Running Blind (4 page)

“Not really.”

“Where are you headed?”

That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“That sounds like freedom,” observed the waitress, and walked away without saying anything else.

Picking up her fork, Carlin took her first bite. The not-apple pie was amazingly good. For a minute, maybe two, she forgot all her troubles and simply indulged her taste buds. The crust was flaky and buttery, and the filling was perfectly sweetened. The coffee was good, too. She took a deep breath, and realized that it was the first time in weeks that she could honestly say she was relaxed. It wouldn’t last, but for now she’d take it.

While she was eating, a man came in for a slice of pie
to go. Seemed as if she wasn’t the only one who thought the pie was outstanding. Idly she listened as he and Kat chatted, about neighbors, about the weather. Yes, beyond a doubt the waitress was as much of a pull as the pie, at least as far as the male populace was concerned.

Carlin looked out the window. Battle Ridge wasn’t much to look at, that was a fact, but it had everything a small town needed, at least as far as she was concerned: a place to eat, a Laundromat, a general store. The people who passed by The Pie Hole all glanced in and waved, even though they didn’t stop.

Pulling her jacket close, she unzipped one of the pockets to get money for her food, instinctively counting the bills. Oh, there was plenty for the pie and coffee, but not enough, not nearly enough. Living on the road was eating through her savings faster than she’d expected.

She gathered her things and walked toward the cash register with money in hand. The man who’d come in for lemon meringue left, his gaze lingering on Carlin for a moment too long. There it was again; the look was curious, not malicious—she knew the difference—but one more person had noticed her.

Kat took her money, rang up the sale, and passed back the change. Carlin laid down a dollar tip. It wasn’t much, but percentagewise it was generous, and no matter how poor she was she wasn’t going to stiff a nice person who’d earned a tip.

Carlin knew she should take her atlas and go, but she didn’t. There might be a job opportunity in town, but if she just drove away without asking, she’d never know. She slid her butt half onto a stool and asked, “How long have you worked here?”

A slow smile curled Kat’s mouth. “Seems like forever. It’s my place. I’m cook, waitress, manager, and chief bottle-washer all rolled into one.”

Out of all that, one thing registered uppermost. “You made the pie? It was great.”

“I did. Thanks.” The grin widened. “Apple tomorrow, if you’re still around.”

“Depends on whether or not anyone around here is looking for help.” Carlin figured there were two places in a town where pretty much everything would be common knowledge: the beauty salon, and the café. She’d planned to eat, fill the Subaru’s gas tank, and head on down the road, but her plans were fluid, and she’d take advantage of whatever break came her way.

For a long moment, Kat was silent, her gaze still clear but not giving anything away as she did her own assessment. “Maybe. Can you cook?”

“I can learn.” She could cook enough to get by, for herself, but she for certain wasn’t on Kat’s level. If anyone had ever asked her what her life’s ambitions were, cooking would have been way down close to the bottom of the list. Okay, it probably wouldn’t even have
made
the list. Her life had changed though, and she was willing to do any kind of work.

“You got anything against doing dishes and mopping floors?”

“Nope.” She wasn’t proud; she’d scrub floors on her knees, if that was what it took to earn some money.

“Ever done any waitressing?”

“A little. It’s been a while.”

“Some things never change.” Kat pursed her lips. “I can only afford to hire you part-time, and the pay isn’t exactly great.”

One thing she hadn’t expected when she asked about available jobs was to find one here in this little café. She wasn’t about to turn it down, but now came the tough part. “That’s okay. The thing is …” She paused, looking at the three other customers to make certain they couldn’t hear, then glancing out the window to take a
quick study of the street before taking a deep breath and turning back to Kat. “I need to be paid in cash. No record, no taxes, no paperwork.”

Kat’s easy smile died, and something flashed in those clear eyes. “Are you in trouble? More specifically, are
you
trouble?”

Carlin tilted her head, considering that, then shrugged. “I guess you could look at it both ways, but I’d say
in
trouble.”

“What kind of trouble? Legal, or man? It has to be one or the other.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Carlin muttered, then said, “Man. Stalker, to be specific.”

