Long Road Home(9)

“Polite young thing,” the woman clucked. “Too many young people these days are just plain rude. It’s nice to see one with manners. Now come downstairs and let me at least fix you a sandwich before you go. Do you have clothes?”

Jules’s head was spinning. The woman was an F5 tornado. She reminded her of her own mother. Well, in a perverse sort of way. She didn’t have much in common with Frances Trehan, but her protective manner was reminiscent of Jules’s beloved mom. Her throat swelled. Weak. She was turning into a weak idiot. And it would get her killed.

“If you have a shirt and some jeans, I’d appreciate it,” Jules said. “And I’d love a sandwich.”

The woman beamed at her. “My name is Doris. Doris Jackson. Come along, dear. I’ll have you fixed up and you can be on your way.”

“Mrs. Jackson,” Jules called out as the woman turned to leave the room.

She paused and looked back at Jules. “Yes, dear?”

“Promise me you’ll call the police if you ever find anyone else in your house. You could get hurt.”

She chuckled. “Don’t worry. If I didn’t think I could take you, I would have screamed the house down. But you didn’t look like you could hurt a fly in your condition.”

Jules nearly laughed. If she only knew. “Appearances can be deceiving, Mrs. Jackson. Don’t make the mistake of being nice to an intruder again.”

A few minutes later, Jules was attired in a soft long-sleeved sweater and a pair of jeans that almost fit her perfectly. A pair of worn sneakers completed the outfit.

“They were my daughter’s,” Mrs. Jackson explained. “She’s off at college now.”

Jules smiled and nodded. She was unused to being around chatty people, and while it comforted her, she wasn’t sure how to respond.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Jackson clicked around in her high heels and prepared three sandwiches, tossing them in a bag with numerous other snacks and a few soft drinks. “Here you are, dear. You be careful, okay?”

Jules took the bag and smiled at the older woman. “Thank you. I won’t forget your kindness.”

“Can I drive you anywhere? Perhaps you shouldn’t be walking.”

Jules wanted to refuse. She didn’t want to place Mrs. Jackson in any danger, but if she drove Jules out of the subdivision, the chances of being seen would be far less. At the same time, if Mrs. Jackson was questioned about her later, this would be a prime opportunity to lay a false trail.

“Could you drive me to the bus station? I would be very grateful.”

“Of course. Let me get my keys.” She squeezed Jules’s hand as she passed, and Jules snatched it away as if she had been bitten.

She was mortified at her reaction, but she wasn’t used to being touched. After three years of isolation, she had, in the space of twenty-four hours, been hugged by her mother, held by the man she cared about more than life itself, and comforted by a well-meaning stranger. It was enough to put her in sensory overload.

They drove to the bus station in silence, Jules scanning the surroundings outside her window. When they arrived, Mrs. Jackson dug into her purse and pulled out several twenties. She thrust them at Jules.

“I can’t take it.” Jules pushed her hand away. “You’ve been far too kind as it is.”

“You remind me of my daughter,” Mrs. Jackson said softly. “And I can’t bear the thought of you out here all alone. Let me at least buy you a ticket to where you’re going.”

She blew out her breath then took the money Mrs. Jackson offered. “And you remind me of my mother.” She could almost smell the butter and vanilla scent that was so familiar to her. “Thank you.” She climbed out of the car and hurried away before Mrs. Jackson could respond.

As soon as the car was out of sight, Jules stepped out of the bus depot and hurried down the street. She fingered the wad of bills Mrs. Jackson had given her. The beginnings of a plan came to her. At least her brain wasn’t completely fried.

After getting directions to a local boutique, she headed in that direction. If she was going to pull off her plan, she needed to look hot.

Chapter Six

Manuel stood outside the sixth door he had knocked on and waited impatiently for an answer. He was getting nowhere fast. He’d found the discarded shoe covers in the hills above the subdivision. Wet and muddy, hospital issue. Yeah, Jules had been close, and she might have sought refuge in one of these houses.

The door finally opened and a forty-something lady with frizzy blonde hair stood looking questioningly at him. Emblazoned across her chest were the words Jesus Freak.

He flashed a badge, one that identified him as a local policeman, and left it open long enough for her to get a good look. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I wonder if you could help me. I’m looking for someone, and I wonder if you’ve seen her.” He held out a picture of Jules with his other hand.

Fingers with long, well-manicured, fire-engine-red nails plucked the picture out of his hand and held it up. She pursed her lips then held the photo back out to him. “Sorry, haven’t seen her.”

Manuel frowned slightly and studied her expression. Something odd flickered in her eyes. It looked like anger. And she hadn’t asked him any questions as so many of the other neighbors had.

“If you could just take another look,” he cajoled. “It’s very important that I find her. She’s in a lot of danger.”