The Perfect Stranger (Social Media #2)(64)
What, Crystal wondered with interest—and yes, with suspicion—was she doing here?
After that fleeting eye contact, Jenna never lifted her head again, just stood staring at her clasped hands for the remainder of the service, as if praying.
Praying, no doubt, that she hadn’t been recognized.
But she had.
And now she’s made her escape, getting a head start before the mass exodus begins.
Crystal reminds herself that it may mean absolutely nothing, in the grand scheme of things.
Coeur was, after all, acquitted.
That may very well mean she didn’t commit murder.
It may also mean that she did—and got away with it.
Once, anyway.
Crystal weaves through the crowd as quickly as she can without disrupting the service.
At last she reaches the door and steps outside—just in time to hear a car spitting gravel as it pulls out of the parking lot onto the highway, just beyond her range of view.
Jenna Coeur, driving away.
But I won’t forget that you were here, Crystal promises silently. And believe me, I’m going to find out why.
A Cause Worth Fighting For
Last weekend, while I was tied up with a prior commitment, many of my fellow bloggers gathered for the National Breast Cancer Coalition Advocacy Training Conference. Here were women I’ve never met, but spend time with everyday. Whose words and work I admire. Whose thoughts I connect with. They gathered in Washington to fight for NBCC’s goal to end breast cancer by 2020.
At last, an exciting mission, empowering when embraced. For too long it seems we were stuck in a sea of pink, hearing of changes, wanting to believe advancements were being made. Needing to believe optimistic statistics when in actuality approximately 40,000 people still die from this disease every year.
About as many as two decades ago.
That’s not advancement. That’s not change. That’s a number hidden so far down in a sea of pink we barely see it, but deep within ourselves, where the scary thoughts thrive, we know it’s the truth. Pink awareness is not enough.
The people attending this event heard the conversation shift. They refocused on facts, and with a concrete goal in sight discussed how research, combined with action and dedication, could have the 2020 eradication deadline within our grasps.
Social media was at its finest as bloggers tweeted from their workshops. I couldn’t absorb the information fast enough and want to thank them for taking time to spread the inspiration around.
If I had to choose a place to be that weekend, it would have been there in Washington, beside this group of incredibly motivated women. Dragging cancer to the center of the room for all to see. Believing it was now possible to kick out the unwanted guest . . . never to be seen again.
—Excerpt from Jaycee’s blog, PC BC
Chapter 10
Jaycee had spotted a Starbucks along the mile of suburban highway between the interstate exit and the funeral home. Now, making her way back, she keeps an eye out for it, desperate to grab a cup of coffee for the road. Good, strong, familiar coffee, as opposed to the watered-down stuff they served her on the flight.
Cory might tease her about her affinity for Starbucks, but there’s something to be said for consistency and availability. Especially when you’ve traveled all over the world, or been trapped in a prison cell—neither of which guarantee you a decent cup of coffee on a daily basis.
She should know, unlike Cory, who spent his life luxuriating in the concrete canyons of Manhattan and the rugged canyons of L.A., taking creature comforts for granted.
Zeroing in on the familiar green and white logo on a signpost up ahead, Jaycee checks the rearview mirror out of habit, to make sure she isn’t being followed. She half expects to spot the Crown Victoria from the funeral home parking lot on her tail.
But all she sees is a red pickup truck, a couple of SUVs, and a little white car, and they all fly right on past as she turns into the parking lot.
Good.
She’s pretty sure that the woman back at the funeral home recognized her—and that she happened to be law enforcement. But even if that was the case, the woman would have no reason to come chasing after her, right? Attending a funeral isn’t a crime.
Hell, some crimes aren’t even a crime.
No one knows that better than you do.
Not that she wants to think about all that now. She came here to escape.
Right. Brilliant move.
Most people needing a reprieve would hop a plane to some remote Caribbean island. But not you. Nope. You fly away to a funeral.
Yes, but a friend’s funeral—a friend who meant a lot to her. A friend she hasn’t fully allowed herself to grieve, even now.
But when you get right down to it, is she really here in Ohio solely because of Meredith? Ever since the others began making plans to come for the service this weekend, there was a part of her that wistfully longed to join them even though she knew it was impossible.
She isn’t one of them. Not really.
As usual, she tried to push the uncomfortable truth to the back of her mind. But it’s pretty telling that the moment trouble popped up and she needed to flee, this is where she wound up.
I guess I was meant to be here all along, watching from the sidelines.
So what else is new?
Jaycee parks the car, grabs her wallet from the oversized bag on the seat, and goes into Starbucks wearing just the sunglasses and of course her blond wig, but not the hat. Aside from baseball caps, no one around here wears hats, not even to a funeral. She should have known better than to choose a disguise that would make her even more conspicuous. She won’t make that mistake again.