Page 82 of The House Beyond the Dunes

But I finally wake up, and when I see the sun blazing in the sky, I realize I need to get my act together. I owe Nikki my attention. She has been lured into the shadows and now is trapped in the cracks. She needs me to reach in and pull her out. As much as I want to run from that truth, I can’t.

I grab my phone and search White Wine, a.k.a. Jeanne Williams, a.k.a. last seen with Bourbon at Joey’s Bar. She owns and operates a home care agency in Virginia.

The drive to Chesapeake takes ninety minutes. Traffic is light, and I find Jeanne’s office in a strip mall. There’s a sign in her storefrontwindow that reads, WILLIAMSFAMILYHOMECARE. WE’RE HERE FOR YOU, MOM ANDDAD.

“Here for Mom and Dad? Right.” The last thing I would do for my mother is pay hard-earned cash to prop her up when she barely bothered to do the same for me when I was a kid. Fortunately for me, Mommie Dearest is in a better—hopefully, hotter than hell—place.

I see Jeanne through the storefront window. She’s on the phone, looking very prim and proper. Not the chick with her horns up in the bar. But hey, not judging. All girls want to have fun.

Out of the car, I move to her front door and open it. She glances up at me, and I can tell by the vacant look on her face that she doesn’t recognize me from the bar. Most people don’t recognize me when they see me outside the bar. For most, I’m invisible when I’m serving them.

She hangs up, stands, smiles. “Can I help you?”

I adjust my purse on my shoulder and offer a tentative smile. “I’m looking for a caregiver for my mother.” The simplest lies are the best.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’m Jeanne. Why don’t you have a seat?” Jeanne smiles as I sit in front of her fancy mahogany desk. “How did you hear about us?”

“Social media.” Everyone’s on it, so it stands to reason so is she.

“Great. We try to stay active online.”

“It worked for me.”

“How old is your mother?”

How old would Mom have been? Fifty? I can’t picture her that old, and she’d have hated aging. Maybe it’s too bad she did die so young. A life sentence in an old and failing body vulnerable to predators would be a just reward. “Mom is seventy.”

“That’s young.”

“I know. She has cancer. It’s been several tough years.”

She pulls out a notepad and pen. “It’s a story I’ve heard too much.”

I sit back and regard her as if seeing her for the first time. “Do I know you?”

Her smile is bemused. “I don’t think so.”

I point an index finger at her. “Do you ever come in Joey’s Bar on the Outer Banks?”

Confusion turns wary. “From time to time.”

“I work there as a bartender. I thought I saw you there Tuesday night.”

She shifts. “That’s a good memory.”

“Helps with the job if you can remember a person’s face and their drink. White wine, right?”

She clears her throat. “That’s right.”

I hold up my hands and lean back. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bring up your personal life. It’s just weird, us seeing each other again.”

“What are you doing in Virginia?”

“This is where Mom lives. I work part-time at Joey’s. But don’t worry about the money. Dad set up a trust for Mom.”

Her eyes brighten a fraction. “That’s fortunate for your mother.”

“Do you get down to Joey’s often? I remember seeing you with Bourbon. He’s a regular.”

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