Salem Falls Read online

  Jack took the brunt of the fall. "This gives a whole new meaning to the term trashy romance."

  Addie was laughing, but at his words, she stopped. "Is that what this is?" she asked, a child standing in the presence of a rainbow and afraid to blink even once, for fear that it might be gone when she opened her eyes. "Are you my romance?"

  Before Jack could answer, the door to the fence--unlatched--burst open, and he found himself staring into the single black eye of a revolver.

  "Jesus, Wes, put that thing away!" Addie pushed herself off Jack and got to her feet, dusting off her uniform.

  "I was walking by for a cup of coffee, and I heard the bins fall. I figured it might be a robber."

  "A robber? In the trash bins? Honestly, Wes. This is Salem Falls, not the set of Law and Order."

  Wes scowled, annoyed because Addie didn't appreciate his daring rescue attempt. "You sure you're all right?"

  "Nothing deodorant soap won't cure. I knocked over the trash can, that's all. Last time I checked, that wasn't even a misdemeanor."

  But Wes wasn't listening. He was staring at Jack, who'd been pulled upright by Addie and was still grasping her hand. Neither one seemed inclined to let go, and even more strange, neither one seemed to realize they were holding onto each other.

  "Oh," Wes said, his voice very soft. "It's like that."

  "He works in a diner," Whitney said, drawing on her straw until it made a slurping noise. "What would your father think if he knew you were hot for a guy nearly his own age who washes glasses for a living?"

  Gillian drew a fat J in the grease on her plate. "Money isn't everything, Whit."

  "Easy to say when you've got it."

  Gilly did not hear her. She scowled, wondering why Addie had been the only employee to come into the restaurant part of the diner. If she didn't even see Jack, her spell would never work. Gillian lifted her elbow and deliberately knocked over a milkshake. "We need some napkins over here!"

  Addie sighed at the mess but hurried over with a packet of napkins and a Wet-Wipe. "Let me get someone to mop the floor."

  Jack came out then, all six-foot-two inches of him. When he bent to swab beneath the table, Gilly saw the crooked part in his golden hair, a spot she had a sudden, urgent desire to kiss. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I can clean it up."

  "It's my job."

  "Well, at least let me help." Gilly reached for the napkins and this time knocked over Meg's Coke. Jack jumped backward, the crotch of his pants soaked.

  "Oh my gosh." Gilly pressed the wad of napkins high against Jack's thigh, until he stiffly removed her hand.

  "I've got it," he said, and left for the men's room.

  The minute he was gone, the girls began to whisper: "Jesus, Gilly, did you have to give him a hand job right in the middle of the diner?"

  "You knocked my drink over on purpose ... You'd better pay for a new one!"

  "He does look a little like Brad Pitt ... "

  "I'm going to the bathroom," Gilly announced. As she reached the restrooms, Jack came out of the one on the right. "Sorry about that again," she said cheerfully, but he didn't even answer. He sidled past her, trying hard not to touch her in any way. Well, that didn't matter. He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off her once she cast her spell.

  Gilly crept into the men's room, fascinated at the site of the urinal with its smelly little cake in the bottom. The sink was still dripping water. Gilly shut the nozzle more tightly, then fished from the trash can the topmost piece of paper toweling. Surely this was the one that Jack had used; it was still damp. She tore off a square from the part she imagined had touched his skin. Then she opened up her little purse.

  Inside was a scroll of paper on which she'd written JACK ST. BRIDE, a red rose, a white rose, and a piece of pink ribbon. She tucked the piece of toweling inside the scroll and rolled it up again. Then she took a Swiss army knife her father had given her the year she was ten and sliced each rose in half lengthwise. She placed together a white half and a red half, sandwiching the scroll in between, and wrapped them tightly with the ribbon.

  "One to seek him," Gilly whispered. "One to find him. One to bring him, one to bind him. Whoever keeps these roses two, the sweetest love will come to you."

  She turned on the tap--it really should have been a stream, but this was all the running water she could find--and held the head of the combined rose beneath it, then tossed the remaining petals into the trash.

  "What are you doing?"

  Gilly almost jumped a foot to find Addie Peabody there. "Washing my hands," she said, trying to hide the posy.

  "In the men's room?"

  "Is it? I didn't look at the sign." She could tell Addie wasn't buying a single word, so she decided to go on the defensive. "What are you doing in the men's bathroom?"

  "I own it. And I clean it hourly." Addie narrowed her eyes. "Whatever you were doing in here, just finish up and leave. ... What's that?"

  Gilly quickly tucked her hand behind her back. "Nothing."

  "If it's nothing, why are you trying to hide it from me?" Addie grabbed Gilly's arm and pried open her fingers. "I suggest you and your friends pay your bill and leave." Without even glancing at it, she absently slipped the posy into the wide pocket of her apron and left Gillian standing alone.

  *

  Wes had returned from the Do-Or-Diner that day on a mission. The reason Jack St. Bride looked so familiar was because Wes had seen him at the station. Now, a man could come to the police station for a hundred things--but the memory stuck in Wes's mind like a thorn. He knew better than to run a records check without reason, and he'd probably have to answer to Charlie Saxton about it when the detective checked the NCIC log--but he told himself that he was doing this for Addie's safety.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that, in a heartbeat, he'd want her for himself.

  In a town like Salem Falls, Wes had plenty of free time on his hands between 911 calls. He dispatched an ambulance to the old folk's home, and then typed St. Bride's name into the SPOTS terminal, which had the capability to run records throughout the country.

  Wes lifted his gaze to the screen, eyes widening. "Oh, Addie," he murmured.

  "Turn around," Amos Duncan commanded.

  Gillian pivoted in a slow circle, her black skirt flaring around her thighs, the rhinestone clips winking in her hair.

  "That's a better outfit. But the skirt's too short."

  She rolled her eyes. "Daddy, you say that even when I wear ankle length."

  "I just don't want any of those football players getting ideas."

  "As if," Gilly said under her breath, thinking that the very last person in the world she'd ever let touch her was a Salem Falls jock. "Meg's dad is chaperoning, anyway."

  "That's good. There's something comforting about knowing your daughter's best friend has relatives in law enforcement."

  The teakettle began to whistle in the kitchen. "I'll get it," Gillian said.

  "I can make my own cup of tea."

  "But I want to." She tossed a smile back over her shoulder. "It's the least I can do, considering I'm leaving you here all alone to mope around."

  Amos laughed. "Maybe I can find something to do to pass the time. Like count the number of tiles in the shower stall."

  "But you did that the last time I went out at night," Gilly joked. She went into the kitchen, took a mug from a cherry cabinet, then placed a strainer filled with leaves of her father's favorite blend of Darjeeling. Before she closed the little silver hatch, she reached into her blouse and added several of the pills from her father's factory.

  Ten minutes later, when she opened the strainer, there was nothing left of them. She carried the mug to the library, where her father was waiting.

  "That's what you're wearing?" Jordan said, looking up from the paper.

  Thomas took a swig of milk from the carton in the refrigerator, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "What's wrong with it?"

  "Well, nothing, I guess, given the fact