Unseen (8 page)

She’d holed up inside for nearly a week, familiarizing herself, letting her bruises heal, letting herself heal. In that time she’d read nearly every scrap of paper she could find that had to do with the family’s finances, the past year’s calendar of events, the information on both her parents’ deaths. She’d gone through the filing cabinet and rifled through boxes in the attic until her eyes burned and her head ached, and she’d slept a great deal. The urgency she’d felt at the hospital—the need to apparently right some wrong—had eased to a simmer now that she was home. Maybe it was knowing that Edward Letton was still in the hospital, still in a coma. If he’d awakened and been released, she believed she would have heard it on the news, and at any rate, she just sensed that he was still there and for now, at least, she was going to trust her feelings.

She had not found her purse, nor did she have any recollection about her mother’s car, which according to Tanninger, who’d phoned to ostensibly keep her informed, was a silver Camry. That had caused shivers of fear to run up and down her spine. Was that what she’d been driving? If, and when, it turned up would it prove that she’d run down Edward Letton?

But what she had found among the papers was her medical insurance information, and she’d called hospital administration right away, happy that maybe she wasn’t going to be made destitute by her stay there. At least that was taken care of.

She’d spent most of the last week dwelling on something else, though: what her day-to-day life had been like before the accident. She had flashes of being in her mother’s office and seeing clients, people who wanted a glimpse into their own futures. But she also remembered working at LuLu’s, though those memories weren’t as clear. Maybe her time at the diner was further in the past. Whatever the case, she was driving there now. She felt ready to see people again, though she wondered what, if anything, they’d heard about her and the Letton hit-and-run. She really had no idea how much, or how little, of the information tying her to that accident had been obtained by the media.

LuLu’s was a nondescript, one-story rectangular building with dark green shingled siding, a transparent attempt to put lipstick on a pig. The empty flower beds on either side of the wooden steps that led to weather-beaten French doors didn’t help. Even the green-and-white striped awning above the doors seemed like an afterthought, and maybe not a very good one. But still, seeing the place brought back wave upon wave of memories. She’d loved LuLu’s. Had filled those flower boxes with red petunias. Had worked as a waitress here, though she couldn’t remember her mother on the premises…hmmm…

Gemma pulled the truck into the side gravel lot, yanked on the emergency brake, cut the engine, then as it coughed and shook itself to silence, she headed up the four front steps and stepped beneath the awning to avoid the surprisingly hot sun. The rain had vanished after a couple of drenched days, and now the ground was as hard and dry as before.

She twisted open the right French door, as she knew the left was fixed in place, entering immediately into the main dining room. Straight ahead was a counter with stools and behind it she could see the stainless-steel appliances and paraphernalia of the kitchen.

The familiarity of the place soaked in, right to her core, and Gemma inhaled deeply, feeling more solidly connected to herself than she had since waking up in the hospital. LuLu’s. Her home away from home.

“Hey, sugar,” a female voice called from behind the counter. Gemma looked over and saw a tall, red-haired woman in a beige uniform with a white collar, the front pockets gaping open to reveal notepads and pens. Her large bust was propped up with a sturdy bra and she wore enough eye makeup to open her own department store. She was grinning with delight at Gemma. “You look like hell, honey. Get over here.”

“Macie,” Gemma said, a rush of pleasure flooding her. Macie was the one who ran the diner. Macie was the one who’d treated Gemma like a daughter when Jean was at a complete loss, never flagging in that role even when she had her own child, Charlotte, now eleven.

And Macie was the one who never rolled her eyes in embarrassment or repressed anger when Gemma’s debilitating headaches and memory losses bewildered the young girl.

It all clicked together. The diner was Macie’s, not Jean’s. The LaPorte family leased the premises to Macie, and had for as long as Gemma could remember. Gemma was now Macie’s landlord but she’d spent many happy hours in her youth working as a waitress.

“Good grief, girl, you look like somebody smacked you silly.” She regarded Gemma with real concern. “What happened?”

“I was in a car accident.”

“Woowee. You okay?”

“My face looks worse than it feels.”

