Page 9 of Left Behind

Linette was already at work when she got the text. She felt the phone vibrating in her pocket, but had to ignore it until she had a free minute to check it, and then her heart skipped when she saw it was from Wiley. She read his message, then smiled. Best news she’d had in weeks.

***

As always, B.J. was at work early, and when the first croissants came out of the oven, he boxed up six of them, along with a small jar of honey butter, and called DoorDash to come pick it up from the Serenity Inn and deliver it to Wiley’s house, with instructions to hand it to him personally.

Then he sent a text to Wiley.

DoorDash delivery coming your way. Breakfast on me. Take care, big brother.

B.J.

Wiley was sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating whether to get up and shave, or live with the black whiskers, when he got the text. He smiled as he read the message. No cold cereal for him. He managed to pull on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before making his way to the front of the house.

The cool floor felt good beneath his feet as he went to the kitchen to start coffee, but he needed no reminders to go slow. Everything hurt.

A few minutes later, his doorbell rang. He was sweating by the time he got to the door to retrieve the box, then headed back to the kitchen.

“Oh man,” he said when he saw what was inside, then grabbed a butter knife and carried the whole box to the table. He picked up a croissant and took the first bite plain, reveling in the flaky exterior and the melt-in-your-mouth interior. After that, it was honey butter on every bite.

He quit at four. Eyeing the remaining two with regret and a promise to himself to finish them later, he poured himself a second cup of coffee and downed a pain pill, then sent a quick text back to B.J.

Thanks for breakfast! It was amazing, and so are you.

Then he eased back down the hall, decided to keep the whiskers, and crawled into bed, hoping he’d get a text back from Linette giving him the okay to call. And at the same time, Linette was impatiently waiting for that second invitation, without realizing she hadn’t responded to his text.

***

Rhonda Tiller was at the nail salon when Cecily Michaels walked in. They gave each other a wary glance, but when Cecily sat down at the station next to Rhonda, Rhonda leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Did you know Wiley was shot during that bank robbery?”

Cecily nodded. “Did you know Linette Elgin lives in the same apartment building that I just moved into?”

“No way!” Rhonda said.

“Yes, way,” Cecily muttered. “She was also at that bank when the robbery happened. I saw her in the elevator when she was leaving the building, and when she came home later, she was covered in blood and very shaken.”

Rhonda frowned. She didn’t want to empathize. “So what? She’s a nurse.”

Cecily frowned. “You know…she never did anything to us, but she got hurt because of what we did to Wiley.”

Rhonda shrugged. “I don’t care. We got back at him.”

Cecily sighed. “I know, but for what? All that just because he didn’t ask us out again?”

Rhonda sniffed. “Nobody blocks me and gets away with it.”

“It happened because of what we did, and in the process, we made an enemy of him. I’m mad at myself for ever agreeing to do it,” Cecily said.

Rhonda ignored her. They’d bonded over a mutual issue, but Cecily Michaels could walk out of her life today and Rhonda wouldn’t miss her.

***

Pope Mountain: A week later

The rain came before sundown. A hard but steady downfall with only the distant grumble of thunder. No wind. No lightning. Just a blinding sheet of water, but Carey Eggers couldn’t stop. She was running for her life. She’d taken a wrong turn on her way back to Bowling Green and didn’t know where she was, other than she’d been driving up a mountain, and now she was driving down.

Her fingers were numb from gripping the steering wheel, and she kept watching for headlights behind her while trying to keep her eye on the road. But the rain made it hard to see the white line on the blacktop, and the windshield wipers were a continual squeak—the only sound within the car other than her short ragged breaths. Her brother was dead, she just knew it And, if she couldn’t lose the killer behind her, she would be, too.

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