One Wish (12 page)

So she started at the beginning, born into figure skating, the daughter of a champion and coach, the bullying from jealous girls, pranks aimed at hurting her skating, the exhausting training and travel and no friends.

“The coaches demanded everyone behave nicely toward each other, but when the coaches weren’t looking... The rest of them were all so close,” she said. “They shared hotel rooms to save costs and I stayed alone. My mother would rent big town houses that came with domestic help and everyone thought because of that, I had it so easy, why wouldn’t I do well? It came up in every interview and article—as if all we had to do was write a check and first place was mine. All I wanted, the whole time I was growing up, was to be like everyone else.”

“Nothing nastier than jealous teenage girls,” he said. He gave her cheek a little stroke.

“If I cried or pouted they called me poor little rich girl.”

“And yet there were millions of girls all over the country who watched you skate with envy and adoration.”

“But I never met them. The happiest day of my life wasn’t winning the gold—it was handing it to my mother and walking away.”

“Where did you go?”

“To Mamie and Ross. They were a couple without children who had worked for my mother since she was a girl—over thirty years. He was a driver and she was a housekeeper. They were always so good to me and when they left my mother’s employment they opened a flower shop in Portland. They trained me in the business.”

“Is there no other family?”

“Remember I told you about a cousin who wrote me asking for a loan?” He nodded. “That wasn’t a cousin and it wasn’t a loan. That’s a half brother, Barry, who is twenty years older than me. My father and his first wife divorced years and years before my mother knew him. He supported his ex-wife and Barry until Barry was twenty-one. He’s forty-eight now and has been asking for money his whole life, but I don’t remember even three times he visited. My dad gave him money sometimes—my parents fought about it. When my father died, he didn’t leave Barry anything. I don’t know where he is. Last I heard from him, when I told him there was no money, he was in Texas.”

Troy immediately smelled an ill wind. “Maybe Barry is still butt sore about that,” he said, tapping the envelope in her hand.

She handed it to him. “I never had a relationship of any kind with him—he was grown when I was born. No, this is just like the note I remember from years ago. The only one I saw before I was snatched.”

“Could he know exactly what was in it?” Troy asked, opening it up and looking at the typed sentence.
I dream of you every night. B.
“It’s signed ‘B.’”

She shook her head. “That’s Bruno. Bruno Feldman. The man who held me in a supply closet until the police came. He’s been in a psychiatric hospital and I’m told he’s out and with family somewhere in Florida. Barry doesn’t know that’s what the notes looked like. No one knows—just me, my mother, Mikhail...”

“Mikhail?”

“My coach. One of my coaches. We keep in touch a little bit. Of course he was there at the time. Things got pretty crazy because the first notes came while my father was sick, then he snatched me after my father had died. So much happened at once.”

“
One
of your coaches?”

She nodded. “There was a team and several different coaches and instructors and trainers. Endurance training, ballet, ice work. For me there was also yoga, sports therapy, and then the tutors and homework.”

“How many hours a day was that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Every one of them, I think. It started early, ended late. That’s not even counting fittings for costumes, choreography, music...and did I mention homework? How about the number of nights I went to bed with bags of ice wrapped to my ass or calves?”

He smiled at her. “You earned those medals, Gracie. It was a lot to give up. But are you happy now?”

“I was,” she said, her eyes glistening again. “Until that came.” She sighed. “What kind of jollies does a person get out of just scaring me to death?”

He shook his head. “It’s not normal, you know. It’s sick and twisted. And from what you tell me, not entirely his fault.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I feel like I should run and hide.”

“That’s because you’re scared and upset. But it’s going to be all right. You’ll have to think things through a little, ask yourself some questions...” He got up and opened the little fridge. He didn’t find what he wanted, so he looked in the small wine rack on top and pulled out a bottle of Merlot. He opened it and poured a small glass for her. “Have a little of this and take a few deep breaths. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I really don’t expect you to—”

“You don’t expect me to help protect the girl I love?” he asked.

She stared at him. “You love me?”

“Of course I do, Gracie. Couldn’t you tell?”

“You never said anything about love...”

“I was waiting for you to trust me, to be honest with me. Look, I understand how you could want to escape that old life, as difficult as—”

“No, Troy, you don’t! I don’t want to be that person anymore! That friendless person so many people talked about and hated! Do you have any idea how painful it is to be the constant object of everyone’s jealousy? As if I had something that belonged to them? As if my mother’s money could buy anything—well, it can’t buy safety or a family or love!”

