Page 47 of The Souls of Lost Lake
“Where are you off to?” His voice was a mix between husky and a full-on growl.
Ava wrapped her arms around herself and tilted her chin up. “Gotta find Jipsy. If I find her, and if she’s livin’, then I’m not in trouble no more.”
“What about Hubbard?” Noah pressed his lips together. “Finding Jipsy alive changes nothing as far as your state of security in this town.”
Ava squirmed. “That’d be next on my list to do.”
“Jipsy is probably dead, Ava,” Noah stated bluntly. “I’m not sure what, but you’re hiding something about you and Hubbard.”
Ava nodded. “Isn’t my story to tell.”
Noah squeezed his eyes shut as if he were trying to block out the very sight of her for a moment. When he opened them, he stared at her with those flickering coals of brown-and-black eyes. “I’m as invested in this as you are now, you know?”
Ava nodded. “Hanny told me so tonight. Not sure this is what God called you to Tempter’s Creek for, though. I suppose I should say I’m sorry.” She tried to offer him something.
Noah widened the door again. He took a step out into the hallway. “Me too.” His words washed over her like a warm surprise. She hadn’t expected him to apologize. “I never should’ve put you in this position.”
“You ain’t much of a preacher, are you?” It was all she could think to say.
“Not when you’re around.” Noah lifted his hand. He was going to touch her. She knew it. Knew it like she knew it was going to rain when all the leaves on the trees flipped upside down as if to shield themselves from the brewing storm.
The back of his fingers hovered by her cheek. Even in the shadows, Ava could see his eyes darken. She dared not drop her eyesfrom his. Seeing a reverend without his shirt on had to be the missing “Thou shalt not” commandment.
“If’n you just take a step back so I can leave, then I can get outta your hair.”
Noah dropped his hand without touching her. Awareness seemed to take over him and he stepped away. Ava took a step past him.
Noah’s voice made her hesitate. “Problem is, I don’t mind having you in my hair.”
Ava made quick work of leaving. It was the only safe thing to do.
19
Wren
Wren hiked down the sidewalk in downtown Tempter’s Creek. She was alone, planning to meet up with Meghan Riviera at the coffee shop that was run out of a remodeled parsonage across from the old Lutheran church. The police had taken their statements, once they’d arrived after Wren had stopped screaming and Eddie had called them. An overreaction? Probably. But considering the way her nerves were on fire from the sheer creep factor of it, she felt she had a reasonable excuse. The cops had no explanation, and there were no signs of anyone in the area that might have explained the woman in the driveway or the writing on the walk. They didn’t agree that the brown stains on the doll shoe were blood, and with nothing more to go on, they’d departed with a “Call if you need anything else.”
Wren skirted a fire hydrant and adjusted the strap of her yellow backpack she’d slung over her shoulder. Itwasblood on that shoe. Old, gross, vintage blood.
“This is wacked.”Whacked. Probably a poor choice of words considering the tale of Ava Coons. “And what doIhave to do with Ava Coons anyway?”
Enough talking to herself. Wren had garnered a side-eyed glancefrom an older man passing her on the sidewalk. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. She was muttering rather vehemently.
The coffee shop was named The Parsonage, and after another block, Wren saw it up ahead on the right. It was small, probably a six-hundred-square-foot house with a front porch, white siding, and a sign that hung from chains. The Parsonage had the distinct aura of a vintage 1930s- or ’40s-style Northwoods home, and the owners had allowed the paint on the weatherworn porch to chip and crack. They’d scattered a few round tables on the porch with old ladder-back chairs painted a teal color. Each of the tables had three hardback books stacked in the center, along with a tin-can vase that held yellow, purple, and blue wildflowers. Wren cast an appreciative glance at them as she opened the screen door and stepped into the front room.
Apparently, back in the day, The Parsonage had a sitting room, a small dining area, and the kitchen, with stairs leading to the second-level bedrooms just off to the left. These areas had since been opened up to make one room with fewer walls, filled now with tables and chairs like those on the porch, and a counter divided the front from the kitchen. The mechanics of the coffee making were kept behind the counter. The stairs were open for customers to head up to lounge-type reading areas. Each former bedroom had been converted so coffee drinkers who planned to stay awhile could sit in comfort on overstuffed chairs and old couches.
On a good day, Wren enjoyed escaping the crazy summer chaos of camp and coming here with a book. On a day like today, she ignored the pull of the place in exchange for looking around to spot Meghan. She was in the far corner—which wasn’t all that far away—looking desperate, haggard, a ball of nervous energy. Wren quickly asked for a black coffee, and after receiving the brew of the day in a teal pottery mug, she wound her way around a few tables and sat opposite Meghan.
Startled, Meghan jerked her head, eyes wide and red-rimmed. “Oh! I’m sorry, I was ... thinking.”
“That’s okay.” Wren rested her mug on the table, noting that Meghan had only a cup of water in front of her.
Meghan glanced at her mug and then offered a flimsy smile. “I can’t drink caffeine right now. I’m too jittery as it is.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she quickly blinked them away, mustering a stronger smile this time. “I know I’m a mess, and I know you’re probably humoring me by doing this.”
Wren shook her head, determination flooding her. “Listen, no stone should be left unturned when it comes to finding a missing child.”
Their eyes locked, Meghan searching the depths of Wren’s and seeming to assess her honesty and genuineness.
