raise her teacup to click it against his. “Thanks, Tyler, for being at
Dartmouth and talking about your hometown to me.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his eyes serious upon her face. “If
your husband is after you, how do you know he didn’t follow you
to the airport? I know New York traffic is nuts, but it’s not all that
hard to follow someone, if you really want to.”
“It’s a good thing I’ve read a lot of spy novels and seen lots of police
shows.” She told him how she’d changed taxis three times on
the way to Kennedy. “When I got out at the United terminal, I was
sure no one had followed me. My last driver was one of a vanishing
breed–a native New Yorker cabbie. He knew Queens as well
as he knew his ex-wife’s lover, he told me. No one followed me, he
was sure of it. I flew to Boston, then on to Portland, and bought
myself a used Toyota from Big Frank’s. I drove up here to your
haven, and he’ll never find me.”
She had no idea whether or not he believed her. Well, all that
about her escape from New York was the truth. She’d only lied
about who she was running from.
“I sure hope you’re right. But I plan to keep an eye on you,
Becca Powell.”
She managed to get him to talk about himself. He told her he
was a computer consultant, a troubleshooter of sorts, and he designed
software programs for major accounting and brokerage
firms, “to track clients and money and how the two come together.
I’m successful, Becca, and it feels good. You know, you were the
only girl in college who didn’t look at me and giggle at what a jerk
I was. You called me a nerd and a geek, but that was okay, it was the
truth. Do you know we’ve got a gym in Riptide? I’m there three
days a week. I find that if I don’t work out regularly, I get all skinny
again, lose my energy, and want to wear a pocket protector.”
“You’re sure not skinny now, Tyler.”
“No,” he said, grinning at her, “I’m not.”
When she showed him out some fifteen minutes later, she wondered
again if he’d believed her reason for coming to Riptide. He
was a nice guy; she’d hated to lie to him. She was glad he was here.
She wasn’t completely alone. She watched him get into his Jeep.
He looked up and waved at her, then executed a sharp U-turn. He
lived just one street over, on Gum Shoe Lane, but it was a good distance
away.
Her house. That felt good. She slowly closed the front door and
turned to look at her ancient furnishings. Her mother, the antiques
nut, would have shuddered. When Marley Senior had furnished
this house, she wondered if he’d ordered anything out of the turn-of-the-century
Sears catalogue.
Now that she was settled in, her two suitcases emptied and
tucked in the back of her bedroom closet, she decided to explore
the town. She locked up the house and got into her car and drove
down West Hemlock past one of Riptide’s half-dozen white-spired
churches. It was a charming town, isolated, and unspoiled. Just being
in such a quaint village made her feel safe.
When she turned her Toyota onto Poison Oak Circle ten minutes
later, she spotted the Food Fort. Everyone there was friendly,
including the produce woman, who handed her the best head of roaine
lettuce in the bin. Since it was a fishing town, there was lots
of fresh fish available, mainly lobster. Becca was eager to give everything
a try.
Her evening was peaceful. She spent the twilight time leaning
over the railing of the widow’s walk, staring out at the ocean. The
water was calm; waves crested gently against pine-covered rocks
that she could barely make out from where she stood. But Marley
Senior had named the town Riptide. Was there a vicious tide that
pulled people out to sea? She’d have to ask. It was a scary thought.
She’d been caught in a riptide once when she was about ten years