“And so many people admired you, also,” he said. “But, no matter what name you decide to use, I’m always going to think of you as Gracie. Everyone loves you. You’re not an overworked, abused, overexposed teenage girl anymore. And the first thing you have to let go of is all the secrecy. Your friends can’t watch out for you if they don’t know anything. When you let the cat out of the bag, people are going to wonder why in the world you’d keep an accomplishment like that a secret.”

“Because they don’t understand how hard it is to be in that life!”

“You’re not in it anymore, honey.” He laughed a little and grabbed the last cold beer out of her fridge. “I have to admit, I had trouble understanding why you’d hide that. Gracie, I get that a lot of it was hard, worse than hard, but it’s also an achievement. No one’s going to hate you for it.”

She sipped her wine. “We don’t know that for sure.”

“Yes, I know it. First thing we’re going to do is get you a couple of things for protection. I think we can find ’em online real easy and get them sent overnight. Maybe some pepper spray. How about a stun gun? A Taser.”

“I have to admit, there are a few people I’d like to zap...”

“That’s my girl. Only bad guys, okay, baby? Then we’re going over to see Seth. He needs to know there’s been this contact. I don’t know if you’d call it a threat, exactly, but it’s creepy and he’s the law around here. Besides that’s a good time for you to unload all this on your best friend. You know you can trust Iris to accept you as exactly who you are, no kidding.”

“I guess,” she said.

Ten

I
ris’s house was the scene of quiet domesticity. It almost brought tears to Grace’s eyes, she was that envious. It wasn’t quite seven and apparently they were just getting around to dinner. Seth had changed out of his deputy’s uniform into a pair of jeans and a sweater. Since Troy had called and asked if he and Grace could stop by to have a word with them, Iris had added two plates to their dinner table.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Grace said.

“But of course I should have! And I apologize—it isn’t much. I was just about to put in a frozen pizza and since you wanted to stop by, I pulled out a second. To my embarrassment, I have a good supply of frozen pizzas! I doctor them a little—extra pepperoni, cheese and mushrooms.”

“That’s almost like cooking, right?” Seth said. “Come in. Let’s toast whatever you have on your mind.”

“I don’t think this is toastable, but it’s definitely drinkable. Grace has something to tell you. Then we could use a little help,” Troy said.

“Absolutely,” Seth said. “Let’s sit in the kitchen.”

“I hope nothing’s wrong,” Iris said, pulling out a chair for Grace.

“Something’s wrong,” Grace said. “I’ll try to give you the short version. I haven’t been entirely honest with you about my past. My life. I’m not exactly who you think I am. I’m sorry—it’s not that I didn’t trust you.”

By now it was getting a little easier to talk, since telling Troy was the hard part. She got the whole story out without
all
the details about daily life as a competitor, in about fifteen minutes. Iris, stunned by this new information, punctuated the story with
Seriously?
You’re kidding me!
and
Holy crap!

“My God, you’re famous,” she finally said. “I thought you looked familiar but couldn’t place the resemblance.”

“Only famous at certain times and in certain places, but I’m not that competitor anymore. Which is why I didn’t say anything. And it’s also why this freaked me out. This guy was obsessed with me.” She slid the envelope toward Iris while she explained what had happened with Bruno.

Iris passed the note to Seth, who frowned when he read it. “Is this the only contact?” he asked.

“There hasn’t been anything since he was put in the hospital. And only my parents and the police knew about the way the note was written—that one typed line and the initial
B
. Could he still be obsessed with me?”

“Anything is possible,” Seth said.

“Can you find out if he’s still secure with his family in Florida?” Troy asked.

“I’ll make some calls. I’ll get in touch with the police department there. Do you know the name of the psychiatric facility?”

She gave it to him. “When my old coach checked, he was told he wasn’t a patient any longer, that he lived with his family.”

“Grace,” Iris said. “This envelope has no postal stamp on it.”

“Huh?”

She gave the envelope to Seth. “It wasn’t postmarked,” she repeated. “It must have been slipped into your mailbox.”

“Oh, God,” Grace said weakly. “He’s
here
?”

“Let’s not make assumptions,” Seth said, reexamining the envelope and then slipping the note inside. The envelope went in his pocket. “I’m going to look into this. Iris, get those pizzas in, okay?” He immediately turned his attention back to Grace. “Let me tell you something, Grace. If there’s an odd stranger lurking around Thunder Point, he’s going to stand out like a wart on my nose and even without telling anyone I’m looking, someone’s going to tell me. Especially on the main street that runs through town, past all the businesses. Gina never misses a thing, I miss less. Waylan was robbed about ten years ago and he’s still talking about it, still checking every face on the street. In fact, this whole mystery will be easier to solve if some stranger came around and slipped the note into your mail slot.”

