Kitobni o'qish: «Almost Dead»
Blake Pierce
Blake Pierce is the USA Today bestselling author of the RILEY PAGE mystery series, which includes sixteen books (and counting). Blake Pierce is also the author of the MACKENZIE WHITE mystery series, comprising thirteen books (and counting); of the AVERY BLACK mystery series, comprising six books; of the KERI LOCKE mystery series, comprising five books; of the MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE mystery series, comprising five books (and counting); of the KATE WISE mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the CHLOE FINE psychological suspense mystery, comprising five books (and counting); of the JESSE HUNT psychological suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); of the AU PAIR psychological suspense thriller series, comprising two books (and counting); and of the ZOE PRIME mystery series, comprising two books (and counting).
An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Blake loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.blakepierceauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.
Copyright © 2020 by Blake Pierce. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Jacket image Copyright Mimadeo, used under license from Shutterstock.com.
BOOKS BY BLAKE PIERCE
THE AU PAIR SERIES
ALMOST GONE (Book#1)
ALMOST LOST (Book #2)
ALMOST DEAD (Book #3)
ZOE PRIME MYSTERY SERIES
FACE OF DEATH (Book#1)
FACE OF MURDER (Book #2)
FACE OF FEAR (Book #3)
A JESSIE HUNT PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES
THE PERFECT WIFE (Book #1)
THE PERFECT BLOCK (Book #2)
THE PERFECT HOUSE (Book #3)
THE PERFECT SMILE (Book #4)
THE PERFECT LIE (Book #5)
THE PERFECT LOOK (Book #6)
CHLOE FINE PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE SERIES
NEXT DOOR (Book #1)
A NEIGHBOR’S LIE (Book #2)
CUL DE SAC (Book #3)
SILENT NEIGHBOR (Book #4)
HOMECOMING (Book #5)
TINTED WINDOWS (Book #6)
KATE WISE MYSTERY SERIES
IF SHE KNEW (Book #1)
IF SHE SAW (Book #2)
IF SHE RAN (Book #3)
IF SHE HID (Book #4)
IF SHE FLED (Book #5)
IF SHE FEARED (Book #6)
IF SHE HEARD (Book #7)
THE MAKING OF RILEY PAIGE SERIES
WATCHING (Book #1)
WAITING (Book #2)
LURING (Book #3)
TAKING (Book #4)
STALKING (Book #5)
RILEY PAIGE MYSTERY SERIES
ONCE GONE (Book #1)
ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)
ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)
ONCE LURED (Book #4)
ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)
ONCE PINED (Book #6)
ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)
ONCE COLD (Book #8)
ONCE STALKED (Book #9)
ONCE LOST (Book #10)
ONCE BURIED (Book #11)
ONCE BOUND (Book #12)
ONCE TRAPPED (Book #13)
ONCE DORMANT (Book #14)
ONCE SHUNNED (Book #15)
ONCE MISSED (Book #16)
ONCE CHOSEN (Book #17)
MACKENZIE WHITE MYSTERY SERIES
BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)
BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)
BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)
BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)
BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)
BEFORE HE FEELS (Book #6)
BEFORE HE SINS (Book #7)
BEFORE HE HUNTS (Book #8)
BEFORE HE PREYS (Book #9)
BEFORE HE LONGS (Book #10)
BEFORE HE LAPSES (Book #11)
BEFORE HE ENVIES (Book #12)
BEFORE HE STALKS (Book #13)
BEFORE HE HARMS (Book #14)
AVERY BLACK MYSTERY SERIES
CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)
CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)
CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)
CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)
CAUSE TO SAVE (Book #5)
CAUSE TO DREAD (Book #6)
KERI LOCKE MYSTERY SERIES
A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)
A TRACE OF MURDER (Book #2)
A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)
A TRACE OF CRIME (Book #4)
A TRACE OF HOPE (Book #5)
CHAPTER ONE
Cassandra Vale hurried along the paved street. Cold rain stung her face, and she blinked it out of her eyes. It was getting late, and already dark, and she was worried she was lost. This part of Milan didn’t look the way she’d expected it to. She’d ended up in one of the main shopping squares. Shoppers, wrapped in dark, stylish coats and holding carrier bags, thronged the wide sidewalk.