Macie cocked her head. “I could show you a thing or two about makeup. Would take care of all them bruises, I do believe. But you ain’t never let me take a mascara brush to you yet, so I think I’ll just save my breath. Besides, you’ve got it under control. Another couple of days or so and no one’ll be able to tell. Anybody else hurt?”

Gemma thought of Edward Letton. “Not that I know of,” she said carefully. “I gotta get down to the DMV. Lost my purse and now I’m driving without my license.”

“That’ll be the time you get stopped.”

“Don’t I know it.” She glanced around. “Charlotte at school?”

“God, I hope so. That child’ll be the death of me if she gets into more trouble.”

“What’s she done?” Gemma smiled, her mental picture of the skinny, tough girl coming into focus. Charlotte wore her hair in a short bob and the scowl on her face said most adults were idiots.

“Just leaves in the middle of her last class. She’s done it four times already. Just walks out. School’s only about two miles from the diner, so she takes off and shows up here. Meanwhile, I get calls from the administration.” She flapped a hand. “They threaten her with detention and black marks and the whole enchilada, but it doesn’t faze her. She told me the teacher’s a bore.”

Gemma’s smile grew. Charlotte was everything she’d ever wanted to be, at her age. She felt bonded to the child as if they were sisters.

That thought brought her stomach a funny wave of discomfort.

If anything should ever happen to Charlotte…

“Macie!” an impatient male voice called from across the room. A guy in a plaid workshirt, jeans, and workboots was holding up an empty coffee mug.

“Hold on to your knickers, Captain. I’ll be right there.” To Gemma, she murmured in an aside, “Still thinks he’s the only one in the place.” She sauntered toward him, snagging the coffeepot from a plugged-in burner on her way.

Gemma sat at the last booth in the row, which was wedged into an alcove, and ordered a sandwich. Her favorite spot. She’d spent a lot of hours at the diner, either working or seated at this very table, catching a meal in between shifts. This was the epitome of normality. This was the arena of her fondest memories.

“Did you ever find that guy?” Macie asked when she had a spare moment. She set the coffeepot back on the burner and sent Gemma a questioning look.

“Which guy?”

“The one you were chasing? The one you had to stop?”

Gemma stared at Macie as one of the other waitresses, whose name tag read Denise, brought Gemma her turkey on rye. She felt slightly strangled, like she couldn’t get her breath. “The accident knocked things out of my head.”

“The accident?” Macie gave her a
oh, come on
look. “Since when do you need an excuse for your on/off brain. You know it works better than most.” She shot the man she’d called Captain a searing glance. “A case in point…”

“What guy did I have to stop?”

“You tell me, girl. All I saw was you getting all worked up and tearing outta the diner lot like you’d seen a ghost. I thought it was that guy sitting in the booth by the door ’cause you waited till his vehicle was outta sight before you ran to your momma’s car.”

“My momma’s car…” Gemma repeated, her heart jerking. So, it was true…

“Well, it wasn’t
your
car, now was it?” Macie declared.

“I guess not.”

“Hon, you told me yours was on its last legs, so you sold it. Don’t you remember?”

“Kind of,” Gemma lied.

“Well, no matter.” She shrugged it off. “You said you were just driving your momma’s temporarily. It’s kind of a wreck, to be perfectly honest. Jean sure didn’t know how to take care of things. Sorry, hon, bless her soul, but your momma was kind of in her own world. Best thing she ever did was adopt you. Really about the only truly selfless thing she did, but then we know how that turned out, don’t we? What are you gonna do about her business, now? Sally Van Kamp was asking if you were ever gonna call her back.”

“Not sure I have her number,” Gemma murmured. She felt bombarded with information, yet Macie was only telling her the kind of information she’d craved to learn. Psychic readings. That’s the business Macie meant. Sally Van Kamp wanted a psychic reading from Gemma. All of Jean’s clients had tenaciously hung in there whether Gemma wanted to tell them their futures or not.

“She said she left it on the machine.”

“Oh.” There were messages on the house voice mail but Gemma hadn’t known how to retrieve them.

And then as soon as that thought crossed her mind, the series of numbers to access them came to her as if they had always been there. Her on-again/off-again brain, according to Macie. This was beginning to feel like normal for Gemma.