Iris put a glass of wine at her place and Grace’s and asked Troy what he’d like. Then a couple of beers appeared in front of Troy and Seth. After sliding the pizzas into the oven, Iris sat down again.

“But,” Seth went on, “I’m going to tell my staff and the business neighbors that a suspicious note was left in your mail slot and I’m looking for who could have done that to be sure you’re safe. In the meantime, put a note on the door to ring the bell and lock the front and back doors. I’ll find out about your former stalker, but I may not hear back from anyone until the morning. Listen, I don’t know if you’ll take this as good news or bad, but I would be very surprised to find some mentally ill patient from fourteen years ago is still obsessed with you and made it across an entire continent, made himself invisible and shook you up with a copy of an old note. I think this is something else altogether.”

“But no one knows about this,” she said.

“That’s seldom the case, especially after so long. I have no idea what the motive could be, but I doubt this is still a closely held secret.”

“But who would do this? Who could possibly care?” she asked.

Seth shook his head. “I don’t know. Yet. But I’ll be looking for a reason. And you have to think about it, too. Maybe an enemy? Someone who thinks you have money? Have you ever been followed by reporters? A jealous family member?”

“Your mother?” Troy asked. “She’s not happy with your decision to leave competition and you said she’s really controlling.”

“I can’t imagine,” Grace said. “She’s been impossible and demanding but, to her credit, she’s never been underhanded.”

“Maybe you should contact her,” Seth said. “Try to get a read on her.”

“I’d hate to do that. We’ve been estranged since I left competition.”

“Well, give it serious thought,” Seth said. “And keep the doors locked.”

“I won’t leave Grace alone,” Troy said. “I’ll make sure she’s safe in her shop before I go to school tomorrow. And we’re going to get some self-defense things. You know—pepper spray and a Taser.”

Seth groaned. “God, I hate when people do that. People get hurt. Waylan got himself a Taser—the kind that shoots out the prongs. He accidentally Tasered his cat.”

“I have guns,” Troy said.

Seth groaned again, louder. “I assume Grace is not trained in firearms.”

“I am,” Troy said. “But they’re for hunting. And you’re right, she’s so small I’d be afraid it would only put a shotgun or rifle in the hands of someone who shouldn’t have it.”

“Hey,” Grace interrupted. “Am I a part of this discussion? Because I kind of like the idea of having some kind of weapon! The bigger and scarier, the better!”

“Are those guns in a safe place?” Seth asked Troy.

“They’re in my apartment and there’s a great lock on the door. I replaced the apartment lock with a couple of good dead bolts because I have some expensive equipment in there. They’re not loaded. Like I said, I do a little hunting.”

“Make sure they stay unloaded,” Seth said.

“I can keep her safe until you’re back on duty tomorrow,” Troy said.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you in action,” Seth said with a chuckle. “That takedown at the high school a few months ago, that was dramatic. You were showing off, but it was helpful.”

“Helpful,” Troy said sarcastically, speaking of the day Iris was threatened by a very big, very angry and abusive student and Troy happened to be there at the right time. Seth was there
second
.

The men talked about that incident while Iris took the pizzas out of the oven, let them sit on the counter for a few minutes to cool. Then Grace and Iris stood at the counter, cutting up the pizzas.

“Iris, I can’t eat. I’m sorry,” Grace said.

“I know it’s not chicken soup, but you should have something. A bite or two. Don’t be afraid now—Troy and Seth are on this.”

“He didn’t say anything about staying with me until we came over here.”

“Grace, don’t you know how he feels about you? He’s crazy about you! And I can’t believe you were this famous person and were afraid to tell me!” Iris said.

“I wasn’t afraid. I just wanted you to like me for who I am—a flower girl.”

“How could you doubt that? You’re the best flower girl this town has ever seen.”

“Oh, jeez, what am I going to do?” Grace said. “I have weddings in April! I can’t shut down! I can’t run! You know brides—they’re all on such a weak string to start with. Every small thing that goes wrong turns them insane. Their flowers have to be on time and perfect.”

“You don’t have to shut down. I can’t explain how this would be possible but I bet this note is some kind of ugly prank. Seth will find out. He’s not only very good at this sort of thing, he’s committed. He’s a good cop.”