Cassie glanced into the stores as she headed toward the crossroads, wondering if she could ask for directions inside. The brightly lit interiors were oases of comfort and warmth, but in her shabby jacket and wet trainers she doubted she’d be allowed past the door. These names represented the pinnacle of the fashion industry. Emilio Pucci, Dolce & Gabbana, Moschino. The garments themselves seemed as far out of reach as their price tags.
She would just have to rely on her map, which was rapidly disintegrating in the rain. She stopped at the crossroads to unfold it, realizing that her lips and cheeks felt numb. The damp paper tore as she opened it and she pressed the ripped pieces together, trying to make sense of the complex pattern of streets with the unfamiliar, and by now mostly unreadable, names.
She’d come too far. She should have turned four blocks ago. Disoriented in the strange place, she hadn’t stopped to check her bearings. Her hands were shaking as she turned the map, trying to puzzle her way back to where she needed to be. A left turn here, three blocks down—no, five—and then another left turn that led into a twisting labyrinth of roads. That was where she needed to be.
Cassie folded the pieces as best she could and put them back in her pocket, even though she knew the map wouldn’t survive another outing. She had to concentrate now, and suppress the panic that she would be too late, that the place she needed would have closed by the time she got there, or, worse still, that her journey would end in nothing more than hopeless disappointment.
This was her only chance to find her sister, Jacqui. It was the only lead she had.
Struggling to keep the picture of the route in her mind, she half ran down the streets, noticing that as she left Milan’s fashion epicenter behind, the walkways became narrower and the shop fronts less imposing. This was where the cheaper items and knock-offs were displayed, the Euro prices dropping with every block and January sale notices screaming from the shabby windows.
She caught sight of herself in the darkened glass. Her skin was winter-pale, her cheeks flushed from the cold. She’d pulled a lime-green beanie over her shoulder-length auburn hair, mostly for warmth, but also to keep the rebellious waves under control. Huddled in her old blue coat with its broken zipper, she looked out of place in this stylish fashion capital. She felt like an outsider among the immaculately dressed locals, with their perfectly groomed hair and expensive boots and natural sense of style.
When she and Jacqui were young, they had often been forced to wear worn, torn, ill-fitting clothing to school, with their widowed father angrily insisting there was no money to buy them anything better. Cassie had accepted her lot more readily than Jacqui, who had hated looking shabby and poor.
It made sense that her sister would have been drawn to one of the world’s fashion capitals, where every piece of clothing was trendy, beautiful, and new.
Gasping for breath, Cassie saw the street name ahead looked familiar.
This was the road she wanted. Now all she had to do was find the shop.
It was called Cartoleria, but she didn’t know if that was the actual name or a description. There had been a language barrier when speaking to the clerk on the phone. Cassie had managed to obtain the road name from the increasingly impatient woman, even though the only English she had known were the words “We are closing,” which she had repeated several times before finally snapping out, “Addio,” and slamming the phone down.
Cassie had decided the only way to find out would be to visit the store personally.
It had taken her a week to get organized, and to drive the whole way from Edinburgh, where she’d been staying, to Milan. She’d planned to arrive much earlier, but had been stuck in traffic coming into the city and had lost her way several times before finding a cheap place to park. Her GPS had malfunctioned and her phone’s battery was almost dead. Thankfully she’d thought to print the map out earlier. What time did most places close here? Six p.m.? Later?
Anxiety surged inside her as she saw the store ahead of her was already closing up for the day, the shopkeeper turning the sign on the door and switching off the lights.
“Excuse me. Cartoleria. Do you know which way it is?” she asked him, anxious that every second counted.
He frowned at her, and then pointed down the road and said something in Italian that she didn’t understand. At least he’d steered her in the right direction, because she’d been about to rush the other way.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Signorina!” he called after her, but Cassie wasn’t stopping for anyone.
She was breathless with excitement. There was a small chance that Jacqui might actually be working in this shop. Cassie imagined walking in and coming face to face with her sister. She wondered what Jacqui would do. She knew that she herself would scream with joy and hug her as tightly as she could. Then there would be the chance to talk, to find out what had happened and why Jacqui had disappeared for so long without getting in touch.
Even though it wasn’t very likely, Cassie couldn’t help but dream.
There it was, ahead. She saw the sign, Cartoleria, and broke into a run. They must still be open—they must. This was her chance, her opportunity to reconnect with the only family she still cared about.
