Fifteen years later...
Reggie Frost pressed the wash button on the industrial-sized dish sanitizer, then looked up and sighed at the big old-fashioned clock on the wall at the Frost Family Diner. It wasn’t even eight at night yet, but she was already exhausted. And an hour behind schedule.
Two of the other servers had come down with the flu, so she’d pulled an open, then worked a crazy busy lunch rush, a sleepily slow dinner hour and was now doing a close, too. She was just thankful that Fridays were notoriously slow before the start of the summer tourist season. Any other day of the week, and she would’ve been stuck there for the late-night snack crowd, too. And a week or two from now, when Whispering Woods was overflowing with out-of-town guests, she would’ve been lucky to get off work before midnight.
Small things to be grateful for, Reggie acknowledged.
It helped, also, that tonight was the kickoff for the annual Garibaldi Gala.
Hosted by its namesake, the party started out with fireworks on the Friday before the so-called official opening of tourist season. Everyone who didn’t have somewhere else to be was on the other side of town, jostling for free cotton candy and the best view of the soon-to-start light show. But even before she got saddled with the never-ending shift, Reggie hadn’t been planning on attending the late-night festivities. She was working on a plan. One she hadn’t yet disclosed to anyone. One she wouldn’t disclose unless it worked out. And in order to make it happen, she needed Jesse Garibaldi’s attention. She had to make sure the man knew without a doubt that she was as committed to the community as he was. It was the main reason she’d signed on to help out at family-friendly fair the following morning.
And she wanted to be well rested enough that she could cheerfully paint two hundred sticky-with-cotton-candy faces, work the lunch rush—again—then attend the Saturday night dinner and dance. The last part was key. The party was an exclusive one. Accessible only to those who worked for or with Garibaldi. And the man of the house always attended in person. Her hope was to speak to him directly. To present her request and hope that he’d bite.
No point in passing up on free food and drinks, either.
She tapped an aching foot, waiting for the cycle to finish its run. With the exception of the last load of dishes and a final trash bag waiting its turn to be run to the bin outside, the diner was in shutdown mode. Everything was tidy, all the floors sparkling. Reggie was sure even her long-passed grandmother—who had opened the place back when the town was still a forestry one—would be pleased with the way it looked at the moment.
And, she thought, it’ll prove to Dad that I can do it on my own.
“That’ll teach him to call me a slacker,” she grumbled.
But it was an affectionate complaint. She’d left the tiny town twice. Once, in pursuit of an education in psychology. Another in pursuit of love. Neither had panned out, and her dad teased her all the time about giving up. But the truth was, the time she’d spent away from Whispering Woods had put her life in perspective. She really did prefer the tight-knit community to all else. She enjoyed being near her father. She even liked the idea of inheriting the management of the diner over the management of potential future clients. Besides which, Reggie was convinced that she could learn far more about the human psyche while waiting on tables than she could from a textbook.
Those things made her more than happy to set up a permanent life in the touristy town.
Dishes and all, she thought with a smile.
As if on cue, the sanitizer buzzed, and she quickly turned her attention to putting away its contents. Plates in their slots, mugs on their racks, cutlery in its case. In minutes, she had it sorted out. With another sigh—this one satisfied—Reggie grabbed the green bag from the ground and marched toward the rear door of the diner.
Five minutes, she said to herself. Then you’ll be on your way home. A half hour, and you’ll be in the bath. And tomorrow night, you’ll be sitting somewhere else, sipping champagne and eating canapés. And hopefully celebrating a victory.
But she no sooner had the door cracked open than one of her no-nonsense work shoes got caught in a groove in the cobblestone just outside, sending her flying. As she fell forward, one knee smacked the ground and the bag flew out of her grip. Reggie watched in disappointed frustration as the bottom split open and bits of leftover food and soggy napkins rolled out. All right beside the Dumpster that had been her destination in the first place.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
She started to push herself up, then went still as the sound of feet thumping on concrete reached her ears. A heartbeat later, there was a wordless cry, then a thump as something—someone—hit the other side of the big bin. The whole thing rattled. Even the lid shook in protest.
Then a man’s voice—laced with obvious fear—carried through the alley.
“I swear,” he said. “I swear that I wasn’t planning to say anything.”
A second man replied immediately, his tone calm and controlled, but somehow full of derision, too. “The thing is, two minutes ago, you told me there was nothing to say. Now you’re telling me you won’t say anything. Which is it?”
There was the sound of a muffled sob. “Both.”
“Both?”
“Yes!”
“That answer just doesn’t fly, my friend. You should never have come back to town. You were told what would happen if you did, weren’t you?”
The Dumpster rattled again, and Reggie cringed backward as a narrow-shouldered man dived out from behind it. He tried to tear across the alley, but the man chasing him was faster. Bigger. And wearing a police uniform.
For a second, Reggie was so startled that she almost forgot to stifle a gasp. She didn’t recognize the first man. But she knew the man in the uniform. A rookie named Chuck Delta. He’d moved to town very recently, hired on for the upcoming tourist season, and he came into the diner every morning to grab a bagel and a coffee.
Was he there on official business? Was the man he now held by the collar a criminal? Should Reggie make her presence known?
But before she could work through an answer to the last question, the first two were answered.
“You’re supposed to help people,” said the smaller man. “And I haven’t done anything wrong.”
The big one shook his head. “Maybe not this time around. But I recognized you. And that’s enough.”
Chuck took a step toward the stranger, his hand stretched out toward the man’s mouth. And in a futile attempt to escape, the stranger flailed, then cringed back against the wall.
Something worse is going to happen.
The second the thought popped into Reggie’s head, it came to fruition.
A flash of metal.
A muted bang.
A muffled cry.
Reggie stumbled backward fearfully, trying to right herself and instead scraping against both the ground and the discarded garbage scattered over it. A soup can—which had somehow sneaked out of its rightful place in the recycling—rolled across the road. She froze, watching it make its way out into the open, ping-pinging along.
Too much noise!
Her eyes lifted fearfully just in time to see as the first man slumped forward, and Chuck started to turn. And the need for self-preservation finally kicked in. Reggie’s feet smacked against the cobblestone, her brain