Small-town didn’t mean stupid. “Why didn’t you go to the cops?”

“Because he is one,” she said flatly.

“Well, that complicates matters, doesn’t it?” Kat’s eyes narrowed. “There are bound to be good cops, too, wherever you’re from. I really hate the thought that one bad apple can force you to take to the road. Maybe you should try again.”

“Twice was enough to suit me.”

“Well, shit.” Kat stared at her, hard, her gaze as sharp as a knife’s edge. Carlin had no idea what she saw, but whatever it was, her next words were brisk and decisive. “You’re hired. Just part-time, like I said. Some cooking, the easy stuff, but mostly cleaning, waiting tables. I do all the baking. Business is okay, but I’m hardly raking in the dough, if you’ll pardon the pun. I’ll make it worth your while, though. Still interested?”

“Yes.” She said it without an instant’s hesitation.

“Do you have somewhere to stay?”

Since Carlin had just now—as in the very second Kat had made her offer—decided to stick around, the answer to that was a big
no
. She shook her head. “Do you know where there’s a room I can rent? Nothing too expensive,
just a room with a bed.” She hadn’t seen a motel driving in, but surely there was someone in town who would rent her a room.

Kat tilted her head toward the single restroom door at the back of the café; beside it was that closed door that was decorated with a “Keep Out” sign. “I have a place upstairs. You can stay there. No charge for employees,” she added. “It’s really more of an attic, but in the winter I stay up there when the weather’s so bad I don’t want to drive back and forth from the house. Might as well have someone living up there,” she said, as if the offer wasn’t a big deal. It was, at least to Carlin. She wasn’t so proud that she’d argue about paying rent. Every dollar she saved gave her more of a chance of not getting killed.

Besides, it wouldn’t be for long. She’d make a few dollars, catch her breath, maybe come up with a more permanent plan. “Thank you.” She managed a smile. Having the near future settled took away some of her anxiety. “I can start right now; just tell me what to do.”

“Good deal.” Kat offered a hand across the counter. “Since we’re going to be working together, I should introduce myself. Kat Bailey.”

Carlin hesitated a moment, thinking hard, then took the offered hand. She wasn’t ready to give her real name to anyone, not until she knew exactly how Brad had found her the last time. Not that she didn’t trust Kat; she’d simply learned that she really couldn’t be too careful. Her gaze scanned the counter. A few feet away was a full bottle of ketchup, and inspiration struck. “Hunt,” she said swiftly. “Carlin Hunt.”

Kat snorted as she ended the handshake. “Well, at least you didn’t look at the floor and tell me your last name was Linoleum.”

Caught
. She wasn’t a very good liar, and that had to end. Like it or not, she had to get better at spinning tales. Wrinkling her nose and not bothering to deny the
fib, Carlin waited for the offer of a job and a place to stay to be rescinded.

But Kat merely gave her a brisk nod, and that was that. “Get your stuff; you can at least get unpacked before you start work.” Evidently a fake surname wasn’t something that upset Kat Bailey’s apple cart.

As Carlin went out to the Subaru to fetch her backpack, she blew out a huge breath of relief. She had a place to stay and a way to make a few dollars, a way that didn’t require a lawn mower or a weed eater. And tomorrow there would even be apple pie.

It was the first time in a long while that she’d been able to think of a “tomorrow” that wasn’t full of anxiety and uncertainty.

“I
T ISN
’
T MUCH
,” Kat said briskly as she led the way up the dark, narrow stairs. A single lightbulb with an industrial shade lit the head of the stairs; it was needed because the staircase was an interior one, without any other source of light. The wooden steps were sturdy, the sound of their footsteps ringing in the tight space. Carlin felt a little uneasy. Was this the only access?

As they reached the top step, Kat unlocked the door and pushed it open. Carlin followed her inside and looked around. She hadn’t lied, Carlin thought; it
wasn’t
much. She gave it a swift, encompassing look. One room, sparsely furnished, and a bathroom. There was one window, overlooking the street, which relieved her concern about being trapped up there. She dropped her backpack to the floor and crossed to the window, looking down and assessing how far down it was to the ground.

