards. They’re after a cheap thrill, that’s all. You’ll likely never see him again. Not if he knows that you know he might be out there. Which he does now. Nevertheless, you might want to look into getting a handgun, even if it remains in a shoebox in your closet. You know, just in case.”

  Suddenly Katrina felt extremely tired, deflated, like a balloon that had just lost a good bit of its air. All this seemed too much. The scare Zach had given her out on the highway. The possibility a good number of her colleagues were planning for a party at a cabin she didn’t own. The fact there was a Peeping Tom lurking around the neighborhood. If she was the superstitious type, she would have believed the gods had put a curse on her so she would attract bad luck wherever she went.

  “I take Molson for a walk every evening around this time,” John went on. “If it means anything, I’ll keep an eye out for anybody who resembles this creep.”

  “That’s very kind of you. But you don’t have to.”

  “I insist. Give this old man some excitement.”

  Katrina thanked John for his concern and showed him and Molson out. She returned to the kitchen, dumped her tea she’d barely touched down the drain, and systematically checked to make sure all the bungalow’s windows were locked. To be on the safe side, she stripped the sheets off the bed and pinned them over the two bedroom windows, using the Monkey Hooks she’d gotten earlier.

  She wondered what Jack Reeves would say if he knew this was how she was using the hooks he’d recommended. It seemed as if she’d met him days ago, not hours. She tried to remember their exact conversation. She couldn’t recall any specific details, only a broad rainbow of emotions. Instant attraction when she looked up and saw him standing there, tall, dark, and handsome. Delight when he winked at her. Embarrassment when her mind hit a patch of fog and she couldn’t think of anything to say. Regret when she had to leave the store, wondering if she would see him again.

  It amazed her she could feel any of these romantic emotions at all, let alone for a relative stranger. Shouldn’t she be in mourning? How long was long enough? It had already been nearly two years. A hellish, lonely two years. How many nights had she remained awake in bed, unable to sleep? How many hours had she spent staring into the mirror, examining the wrinkles that creased the skin around her eyes and along her brow, wrinkles that had never been there before? Sometimes during those moments she’d felt as though she’d been looking at the face of a stranger. She’d been not only devastated but lost, drifting aimlessly on an unseen current. It had terrified her to know she might never again find that person she used to be. So she’d made a choice. Close her eyes and float off into the vast expanse of obscurity that threatened to swallow her, or begin paddling in some direction, any direction, and hope she’d hit land. She paddled. She started looking for new teaching jobs around the state—not in Seattle, she had to get out of Seattle if she wanted to start fresh. It had been good therapy. Day by day she began to regain her appetite for simple pleasures. She no longer cried herself to sleep or slept for several hours during the day.

  So it had been long enough, she thought. She’d put in her penance, served her time. Wasn’t the next logical step to find someone else? Not someone to replace Shawn. Someone to fill the emptiness he’d left inside her.

  It was dangerous, she knew, to be thinking of Jack Reeves in this way, as a kind of savior figure. She knew nothing about him. He could turn out to be a jerk, or a player. He might not have a wife, but he could very well have a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he? He was charismatic and handsome. Still, she didn’t care about any of that, she realized. She’d already made the decision. She was going to give herself over to, if not Jack, the idea of Jack—a new man, a new start.

  Katrina changed into her pajamas—she didn’t usually wear them, but she didn’t usually have a peeper sneaking around the neighborhood—turned off the lights, then lay down on the futon. The night settled over her, soft and quiet, like a second blanket. But she was unable to fall asleep right away. Not after everything that had happened. Staring into the dark, she began composing a list in her head of what else she might need from the hardware store tomorrow afternoon.

  Chapter 8

  “Zach?” Katrina said, poking her head into his classroom. “I want to talk to you. It’s about yesterday.”

  Zach was seated behind his desk, a Styrofoam cup of instant noodles in front of him, a pair of chopsticks poking out of it like antennae. He was dressed unexpectedly respectable in a jacket and tie, which was definitely a step up from his hockey jersey. He still looked like a kid, someone too young to be a high school teacher, but he was getting there. A bizarre thought popped into her head: one day he was going to make a very fetching man. She pushed that image away quickly, embarrassed to be thinking such a thing.

  He turned to her. An expression that seemed to hover somewhere between suspicion and fear splashed across his face, only to evaporate the next moment. She wondered what that meant.

  “I wanted to apologize,” she said, keeping her voice neutral. Not pleasant, not angry. Just business as usual. The voice you used on the phone when trying to sort out a questionable bill. He deserved nothing more. “I have a bit of a temper. Sometimes it gets the best of me.”

  Zach’s features thawed. He seemed to visibly relax. “Well, thanks, I guess. Anything else you wanted to discuss?”

