Page 28 of I Dream of Danger
Bring them in?
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand…” And then, of course, she did. Two men ferrying boxes—and boxes and boxes—of groceries carted in on a hand truck. Hundreds of dollars’ worth of food.
“Ma’am? Ma’am?” The kid’s voice was sharp with emphasis. He’d been talking to her and she hadn’t heard him. “We’re going to need to know where the kitchen is.”
Numb, Elle stepped back inside, lifted her arm, unable to speak. The men passed her without a word, neatly stacked the boxes and went back out for another load.
In the kitchen, Elle opened a box, peered inside. All dry goods. Staples. Pasta and rice and flour and sugar. All kinds of canned goods. Enough to feed a battalion. Other boxes with staples. The next delivery was fresh fruit and vegetables, more than any person could possibly eat in a month. A huge package of every kind of fresh meat, most of which would have to go into the freezer.
The delivery guys had her sign something and left without saying another word. She stood unmoving in the kitchen, up to her knees in food, sick to her stomach, feeling the world spinning around her, feeling the cold creep back into her bones.
Her legs felt weak, no longer capable of holding her up. She reached blindly for a chair when the phone rang.
“Ms. Thomason?” A male voice. She recognized it but couldn’t put a name to it.
“Yes? Who is speaking.”
“This is Mr. Bent, Ms. Thomason.” Silence. “Of Bent Mortuary Services? Your father’s funeral yesterday?”
His voice buzzed uselessly in her ear because the truth had hit her like a hammer blow.
Oh God. That chair was necessary. She sat down, barely able to breathe. Nick…was gone. It struck her like a blow to the heart, squeezing all the air out of her chest. That was the only explanation for the empty house, the supplies arriving from Morristown, 200 miles to the south.
Nick was on the road and stopped at the first opportunity to top-up on gas and top her up with food. A kind gesture for the forlorn waif.
And now Mr. Bent was calling to say he’d changed his mind and wanted his money now instead of over the course of a year.
Money she didn’t have.
It was hard to even think about that through the pain of Nick’s departure. Money. How could she think about money with Nick gone? She could barely focus.
Mr. Bent’s tinny voice was faint, sounding as if he were calling from the dark side of the moon. No—wait. She was on the dark side of the moon, on some cold airless rock spinning in space.
His voice buzzed in her ear again. She couldn’t understand the words but she had to say something.
“Yes, um, Mr. Bent. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said. What can I do for you?”
Oh God, she was so intent on not shaking apart there was no room left to consider her words. What can I do for you? Well, that was a stupid thing to say when the answer was obvious. Pay your bill.
He spoke again, words that made absolutely no sense. “What?”
“I said—” And now Elle could hear the forced patience. He was repeating something for the third time. “I said, Ms. Thomason, that full payment wasn’t necessary, though I do thank you. We had agreed you could stagger your payments.”
“What?” Her head was ringing. Nothing made sense.
“Are you all right, Ms. Thomason?”
No.
“Ah—yes of course. I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A long sigh. “Your bill has been settled in full. And I wanted to thank you because we had made an arrangement to stagger your payments over a year.”
She sat up straight, the words having finally penetrated. “The bill has been paid? In full? Who paid that bill, Mr. Bent?”
He made a startled noise. When he spoke his voice was slow and careful. “You did, Ms. Thomason. Or rather—” the sound of computer keys clacking, “a certain Mr. Ross paid on your behalf. A Mr. Nick Ross.”
The cordless handheld slipped from her fingers, clattered to the floor. Mr. Bent’s voice rose like a ghost’s, calling her name.