* * *

Grace and Troy took a swing by his apartment so he could gather up some clothes, his backpack and laptop so he wouldn’t have to go home in the morning before work. Grace was restless through the night, even with Troy beside her. She tossed and slept little and had one terrible dream, but it was not about Bruno. She was skating but her costume wasn’t covering her body and her legs wouldn’t move. She couldn’t see the audience but she could hear them laughing. There was one face—her biggest rival, Fiona, laughing at her, pointing, howling.

In the dream, Grace worked harder. She tried relaxing and focusing and her legs began to move, but something about what she was doing was horribly difficult. She realized she was trying to skate uphill; the ice was slanted sharply upward. Her heart was pounding and her stomach ached, but she strove for poise. She looked down at her feet and the skates were gone, replaced by her Ugg boots. All the pressure of performance crippled her; all the fear of failure brought that lump back to her throat and she knew she couldn’t do it, that it would be a disaster. Worse than that, she looked like a fool. She tried to skate in boots while covering her breasts where the costume had fallen away. And what costume was that? Some purple tulle thing that looked ridiculous!

Her heart raced and she woke up with a sob, gasping.

“Hey now,” Troy whispered. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

She curled into him and tried to slow her pulse. She wanted to tell him she hadn’t been afraid—she’d been back in that stressed place, the weight of performance anxiety bearing down on her.

Troy’s arms were around her and she came back to her senses—it was just a silly dream. Nothing like that had ever happened to her. But she had felt those feelings before—the fear that she’d biff it and go slamming into the ice. Her mother would harp on it for ages, pointing out every flaw. In fact, even her best skating seemed not to be good enough.

She had so loved skating, yet every day of her life had been filled with the burden of anxiety and desperation.

Troy’s lips were on her neck and she turned in his arms to meet his mouth with a kiss so hungry she all but consumed him. He growled deep in his throat and his hands were urgently moving. She parted her legs for him and with a deep groan he rolled her onto her back. He reached for a condom and then he reached for her. His fingers massaged her roughly; she was slick with desire. She pulled him to her, her hands on his butt. He was quickly inside her, pumping expertly. She couldn’t be quiet. Her sighs turned to soft moans as she met him thrust for thrust.

This is the only place I want to be
, she thought with a mixture of gratitude and despair. Her orgasm was so tight and hard Troy stopped breathing for a second. Then he slammed into her and pulsed with incredible power, making her come all over again.

They lay panting, clinging to each other. They were silent for a long time before Troy spoke. “That should help you sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” she said, gently stroking his back. “I just want this.”

“Do you now?” he asked with a chuckle. He brushed her hair back from her face and kissed her again. “Sometimes you make me wonder if I have any control at all.”

“It seemed like you had plenty.”

“No, sweetheart. I definitely lost my head. Gracie, if we’re going to get ahead of this thing with the note, you’re going to have to be very brave. You’re going to have to get back some of that feisty girl. Like the little witch I met on Halloween night—full of attitude. You’re going to have to trust some people to help you.”

She was quiet for a moment. He had no idea how strong she’d had to be! Since she was just a little girl.

But then she remembered she had won the gold by being pissed off and single-minded. She had decided to give it everything she had. “You really haven’t seen me in action yet,” she finally said.

In the morning, they proceeded as planned. After showering and eating a light breakfast, Troy made sure she was secure in the shop behind locked doors. At midmorning, Seth rang the bell and she let him in.

“Well?” she asked.

“I hope you consider this good news because I do. Your stalker, Bruno, is safely monitored in a group home in Hillsboro County, Florida. He takes his meds and visits his sister regularly and has not been out of contact with his sponsors for even twenty-four hours since entering the group home. According to his sister, he has not had delusions about you for over a dozen years, thanks to his medication.”

“And that’s good news?” she asked. “Then who’s trying to drive me insane?”

“Easy, Grace. It’s a mean prank. But there was no threat.”

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked.

Seth frowned, she couldn’t miss it. “I’m going to be vigilant. I’m going to tell Gina, Carrie, Waylan and Dr. Grant that someone left an anonymous note that frightened you and we don’t know who or why. I’m going to ask them to watch for strange or suspicious persons. That’s about all I can do.”

“Can’t you do something more? Like check it for fingerprints or something?”

“No, Grace,” he said. “I know you feel vulnerable and I’m going to keep my eyes open for this joker, but there hasn’t been a crime. Your shop or residence hasn’t been broken into, no one has threatened you. I have no reason to think you’re in danger. I think you should be cautious and alert—definitely let me know if there’s further contact—but even though it’s suspicious and suggests a link to an old, resolved crime, at this point it’s nothing more than an innocuous note. In itself, the note isn’t even malicious. In fact, it could be a coincidence that the wording is the same.”