Hidden (Nicole Jones #1)(61)

‘Oh, OK,’ she says, sounding a little put out. But she hands me the duffel over the counter, and I take it.

‘Thanks so much,’ I say and start to head out. I stop short, though, just before pushing the door open.

A man stands on the sidewalk. He is wearing a windbreaker and a pair of neatly pressed jeans. It is the Hispanic man from the car, the one that showed up at the Painted Rock instead of Ian. He looks casual, his hands in his pockets, as though he is waiting for someone.

Is he waiting for me? Did he see me come in here? Has he been watching my whole transaction with the duffel bag?

I am still uncertain who he is, but I know for certain that I cannot let him see me. I turn and pretend that I have forgotten to look at the fleece jackets, which are strategically behind a rack with several large messenger bags hanging on it.

‘Nicole? Did you need something else?’ Lucille startles me.

‘Oh, yes, I need a new jacket.’ I pull out a black one that looks exactly like one I have at home.

Lucille frowns a little, but then puts on her shop-owner smile. ‘Of course. I’ll take that to the counter. Look around, just in case you see anything else.’ She whisks away the jacket, which I am now committed to buying. I glance out the front window. He is still standing there.

I fiddle with a pair of wool socks just beyond the jackets. I am moving closer to the counter, to the back of the store, as though if he looks through the window he will not be able to see me. I grab the socks and put them on the counter next to the jacket.

‘It’s still a little chilly at night,’ I say stupidly, but Lucille is a good shop owner and she merely smiles and rings me out. Fortunately, I’ve brought enough cash for all of it.

Lucille pulls out a plastic bag but hesitates. ‘Do you want to wear the jacket?’ she asks.

I hadn’t thought of that, but it’s not a bad idea. ‘Sure.’

Lucille clips off the tags and hands me the jacket, which I shrug on. She is holding the socks and the scissors. ‘What about these?’

I chuckle, trying to make light of it. ‘I’ll just put them in the duffel,’ I say. ‘No reason to waste a bag on me.’ I take the socks and slip them into the duffel. I start to turn away, then turn back as though I’ve forgotten yet something else. ‘Oh, would you mind if I go out the back? I need to get something from Veronica’s back room and it’s easier from there.’

I wait for an argument but instead she grins and leads me back, opening the door for me. As I step through, she asks, ‘Are you OK, Nicole? I mean, I know it’s upsetting—’

I hold up my hand to stop her. ‘I’m fine. Really.’ Although I put on an expression that might tell her otherwise to keep up the ruse.

She leans toward me and whispers loudly, ‘Do you think that whoever did that to your place might have killed that man at the Bluffs?’

‘I don’t know, Lucille. Maybe Cathleen can get something out of Reggie. I’d be interested to know,’ I lie.

She purses her lips and nods knowingly. ‘I’ll let you know,’ she promises.

I take a deep breath when she finally goes back into her shop and the door closes.

I take a look at the door to the gallery and wish I could go inside and see Veronica. But I suspect that man is not waiting for just anyone. He is waiting for me to show up. I wonder where the other man is, the one who was with him in the car.

But as I walk past the door, I glance through the window and I see him. I can see all the way to the front of the gallery, and Veronica is talking to him. He is gesticulating with his hands; Veronica has her arms folded over her chest, a serious look on her face.

He motions toward the front, but Veronica does not follow his movement. Instead, she glances around – I can see she is tired of whatever he’s been telling her – she looks to the back and she sees me, I can see it in her expression, but then she recovers. She takes him by the elbow and starts steering him out. I duck away from the door and shrink back against the siding, my heart pounding.

In my head I am mapping an escape route, much like when I’m mapping out a tour. I feel myself relaxing a little as I picture the roads in my head, concentrating on the matter at hand.

I won’t be able to go out to the road without being seen, but I might be able to cut through some yards and end up on an artery far enough away so I can manage to skirt back to Hydrangea House without drawing attention to myself.

I am about to leave when the door opens, startling me.

‘Nicole,’ Veronica hisses. ‘Get in here.’ She grabs my arm, and I have no choice. I am inside, the door shutting off my escape.

We do not go into the front of the gallery, but to the left, behind a wall that hides the stacks of paintings that have not yet been hung. Customers can come back here, go through them and buy them unframed if they like.

‘Is he gone?’ I whisper.

Veronica frowns. ‘I got rid of him.’ She leans back and looks toward the front of the gallery. ‘But they’re outside, talking. Stay back here.’ She twirls around, her skirt billowing a little around her calves, adjusts her scarf and puts a hand to her hair to smooth it. Her heels clack against the wood floor. I hear rustling; she is at her small desk, looking through receipts and whatnot, giving a show to the strangers that she is still here and not concerned about anything.

I find an empty space in between paintings against the wall and sink down to the floor, my knees up against my chest, and I take some deep breaths like Jeanine always tells me to do in yoga class. I hate it that I am hiding here.