  “Actually, there is,” she said. “It’s about the party. I talked to my sister last night. She’s coming up to visit me this weekend. I’m going to be showing her around. There’s simply no time for me to have people to the cabin. And since you seem to know more than me about who had planned to come or not, I was hoping you could pass this information along.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Thanks, Zach,” she said curtly and left his classroom, biting back a smile. That felt good. Both the perplexed look on his face, and the fact the matter with the cabin was now nicely settled.

  Back in her classroom, seated behind her desk, she glanced at the clock on the wall. Still another twenty minutes before the first bell. She took out a folder from the desk drawer and browsed her weekly schedule, going over where her breaks were. She found herself frowning. Something was nagging at her. Specifically, why had Zach looked the way he had when she’d stopped by? It was almost as if she’d caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. Only he hadn’t been doing anything except staring off into space. What had he been thinking about? What did people like Zach think about? Video games? Dungeons & Dragons? Screwing his siblings out of his parents’ wills? Something about her?
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  That would explain why he had looked so guilty upon her sudden appearance. But just as soon as Katrina entertained that vain possibility, she discarded it. The world did not revolve around her. Certainly people did not sit around daydreaming about her. Even people like Zach. No, it was much more plausible he had thought she was going to let loose another verbal attack on him, especially considering how his attitude changed when she told him she wanted to apologize. Oddly, she found that explanation anticlimactic, as if she wanted a reason to get into it with him again. She usually wasn’t like this, this petty, that’s just how much he had gotten under her skin.

  Students began to shuffle into the classroom, some chatting, others plopping down at their desks and falling immediately asleep. She was always mystified at where a child’s energy went during the transition from elementary to high school. It was almost as if it didn’t make the cut into teenage years, shoved out by hormones or something along those lines.

  When the seven thirty bell rang, she roused everyone to attention, then started on about the importance of eliminating dangling participles. Throughout the lesson she experienced that floating sensation she’d been feeling off and on since waking that morning. Because after school, she was going to see Jack Reeves again, the man she barely knew but whom she couldn’t stop thinking about. The list of items she’d decided she needed from the hardware store had been easy to compose, since she was beginning with next to nothing: energy-efficient lightbulbs, an extension cord and multipower outlet, an electrical heater for the bedroom because the old oil radiator took forever to heat up and the mountain autumn nights were already proving to be quite chilly, small kitchen appliances, and anything else she saw when she was there.

  Who knew you could get so excited about shopping in a hardware store?

  Her high spirits carried her throughout the remainder of the day, and before she knew it the last bell had rung and she was in her car heading down Front Street into the center of town. Her palms were damp on the steering wheel, her stomach churning with nervousness. She tried to tell herself seeing Jack again wasn’t such a big deal. But it was a big deal. She had made it a big deal by thinking about him so much, the way those chocolate Advent calendars made Christmas an even bigger deal than it already was for kids by counting down the days of December.

  She went over once more what she was going to say. Something simple about being new in town and would he care to show her around? Although that line had sounded perfectly plausible earlier, it now felt contrived, if not flat out ridiculous. After all, he didn’t even know her. She was just another customer. She would be coming off as desperate.

  She was approaching the hardware store on the right side of the street. She was tempted to drive right on past and return home, make dinner, and forget this mad scheme. But she knew she would regret doing that. So she pulled to the curb, checked her lipstick in the rearview mirror, and started down the sidewalk. She was still a good twenty yards away when Jack rounded the corner at the far end of the block and started toward her. Her mind chugged to a halt. Her step faltered. For a moment she entertained the notion, given the amount of time she’d spent fantasizing about him, she was superimposing his face on someone else, someone who resembled him. But she knew that wasn’t the case. Not many men had tattooed forearms and a ponytail.

  Should she pretend not to notice? Should she say hello?

  The gap between them was disappearing fast. She figured he would turn into the hardware store, which was only a couple shops ahead of him. But to her surprise he walked straight past it. Straight toward her. His posture was proper, his chin up, and he seemed to be whistling to himself. His attention was focused on the park across the street, and he didn’t see her. The gap between them had almost disappeared. Yes, he was whistling. She could hear him now. She decided to continue past him. She’d lost her nerve, she couldn’t—

  He noticed her at the last moment. The tune died on his lips. His face opened up in amused surprise. She tried to look surprised as well.

  “Well, hello again!” he said jovially, stopping in front of her. “How are the hooks?”

  All she could think of were pirates. “Hooks?”

  “For your pictures?”

  Katrina thought of them holding up the bed sheets over her windows. “Excellent, actually. Much better than nails. You’re not working today?”