I’m a freak. Accept it and move on.

“You gonna come help me out again? I had two high school kids but since school’s started they don’t have any time to give me. Always want summer jobs, but they whine and whine if they have any social activity at all.”

“I’d love to.” Gemma seized on the idea. Working at the diner sounded…good.

“Yeah? Well, you put yourself together for a couple more days. Get rid of the remnants of that eye.” She held Gemma’s chin and moved her face from side to side. “Honey, you just bashed yourself good, didn’t ya?”

Her caring tone caused a ripple of emotion to run through Gemma’s heart, leaving her throat hot. She swallowed hard and said, “I’ll come in for an afternoon just to get started again. Will I see Charlotte?”

“Oh, you know she’ll be around.”

Gemma left her booth and lifted a hand in good-bye, then hesitated at the door. “When was that? When I chased that guy out?”

Macie lifted a shoulder. “’Bout a week ago, or so.”

“You didn’t recognize him?”

“Wasn’t a regular.”

“What did he look like?” Gemma asked.

“Like every other middle-aged man in the world. I kinda thought he was from around here, but I can’t remember why. He had a baseball cap on, I think. Or maybe that was the other guy, the one that left right after you did. I don’t know. It was the morning crowd and they were all hungry. I wasn’t paying all that much attention except that you were kinda wild-eyed.”

“I almost remember,” Gemma said.

“Almost only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades,” Macie responded automatically. One of her favorite expressions.

Gemma smiled faintly. “The guy that left after me. What did he look like?”

“More apish,” Macie said after a moment of thought. “Rounded shoulders like he worked out too much.”

Gemma was heading out when Macie caught her by the arm. “Have you thought about seeing Doc Rainfield?” she asked.

“What?” Gemma asked.

“If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly okay, y’know. But that shrink doctor of yours has helped before. He’s a nice guy.”

Gemma suddenly pictured the older man with the creased, sad face. He was a nice guy. And he had helped her.

“Your momma had her fits with him, but I always thought you and he connected. Do what you want.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “Just, if things are bad…he might be able to help.”

With that she scurried off to deal with another order and Gemma left the diner.

Looking in the mirror, Lucky realized she’d been injured far worse than she’d originally thought. She shrank inside herself at the bonanza of colors: green, purple, brown, that ran down the side of her face and covered one eye. That eye was a problem. Blood had drained into the white part and turned one corner a sickening scarlet, which was slowly fading to magenta-ish pink. She’d had to wait over a week for her face to stop being such a show stopper. She’d waited impatiently, afraid Letton would be released from the hospital before she could take care of him permanently—the bastard had had the nerve to survive!—but apparently she’d hurt him pretty damn bad because he was still languishing there.

Good.

She’d used the time to recover herself. She kinda hurt all over. The seat belt had left a deep bruise and it was a little tricky to take a deep breath.

But with each tick of the clock she’d grown stronger. And now that she’d purchased actual rose-colored glasses, her magenta-filled eye looked damn near normal. If she went to Letton’s room in the early evening, maybe around dinnertime when there was more hustle and bustle and confusion around the hospital, she might not be noticed as much. But she would have to be careful. Find a way to disguise herself.

She cocked her head and considered. One more day? Two?

If Letton were released that would compound her problems. She needed to wrap her hands around the man’s throat and choke the life from him. Or smother him with a hospital pillow. There would be sweet irony in having his place of healing turn into his place of death.

Her temple throbbed and she pressed fingers hard against it, as if pushing the pain back inside.

And then she was hit by a wave of something like lust. Not her own. A sample of what Letton had felt when he was eyeing prepubescent girls. It left Lucky feeling sick, spent and bent over, hacking, on the verge of throwing up. Saliva ran from her mouth; the precursor to vomiting. She wiped it away and drew several breaths, straightening with an effort, staring at her reflection in the mirror. This wasn’t the first time she’d been able to sense—physically sense—what someone felt. It was a kind of psychic ability she neither understood nor wanted, but it was something she’d been born with and it had sent her on this quest. This mission.