She splashed over the rain-soaked paving stones, weaving between the slower-moving pedestrians sheltering under their bulky umbrellas.
Then she stopped, staring at the shop front in disbelief.
Cartoleria was closed.
Not just for the day, but forever.
The windows were boarded up, but through a gap in the peeling covers she could see the dark shell beyond. The sign above the door, battered and dingy, was the only reminder that this store had once been open.
Staring at the bleak, empty space, Cassie realized too late that she had misunderstood the impatient store attendant when she had called a week ago. The woman had been trying to tell her that they were closing up shop for good. If she’d figured that out at the time, she could have called back immediately, asked more questions, and been more persuasive.
Instead she’d driven hundreds of miles, only to be faced with the deadest of dead ends.
Her lead was gone, along with her hopes and dreams. She’d lost her only chance of finding her sister again.
CHAPTER TWO
Staring at the empty store, Cassie felt crushed by disappointment. She knew she should leave, walk away into the dark, damp evening and start the long journey back to her car, but she couldn’t bring herself to go.
It was as if turning away now meant giving up forever, and when she thought about it in that way, her feet felt rooted to the spot. She couldn’t shake the certainty that there must still be something, somehow, that would lead her to Jacqui.
Looking around, she saw one of the neighboring shops was still open. It looked to be a coffee shop and bistro. Perhaps somebody there would know who the owner of Cartoleria was, and where he or she had gone.
Cassie headed into the bistro, relieved to find shelter from the gusty rain. The interior smelled deliciously of coffee and bread, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten today. A massive chrome cappuccino machine stood in pride of place on the wooden counter.
There was space for only four tables inside, and all of them were occupied. There was an empty seat at the bar, though, so she sat there.
The harassed-looking waiter rushed over to her.
“Cosa prendi?” he asked.
Cassie guessed he wanted to take her order.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian,” she apologized, hoping he understood her. “Do you know who owned the shop next door?”
The young man shrugged, looking puzzled.
“I can bring you food?” he asked in broken English.
Realizing that the language barrier had brought an end to her questioning, Cassie quickly scanned the menu scribbled on the black chalkboard on the back wall.
“Coffee, please. And a panini.”
She peeled some notes from the shrinking stash in her wallet. The prices in Milan were even higher than she’d expected, but it was getting late and she was starving.
“You are Americana?” the man sitting next to her asked.
Impressed, Cassie nodded.
“Yes, I am.”
“My name is Vadim,” he introduced himself.
He didn’t sound Italian, but her ear for accents was not nearly as good as his. She guessed he might be from somewhere in Eastern Europe, or perhaps even Russia.
“I’m Cassie Vale,” she replied.
He looked to be a few years older than her, which put him in his late twenties, and he was wearing a leather jacket and jeans. In front of him was a half-finished glass of red wine.
“You are on holiday here? Or working, studying?” he asked.
“I’ve actually traveled here to find somebody.”
The confession felt painful, now that Cassie feared she never would.
His thick brows drew together in a frown.
“How do you mean, find? Find someone in particular?”
“Yes. My sister.”
“You make it sound as if she is lost?” he asked.
“She is. I followed a clue which I hoped would help me find her. A while ago, she called my friend in the States, and we traced the number.”
“So you traced the caller ID and came here? That is some detective work,” Vadim said admiringly, as the waiter slid her coffee across the counter.
“No, I was too slow. You see, she called twice looking for me. The first number didn’t work at all. I only realized last week that the other call might have been made from a different number.”
Vadim nodded sympathetically.
“And now, Cartoleria is closed,” Cassie told him.
“The shop next door?”
“Yes. That was where she phoned from. I’m hoping to find out who owned it.”
He frowned.
“I know Cartoleria is a chain of stores. There are others elsewhere in Milan. It is an Internet café and sells—pens, pencils, those items.”
“Stationery,” Cassie suggested.
“Yes, that is it. Perhaps if you call another store, they could help you find the manager of this one.”
The waiter returned and set a plate down in front of her, and Cassie dug in hungrily.
“You have traveled here all alone?” Vadim asked.
“Yes, I came here on my own, hoping to find Jacqui.”
“Why are you the one looking for her, and she is not looking for you, too?”
“We had a difficult childhood,” she told him. “My mother died when she was young and my father didn’t cope without her. He became very angry, as if he wanted to destroy everyone’s lives.”