  “You mean the hardware store?” He glanced over his shoulder at it. When he looked back, he was grinning. “I don’t work there. I was just picking up a few things I needed yesterday. The owner had stepped out for a few minutes. Came back just after you left.” She must have looked absolutely flustered, because he added, “Don’t worry about the hooks. I paid for them. Like I said, a house-warming gift.”

  She was flattered. At least she thought she was.

  “I was just heading down the street for a coffee,” he continued. “Care to join me?”

  “Um, yes, that would be nice.”

  He held out the crook of his arm. “Take it,” he told her. “I’m working on being a gentleman. Doc’s orders.”

  She took it. His appeal was irresistible. Best of all, she thought, he was doing all the work. She didn’t even have to break out her prepared line. As they walked he tipped a nod or said a hearty hello to almost everyone they passed.

  “Didn’t you say you’ve only been here for a short time?” she said. “How do you know so many people?”

  “I don’t know a single soul,” he told her, grinning again.

  He took her to a place called Café Mozart, which was not a café but a private, upscale restaurant hidden away on the second floor of a building facing Front Street. Instead of sitting at one of the tables set with a bottle of wine and white folded napkins, he had the hostess take them to two elegant armchairs placed in front of a fireplace in which a small fire was burning. Off in the corner was a black piano, apparently so someone could play classical music when the place filled up. At the moment, however, they were the only customers.

  “I thought you said you wanted to go for coffee,” she said.

  “This place has the best Joe in town.”

  Jack ordered two lattes, then settled back in his chair, crossing his legs. He looked right at home. She tried to relax as well. They made idle chitchat for a while, how-was-your-day? kind of stuff. Gradually they moved on to more personal questions. She asked him a few about his past, which he dodged. She didn’t press the matter—she wasn’t exactly eager to delve into her history either. When he told her he was only passing through Leavenworth, she felt her stomach drop three floors.

  “So when do you think you’re leaving?” she asked.

  “I have no plans, really. But I’ll tell you this much. This place is starting to grow on me. What are you doing for dinner?”

  The question was so out of the blue, she stumbled for a response.

  “Have you ever tried traditional Bavarian food?” he added.

  “They serve that here?”

  “I’m thinking of another place. Sausages, cider, kraut, Kettle Korn—it’s great.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “So it’s a date?”

  He was either the most forward man she had ever met, or the most confident. “Yes,” she said, unable to hold back a smile.

  “Or should I say our second date?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What would you call what we’re on now?”

  After the old-world charm of Café Mozart, Katrina had expected an intimate candlelit restaurant with tables set for two. Jack had other plans, taking her to King Ludwig’s, a rowdy, family owned and operated place named after the eccentric Bavarian king whose claim to fame consisted of three fairytale castles he’d built before being allegedly murdered at the age of forty-one. Grand murals and magnificent hand-woven tapestries adorned the walls while couples danced on the dance floor and kids ran amuck. Katrina loved it, especially since the food rivaled the atmosphere. She had the kassler rippchen (hickory-s
moked pork chops and red potatoes), winekraut (sauerkraut marinated in white wine), and rotkraut (red cabbage braised with onions, red wine, and applesauce). Jack had the duck with plum sauce. He kept their dark German beers topped, and it wasn’t long before she began to feel a little tipsy. For his part, he might as well have been drinking water. The alcohol didn’t seem to affect him in the least.

  After the main course, Jack pulled her to the dance floor. He placed his hand firmly on the small of her back, drawing her close so her breasts pressed against his chest, and weaved her around the floor with only German accordion music to keep rhythm to. She had taken ballroom dance lessons years ago with Shawn, as well as a month-long course in tango, so she didn’t exactly have two left feet. But her skill didn’t compare with Jack’s. He was an excellent lead who kept her moving with such fluidity she barely had to think about what she was doing. They quickly became the center of attention. When they’d had enough, half the restaurant gave them a standing ovation, clinking beer steins and howling approval. Katrina collapsed into her seat, her face flushed, and said, “I’d like to see you with some salsa music.”

  “Gemutlichkeit,” Jack said, lifting his glass.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Good times.”

  She clinked glasses. “To good times.” Then, “You know German?” For some reason that wouldn’t surprise her at all.

  “It was written on the menu.”

  She laughed, and Jack waved over the waitress, a young girl wearing a traditional dirndl dress, her blonde hair hanging down over her shoulders in long Goldilocks braids. He ordered them apple strudel for dessert, along with another pitcher of beer, then leaned back in his chair. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, just enough to reveal his tanned chest and the tip of another tattoo. He looked more solid and real and handsome than ever. But if that was the case, then why did she think that if she closed her eyes for long enough he would disappear? For the first time in her life, that expression “Pinch me, I think I’m dreaming” related to her.