“The view’s pretty good,” Kat said, and only then did Carlin think to look farther out, lifting her gaze to the gorgeous mountains that loomed over the small town.

“Oh,” she said, her tone faintly surprised.

There was a pause. “You hadn’t noticed.” It was a statement, not a question. Kat crossed the room to stand beside her, crossing her arms as she looked down at the
street the same way Carlin had done, then across at the mountains, as if measuring one view against the other. No doubt about it, the street view didn’t compete. “Looking for someone?”

“No. Just checking the height.”

“Thinking about jumping?”

“Only if I have to,” Carlin said blandly. She never knew if it would come to that—and that was the problem: she never knew.

Kat gave her a long, steady look, which Carlin met without flinching. She could have wasted the effort layering on some blarney about being the careful type who always checked for the location of any and all exits in a hotel, but given that she’d already told the bare basics of why she was there, why bother? She hadn’t yet made up her mind whether or not she’d tell the rest of it, but regardless of that, she had no one other than herself on whom to rely. She had to trust her instincts, and after Brad had found her the last time, her instincts told her to never go to sleep before she located an exit and planned how she would get to it, and out.

But there was something about Kat that made Carlin trust her, even on such short acquaintance. She couldn’t put her finger on it, couldn’t have articulated any particular detail that warranted trust, but there it was. Instinct, again. Instinct might keep her alive. God knows listening to others’ opinions of “Oh, he wouldn’t do that” hadn’t worked out, and she was guilty of that herself. She simply hadn’t wanted to believe Brad would go to such lengths, and now an innocent person was dead.

Turning from the window, she studied the other details of the room. A futon served as both couch and bed, with a single end table and a small reading lamp on the left. Against one wall was a clothes rack on wheels, as well as a single kitchen cabinet unit with a small microwave and a hot plate sitting on top: closet and kitchen taken care
of in a six-foot expanse of wall space. Other than that, there was a round bistro table maybe two feet in diameter and a single chair. She could see into the bathroom: it consisted of a toilet, a not-very-roomy shower unit, and a single sink, above which hung an old-fashioned medicine cabinet.

She could tell a lot about Kat simply by looking at this room, primarily that she didn’t entertain men up here, she wasn’t a fussy woman who required a lot of creature comforts around her, and she took care of the necessities first.

“It’ll do,” she said, her tone definite. Luxurious? No. But the spare quarters met all of her needs, and even without the private bath it was far superior to sleeping in the Subaru, which she’d done more than once, and didn’t like.

“No TV up here,” Kat said, “but there’s one downstairs in the kitchen. And there’s a toaster oven down there, too, if you want to bring it up. You get two meals a day, which will be whatever I’m serving that day. I do breakfast and lunch, open at five o’clock April through September, six o’clock the rest of the year, and I close at three—which means you stopped by at a good time, because after you’ve unpacked you can help me close and we’ll have time to talk.”

“I can unpack later. Put me to work,” Carlin replied, barely able to believe her good luck. A place to stay, plus food? That more than made up for the low pay. With two meals a day, if she timed it right, she wouldn’t need to eat dinner at all. She could get by with a late breakfast and then a mid-afternoon meal, maybe right before closing. Or she could eat half of her lunch and take the other half up for dinner. Either way, that was a big money-saver.

“All right then, let’s get started,” Kat said, handing the door key over, then heading back down the stairs. Carlin
slipped the key into her pocket, but didn’t lock the door behind her. If she had to move fast, she didn’t want a locked door in her way. She started to drop her jacket on the futon, but at the last second caution made her keep it in her hand. No matter how tiny the chance that she might have to run, she wanted the jacket close by.

The three stool-riders were still in place at the counter, but as soon as Kat reappeared they grabbed their tickets, slid from the stools, fished tip money out of their pockets, then ambled toward the cash register situated at the end of the counter closest to the door. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told Carlin they were leaving with ten minutes to spare. Kat efficiently rang up the tickets, ignored one customer’s attempt to flirt, and as soon as the last one left she flipped the sign on the door so it said “Closed,” then turned the lock.