Vadim nodded sympathetically.
“Jacqui was older than me, and one day, she just left. I don’t think she could handle it anymore. His anger, the shouting, broken glass on the floor most mornings. He had many different girlfriends, and there were often strangers in the house.”
A dark memory surfaced of herself, hiding under the bed late at night, listening to heavy footsteps coming up the stairs and the fumbling at her door. Jacqui had saved her. She’d screamed so loud that the neighbors had come running, and the man had sneaked back down the stairs. Cassie remembered the terror she’d felt as she’d heard him rattle the bedroom door. Jacqui had been her protector, until she’d run away.
“After she left, I moved out, and then my dad got evicted and had to find different lodgings. I got a new phone. He got a new phone. There was no way for her to contact us again. Now I think she’s trying to reach out. But she’s scared, and I don’t know why. Perhaps she thinks I’ll be angry because she ran away.”
Vadim shook his head.
“So you are all alone in the world?”
Cassie nodded, feeling sad all over again.
“Can I buy you a glass of wine?”
Cassie shook her head.
“Thanks so much, but I have to drive.”
Her car was a forty-five-minute walk away. From there, she had no idea where to go. She’d made no plans for accommodations. She’d been hoping to arrive earlier, and that the shop would provide a clue to Jacqui’s whereabouts, and she could then take the next step in her search. Now it was dark, and she had no idea where an affordable inn or hostel might be. She realized she might end up sleeping in her car, in the concrete parking garage.
“Have you accommodations for tonight?” Vadim asked, as if reading her mind.
Cassie shook her head.
“I still have to figure that out.”
“There is a backpacker lodge close by. A pensione, as they say here in Italy. It might be convenient for you. I pass it on my way home; I can show you where it is.”
Cassie smiled tentatively, worried about the price and also the fact that all her luggage was still in her car. Even so, accommodations nearby sounded more appealing than the long walk back to the parking lot. There was even a chance Jacqui might have stayed in those lodgings, in which case she should at least check it out.
She drained her coffee and ate the last crumbs of her panini, while Vadim finished his wine and sent some messages on his phone.
“Come with me. This way.”
It was still raining outside, but Vadim opened a big umbrella and Cassie walked close beside him, grateful for its shelter. Clearly in a hurry, he marched along so that she had to rush to keep pace with him. She was glad they weren’t dawdling, but at the same time she wondered if this guesthouse was out of his way and if he was making a detour in order to help her.
She caught glimpses of the surrounding buildings as they passed, trying to get an impression of where they were. Names of restaurants, stores, and businesses glowed and flashed in the misty drizzle; the unfamiliar language made Cassie feel as if her senses were overloaded.
They crossed a street and she realized that the traffic had died down. Although she hadn’t checked the time for a while, she thought it must be well after seven p.m. She felt exhausted, and wondered how far away the backpackers’ lodge was, and what she would do if they had no space available.
The sign on their right was a supermarket, she was sure. On the left, perhaps it was an entertainment of some kind. The sign flashed bright with neon. Not the red light district—if such a thing even existed in Milan—but not too far away from it, either.
She suddenly realized that they had gone too far, too fast, and all in silence.
They must have been walking for nearly a mile, beyond what any reasonable person would consider close by.
It was then that her memory caught up.
After the first crossroads, she had glanced left. Distracted and with the rain in her eyes she hadn’t taken in the sign she had seen—not a large, flashing notice but a more modest sign with black lettering on white.
“Pensione.”
That was the word Vadim had used. That was the Italian for backpackers’ lodge, or at any rate a close equivalent.
“Why are you slowing?” he asked, and now his tone was sharp.
Ahead, Cassie saw the blaze of waiting headlights. There was a white van parked on the opposite side of the street. It looked like Vadim was heading directly toward it.
He reached out and in a split second of pure terror, Cassie realized that he had sensed her hesitation, and was going to grab her arm.
CHAPTER THREE
Too late, Cassie realized she’d been stupid and talkative and way too trusting. In her need for companionship, she’d shared with this stranger that she was entirely alone in the world and that nobody knew where she was.
Scenarios of kidnapping, trafficking, and abuse spun through her mind. She had to escape.
Even as Vadim’s hand closed around her wrist, she pulled it away, and instead he caught hold of her jacket sleeve.
Fragile and worn, the fabric ripped, leaving only a shred of polyester lining in his grasp. Then she was free.
