Page 49 of Everything She Feared

Sara took a few steps toward the front sidewalk. She looked along the street. Her head tilted as she looked in the direction of the vehicle parked in the darkness down the street, nearly a block away.

Why? Why was Sara looking?

Was there a glint reflecting a streetlight in the lenses?

The curiosity on Sara’s face was evident through the binoculars. She took another step toward the sidewalk and stopped as if debating further investigation.

The person in the vehicle didn’t move.

Sara raised one hand slightly, triggering a distinct chirping as the lights of her SUV flashed. She got in, started it, then drove away.

The stranger watched her taillights until she disappeared.

Then the binoculars raked the house—searching every window.

Watching.

22

Seattle, Washington

Sara set downan order before the man at table nine.

“Fish and chips,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

He was alone in the booth working on his laptop and glanced to the plate, then to Sara.

“Well, no, but I ordered a club.”

“No, it was fish and—Wait—” Pulling her order pad from her pocket, she saw what she’d written for table nine:club / w / wheat / fry / slaw. Her face sank, reddening as she picked up the plate. “I’m so sorry. I’ll take care of that.”

“It’s okay, no problem.”

Sara headed across the dining room. Her worries about Katie, about everything, were deepening to the point of paranoia about being followed. It was distracting her.

I need to concentrate on my job.

Pushing through the swing door, she stepped into the kitchen. It was steamy and bustling with lunch orders. She put the fish and chips on the counter.

“I messed up. I need a club on whole wheat, fries and slaw for nine.”

Without stopping their work, Mel and Brenda, the new cook, glanced at her from the sizzling grill, the churning deep fryer and the stove. Mel looked at the plate, then at Sara, his face telegraphing both his concern and thinning patience at cutting Sara slack in the wake of the tragedy.

Then he nodded to her. “Whole wheat club coming up, kiddo.”

Brenda put up two plates at the pick-up window. “Small veg soup and half chicken sandwich on rye for number seven.”

“That’s me,” Sara said, leaving the kitchen to go around for her plates when her phone vibrated with a notification about fees from the Silverbrook Hills Senior Living Home. Sara glanced at the message. Not an emergency but still alarming. Skimming through the legalese and payment plan now showing detailed options, she went to the number telling her exactly how much more it would costmonthlyto keep her mother at Silverbrook Hills.

Way more than we can afford.

The increase would start in six months.

Putting her phone away, Sara picked up her order. The soup and sandwich went to an older woman sitting by herself at a small table. When Sara had first taken the woman’s order, she’d thought she looked familiar but couldn’t place her. The woman was staring over her glasses at her clear plastic wallet of photos. Sara thought she embodied loneliness.

“Creamy vegetable soup and a half chicken sandwich on rye. Here you go.” She set the order down. “Nice pictures. Your family, I’m guessing?”

“Yes, thank you.”

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