Funny how good it felt to be believed. The reassurance erased some of the stress. Thank goodness she was no longer at the police station, no longer being questioned. And there were two people in town who believed her: Bianca and Father Joe.
She turned to thank him, but he was over by a candy machine talking to a little boy. Shaking her head at how surreal it was, she headed for the front desk and started the process to get her vehicle. It took all of ten minutes and two phone calls to the chief of police. Keys finally in hand, she went back to find Father Joe. Part of her just wanted human contact, someone to feel safe with. Another part of her wanted someone who would answer her questions. “You hungry?” she asked him.
Joe hesitated a bit, then nodded. “Quite. Have you been to the Station Diner? That’s train station, not police station.”
“No, but I’ve driven by it.”
“Let’s go there. It’s a staple around here and should be pretty empty since tonight’s big hooray for the Founder’s Day celebration is a chili cook-off. Unless you like chili?”
She loved chili but right now didn’t feel like being in a crowd. “The diner would be fine.”
She followed him away from Bart’s. The sun had almost disappeared behind grayish clouds. A slight wind swayed the trees that lined the fairly empty streets. The diner was two blocks from the well-lit high school, where the cook-off was being held. She remembered seeing a flyer for it. Faint lights chased each other in the sky. Heather rolled down her window, took a breath of fresh air—so different than the police station’s—and listened to the sound of cheering.
The Station Diner’s parking lot had three cars. She pulled into a spot and Father Joe positioned his car next to hers. Together they walked to the heavy wooden door and pushed it open.
She’d gone back in time. A waitress wearing a retro-looking blue uniform, complete with a conductor’s hat, guided Heather and Joe to a booth. “Hi, Joe,” she greeted.
“Good evening, Maureen. This is Heather Graves. She’s new to town, been here less than a week. Maureen’s been here almost a year now.”
“Nice to meet you,” Maureen said.
“Great place,” Heather said, looking around at the decor. She could well imagine that at one time this area had been where passengers waited for their trains, but the benches had been replaced with tables and booths. The window where tickets would have been sold now featured a cook dressed in white rather than an agent dressed in black with a cool hat. The walls and shelves had railroad paraphernalia. The only things out of place were the animal heads fastened right above the restroom signs and over the chalkboard menu.
Joe settled in and handed Heather a menu from behind the napkin holder.
“Are you going to eat?” Heather asked when he didn’t take a menu for himself.
“I’ve got their selection memorized.”
It took Heather a few minutes to order. Then, after taking a long drink of water, she said, “I got the idea from listening to the officers that Rachel was responsible for someone’s death. Is that true?”
Joe’s lips went together, his brow furrowed and his nostrils flared a little.
Heather almost wished she hadn’t asked. But she’d just spent the last few hours being interrogated and falsely accused. She’d never forget the way the cell walls seemed to close in on her.
“I’ll check online and find out on my own,” Heather said. “I’m sure the story’s there.”
“Many stories about what happened that day are online,” Joe agreed. “And much of what you read will be factual. But it’s what’s not said that makes a difference.”
It made her think about her parents, how close her father had kept to the truth, and how her trying to figure out what their secrets were had led her here.
His phone pinged then, and with an apologetic look, he answered. She didn’t hear much, just “Oh, I was hoping for better news” and “Not entirely unexpected” and “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this loss. I’ll be right there.” His expression changed from concern to distress to pure sorrow.
She recognized the sorrow as she’d worn the expression quite a bit since her parents’ accident.
Nodding the whole time, Father Joe paused, listened and then said, “Someday that young man will realize exactly what he’s done, and he’ll have to live with it.”
When he ended the call, he said, “Lucille Calloway just passed away. She was in a car accident last year and never got her full strength back. I’m heading over to be with the family.”
“What about the young man?”
“Richard Welborn. I’m guessing Chief Riley was heading to the Welborn place to see if Richard had returned. He was driving drunk last Christmas and hit Lucille head-on. She was an amazing lady, in her eighties, and still going strong, at least back then. She went through many months of therapy and never really recovered. Depending on others made her miserable.” Father Joe smiled, looking a bit happier. It only lasted a moment before he added, “Richard was an amazing young man. People hereabouts forget that. He moved here with his mother, took care of her. I’m so surprised he was driving drunk. Still, can’t get past that he posted bond and disappeared. Never made restitution or apologized. Lucille’s family is angry at him although Lucille wasn’t.”
He stood, looked at the counter and said, “Maureen, I’ll take my food to go if you don’t mind.”
“Already packed. I heard your phone go off and figured you’d be leaving.”
Father Joe left, and Maureen put Heather’s meal on the table, asked if she needed anything and then walked over to another customer.
Heather had never felt so alone. For a few long seconds she just sat there, trying to get her bearings, and wondered what she should do next. Maybe leave Sarasota Falls? Some secrets were best left buried. Stay? Find out if she had family? Well, she didn’t have to decide tonight.
It had been a long time since breakfast. Heather stabbed a piece of chicken-fried steak and brought the fork halfway to her mouth before freezing.
Chief Tom Riley came through the restaurant’s front door, and his eyes honed in on hers. He said something to Maureen, and then made his way over to stand in front of her.
“I just lost my appetite,” she said, putting her fork down.
* * *
“MAY I SIT?” He didn’t like asking permission. He wanted to sit, question...yes, even press. Yet, he had to watch his step, do this the right way.
“I really don’t feel like company,” she said.
“And I won’t be good company,” he responded. “But, there are a few things I still need to know. This—” he looked around the diner “—is as good a place as any.”
She didn’t protest, so he sat across from her, so close he could reach out and brush a finger down her cheek if he wanted. He didn’t want to, but did struggle to accept that she wasn’t Rachel. Everything but his memory of a face proved she wasn’t Rachel.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Twenty-seven,” she responded.
“Born?”
“In Phoenix, Arizona.”
“I mean what year.”
She responded with the year and stared at him. In all the time he’d walked a beat, driven the streets, worked the desk and finally taken the job of chief, he’d never had a suspect so obviously wrong yet so right. He couldn’t stop looking at her, but he knew he needed to be professional, go with the idea that she indeed knew nothing.
Gain her trust.
Maureen