Cassie turned and sprinted back the way she had come.
Head bowed against the rain, she fled across the road as the light changed. Shouts and curses from behind told her that the large umbrella was proving more of a hindrance than a help to Vadim. She ducked left into a side street as a bus passed behind her, praying he hadn’t seen where she had gone, but another shout behind her told her that he had, and was following.
She made a right turn onto a busier street, and as she weaved through the slow-moving pedestrians, she tugged her jacket and beanie off, in case their colors would help him to spot her. She bundled the garments up under her arm, and reaching another crossroads, she glanced behind her as she turned left again.
Nobody seemed to be following, but he might still catch up—or, worse still, anticipate where she was going and be waiting there.
Ahead of her, a beacon of hope and safety, she saw the “Pensione” sign she’d spotted earlier. She couldn’t see Vadim anywhere.
Cassie sprinted toward it, praying that she could get inside, and out of danger, in time.
*
The blare of music from the guesthouse was audible from street level, where a flimsy, white-painted security gate stood ajar.
Pushing it open, Cassie thudded up the narrow wooden staircase. Voices, laughter, and the aroma of cigarette smoke wafted down to meet her.
She glanced behind her but the stairway was empty.
Perhaps he’d given up on the chase. Now that she’d gotten away, she wondered if she had exaggerated the threat. That parked van might have been a coincidence. Vadim could just have wanted her to come back to his place with him.
Either way, he hadn’t done what he’d promised, and he had tried to grab her as soon as she’d hesitated. Fresh terror surged inside her as she remembered how she’d only just managed to pull away.
She’d been such an idiot to blurt out to him that she was alone, that nobody knew where she was, that she was on a wild goose chase for a person who might never be found. Breathing hard, Cassie chastised herself for her appalling stupidity. It had felt like such a relief to share Jacqui’s story with a stranger who would not judge her. She hadn’t realized what else she might be sharing, too.
The security gate at the top of the stairs was closed. It led into a tiny foyer, which was unoccupied, but a button on the wall had a printed sign taped below it.
The words were in several different languages with English at the top.
“Ring for Service.”
Cassie rang, hoping somebody would hear the bell, because the music was deafening up here.
Please answer, she prayed.
Then the door at the other side of the foyer opened, and a strawberry-blonde woman of about Cassie’s age walked in. She looked surprised to see Cassie standing outside.
“Buona sera,” she greeted her.
“Do you speak English?” Cassie asked, praying that the woman was bilingual and would understand she needed to be let in quickly.
To Cassie’s relief she switched to German-accented English.
“How can I help you?”
“I need lodging urgently. Are there any rooms available here?”
The strawberry-blonde woman thought for a moment.
“No rooms,” she said, shaking her head, and Cassie felt gutted with disappointment. She looked over her shoulder, worried she’d heard feet on the stairs, but it must have been the thudding of music from somewhere inside the lodge.
“Please, can I at least come inside?” she asked.
“Of course. Are you OK?”
The woman buzzed the door open. Cassie felt the cold metal vibrate in her hands as the lock released and she closed it so that it clanged firmly shut behind her.
Finally, she was safe.
“I had a bad experience outside. A man said he’d walk me here but we ended up going a different way. He grabbed my arm when I realized there was something wrong, but I managed to get free.”
The woman raised her eyebrows, looking shocked.
“I am glad you escaped. This part of Milan can be dangerous at night. Please, come through to the office. I think I misunderstood your question. We do not have a room open; all the single rooms are booked. But we do have a bed available in a shared dormitory, if you would like to take it.”
“Thank you so much. I would.”
Weak with relief that she didn’t have to go out into the dark streets again, Cassie followed the woman through the small foyer and into a tiny office with a notice on the door: “Hostel Manager.”
There, Cassie paid for the room. Again, she realized the price was uncomfortably high. Milan was a costly place and there seemed no way of living cheaply.
“Do you have luggage?” she asked.
Cassie shook her head. “It’s in the car, miles away.”
To her surprise the other woman nodded as if this was a common occurrence.
“In a shared room, you will want a toiletry pack then.”
The toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, and cotton sleep shirt looked to be a life saver and Cassie handed over yet more Euros in exchange.
“Your room is down the corridor. Yours is the bed closest to the door and it comes with a locker.”
“Thanks.”
