Missing Pieces(46)

A wave of uneasiness swept over her. She was all alone, miles from town. The haunting words from the audiotape were still fresh in her mind. She had left her keys and phone in the car.

Two men dressed in camouflage and wearing bright orange vests looked at her from the driver’s-side window. “Everything okay here?” the driver asked, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, one arm hanging casually outside the window, close enough to grab Sarah if he wanted to. Sarah took a step back from truck and started slowly moving toward her own car.

“Yep, I’m fine,” Sarah said, trying to keep her voice light and easy, all the while measuring the distance to her car. Could she outrun them if she had to, or was she better off running into the cornfield and trying to lose them in there?

“We thought you might have had some car trouble,” the other man said, revealing a mouth filled with tobacco-stained teeth. “Not many people come out this way. You could have been broken down here and no one could find you for days.” Sarah glanced around. He was right. No homes were in sight, no other cars had passed by. Did she hear a taunting, leering tone in his voice? Or was she just spooked after listening to the tapes?

“I’m fine. Just taking a walk.” Sarah struggled to maintain eye contact. She didn’t want them to know she was afraid.

“All right, then,” the driver said, slapping the side of his truck with the palm of his hand. “You take care.”

Sarah didn’t pause to watch the truck drive away but started walking swiftly back to her own car. Seconds later, she heard the crunch of tires on gravel. She glanced over her shoulder to find the truck following slowly behind her. She quickened her pace and the truck sped up. Sarah sprinted the last twenty yards, flung open the car door and slammed it shut. Once inside she rolled up the windows, locked the doors and grabbed her phone. Slowly the truck rolled by and through the windshield Sarah could see the men having a good laugh over her distress before speeding away. It’s this place, Sarah thought to herself. Everything about Penny Gate was off.

Breathing heavily, Sarah caught sight of a red-faced, copper-feathered pheasant striding through the cornfield next to her and shook her head. The men were just out bird hunting. Of course they were driving around the off-the-beaten-path gravel roads where the pheasants would be more plentiful. They were jerks, but most likely perfectly harmless; she was the one who was trying to conceal her whereabouts and what she was doing.

Once she caught her breath, she checked her phone in case she’d missed a call from the attorney or Margaret. She saw that Jack had tried to call her twice. She wasn’t ready to talk to him just yet.

Sarah checked her emails and sighed at the sheer volume that she eventually would need to get caught up on. As she expected, she had dozens. Most were Dear Astrid letters, a few from friends back in Larkspur and one from Gabe, her editor at the newspaper.

Nothing that a Dear Astrid reader could throw at her seemed more bizarre than what she was living herself. She would have to go back to Dean and Celia’s at some point. She wondered if the search at Hal’s home was complete and if the forensic team had found anything.

Another message from Seller85 jumped out at her and she clicked on it expecting more nonsense.

Dear Astrid,

One blind mouse.

Blood, crimson and hot

Pulsing, pouring

Through my fingers.

See how they run?

Though Sarah was no stranger to receiving creepy messages and letters, the earlier emails were seemingly innocuous. But this one...this one felt a bit different, probably because it was the third email from the same sender in just a few days, she told herself. Trying to push the messages from her mind, she went on to scan through the other Dear Astrid emails. To think that so many people looked to her for support and advice when sometimes she felt as though she had no answers and in fact could use some advice herself. Sarah didn’t have the energy to focus on the problems of others when she had such difficult ones of her own. She had plenty of Dear Astrid responses reserved for situations just like this one when she wasn’t able to stay on schedule, but she hated getting behind in her work.

Her thoughts kept flipping back to the Seller85 emails. Three from the same sender was downright creepy. On impulse, she dialed Gabe’s direct number at the Messenger.

“I’ve been trying to get ahold of you all week,” Gabe’s warm voice came across the line. “You’d think you were some very busy, important, syndicated advice columnist or something.”

“I’m so sorry. It’s been crazy.”

“Yeah, you use me for my editing skills and then discard me like yesterday’s newspaper,” Gabe deadpanned.

Sarah didn’t know where to start, but decided to give him the basics: she was in Penny Gate, Aunt Julia’s death, the suspicion surrounding her death, the weird emails. She recounted each to him one by one.

“They are odd,” Gabe admitted. “But you’ve gotten strange emails before,” he reminded her. “What’s different about these?”

“I’m not sure. Just a feeling, I guess,” Sarah admitted. “Journalistic instinct, maybe.”

“Why don’t you send them to me. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“Thanks,” Sarah said. “I’m sure it will turn out to be nothing,” she added.

“No problem. You’re fired, though. I hired a new guy. I hear he returns phone calls.”