“And the bar is that way. We provide our guests with the cheapest beer in Milan.” She smiled as she placed the locker key on the counter.
“My name is Gretchen,” she added.
“I’m Cassie.”
Remembering why she was here, Cassie then asked, “What about a phone? Internet?”
She held her breath as Gretchen considered the question.
“Guests may only use the office phone in emergencies,” she said. “There are several places nearby where you can make a call and use a computer. They are listed on the notice board next to the bookshelf, and you will also find a map there.”
“Thank you.”
Cassie glanced behind her. She’d seen the notice board on her way in, propped on the top of the shelf. It was a large board, covered in cut-out scraps of paper.
“We also list jobs on the board,” Gretchen explained. “We search all the sites daily and print out the ads. Some places even contact us direct if they need part-time help, such as waiting tables, shelf packing, cleaning. Those jobs are usually paid by the day, in cash.”
She smiled at Cassie sympathetically, as if she understood what it was like to be short of money in a foreign country.
“Most of our guests are able to find work if they want it, so if you are in need of a job, let me know,” she said.
“Thank you again,” Cassie said.
She headed straight for the notice board.
There was a list of five nearby places where phones and internet could be used, and Cassie held her breath as she saw Cartoleria’s name was there, but had been recently crossed out with a note, “Closed.”
That was a hopeful sign, so Cassie decided to ask Gretchen if she could check the guest list. She headed to the lounge, to find that the manager had just opened a beer and was sitting on a sofa among a laughing group of people.
“Here’s another customer.”
A tall, lean man with an English accent, who looked even younger than Cassie, jumped up and opened the fridge.
“I’m Tim. What can I get you?” he asked.
Seeing her hesitate, he said, “There’s a special on the Heineken.”
“Thanks,” Cassie said.
She paid, and he passed her an ice-cold bottle. Two dark-haired girls who looked as if they were twins moved up on one of the other couches to make room for her.
“Actually, I came here because I was hoping to find my sister,” she said, feeling a pang of nervousness as she spoke.
“I wonder if any of you might have known her, or if she stayed here. She has blonde hair—or it was blonde when I last knew her. And her name is Jacqui Vale.”
“You have been apart a long time?” one of the dark-haired girls asked sympathetically.
When Cassie nodded, she said, “That is very sad. I hope you find her.”
Cassie took a sip of her beer. It was icy cold, rich with malt.
The manager was scrolling through her phone.
“We have not had any Jacqui here in December. Or in November,” she said, and Cassie’s heart sank.
“Wait,” Tim said. “I remember someone.”
He closed his eyes, as if thinking back, while Cassie stared at him anxiously.
“We don’t get many Americans here, so I recall the accent. She didn’t book a room, she came in with a friend who was staying here. She had a drink and then left. She wasn’t blonde; her hair was brown, but she was very pretty and looked a bit like you. Perhaps a few years older.”
Cassie nodded encouragement. “Jacqui is older.”
“The friend called her Jax. We started chatting when I served her, and she told me she was staying in a small town. I think it was an hour or two from here. Now, of course, I can’t remember the name of the town.”
Cassie felt breathless to think that her sister had actually been here. Visiting a friend, going about her life. It didn’t seem as if she was broke or desperate or a drug addict or in an abusive relationship, or any of the other worst-case scenarios that Cassie had worried about whenever she thought of Jacqui, and wondered why she’d never been in touch.
Perhaps family just hadn’t meant that much to her and she hadn’t felt the need to reconnect. Although they had been close, it was adversity that had forced them together, having to survive their father’s rages and the unstable home life. Jacqui might have wanted to put those memories behind her.
“I didn’t know your memory for faces was so good, Tim,” Gretchen teased. “Or is it only the pretty girls?”
Tim grinned, looking abashed. “Hey, she was gorgeous. I was thinking of maybe asking her out, but then I found out she wasn’t staying in Milan, and thought she probably wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”
There was a chorus of protest from the other girls.
“Silly! You should have,” the girl next to Cassie insisted.
“I didn’t get the right vibe from her, and I think she would have said no. Anyway, Cassie, if you give me your phone number, I’ll do my best to remember which town it was. I’ll message you if I do.”
“Thank you,” Cassie said.
She gave Tim her number and finished her beer. It seemed as if everyone else was ready for another round and would carry on talking until past midnight, but she was exhausted.
