Sunshine Cottage Read online

  "I guess I'd better go now," she said reluctantly, wanting to just stay in the car. She was terrified, but didn't want to say so.

  But he noticed anyway. "Don't be scared. Just keep a low profile. Don't open up to anyone. Take it slow. Get the lay of the land. It's just like playing a part. You are Teri Forest. You are coming to Pajaro Bay because?"

  "I'm the new literacy tutor," she answered automatically.

  "And you are from?"

  "Modesto."

  "You moved to Pajaro Bay because?"

  "I love the ocean." She'd never seen the ocean. Never even thought about it, really.

  He was still going through the catechism.

  "Your parents are?"

  "Dead," she said. "Might as well be," she added.

  "Your best friend's name is?"

  "Sandra Murphy. You don't look like a Sandra," she added.

  He laughed. "On the phone no one will know."

  "About the phone…?" she started up the old argument.

  "No cell phone," he said firmly. "We went over this. We still don't know how much Vicario has figured out. It's too easy to track you through a phone. Too easy to hack it. And you'll be tempted to get in touch with people from your old life. Don't. Make a clean break. I'll be your connection to anything you need to know. I'll call you at your job, and there's a landline in your apartment. Now, what did you study in college?"

  "I got an associate's degree in library science at the community college." She felt a pang. That would have been nice, instead of the GED she'd completed online during her time in the safe house.

  "Which college?"

  "Modesto Junior College. What if I meet someone who went there?"

  "It has an enrollment of eighteen thousand. That's why I picked it. You could easily be overlooked."

  "My life story," she muttered. "I've never even been to Modesto. What if—"

  "You're just getting cold feet. No one's going to question anything you say. They'll believe whatever you tell them. Do you want to change your mind? We can do this a different way."

  She thought about it for a minute. Sat there on the cold vinyl seat of the government-issue undercover police car and watched the dashboard clock flash the seconds, ticking away the moments of her life.

  "We could get you a job at a Walmart in Bakersfield," he said. "You could rent a junky apartment, stay in your room when you aren't working, and come back home when we catch Vicario."

  He didn't say the last part, the part they'd talked about. The part about how that wouldn't really change anything, and she'd end up right back where she'd started.

  He had offered her something else, something he swore was worth all this extra lying. Something that could be like the lives in those books she had read on the cold nights when she felt alone and unloved and hopeless.

  "I've never seen the ocean," she finally said. She'd never seen anything. Anything but the dark underside of the city streets. But she had imagined it. She had used all those books from the library to place herself into a story where there was love, and opportunity—and hope. A fictional world. And he had told her it could be real. She didn't believe him, not really.

  He gave her a smile. "You can do it, Teresa. I believe in you."

  "Teri," she corrected automatically. She straightened up in the seat. "My name is Teri Forest."

  She grabbed her bag and reached for the door handle. She got out, slammed the door, and then turned to look back at this cop who had become her lifeline.

  He hit a button and lowered the window. "Hey," he said.

  She leaned in the car window. "Yeah?"

  He reached into the back seat again and pulled out a wrapped present. "Happy birthday, kid," he said. "Did you think I forgot?"

  "My birthday isn't until tomorrow."

  "I know. You'll arrive in Pajaro Bay tomorrow."

  "If it's half the town you described, that'll be enough of a gift."

  He shook his head. "You've gotta have something to unwrap, too."

  She took the package from him. The wrapping paper had balloons printed on it, like for a kid's present, and she could feel the spine of a book through the paper.

  There was a card on top, not a birthday card, but a postcard. It showed a roller coaster, red and white against a brilliant azure sky, and the caption said, Welcome to Pajaro Bay.

  She clutched the little postcard and the wrapped present to her chest, and watched as he put the car in gear. He gave her a fake-cheerful thumbs up, and she responded with her own, just as fake, just as cheerful.

  Then she went into the bus station to buy her ticket.

  She stopped in the restroom, and after, stood at the sink washing her hands.

  The mirror above the sink had swirling scratches in it from decades of harsh cleaners, and there was a gang sign in the corner made with a purple Sharpie.

  She saw a stranger staring at her in the mirror, and it took a second for it to register that the person was her.

  Her hair was shoulder-length now, and she hadn't put a drop of styling product in it. It swung loose about her shoulders, and after cutting six inches off the length it felt light against her scalp. Now that it was shorter it had a bit of natural wave to it, and she had fought all the temptation to mousse it and blow dry it into submission.

  Her new eyeglasses had taken some getting used to, but she now liked them: oval shaped, with bright red frames that set off her dark eyes and eyebrows and black hair.

  She dried her hands with the air dryer, noticing how the pale pink polish on her short nails made her hands look younger, somehow.

  She glanced down at her dress. It reminded her of one she'd seen in a tabloid picture of Duchess Meghan. It was sleeveless, A-line, fell to mid-calf, and had pockets in the side seams where she could put her keys or a lipstick if she wanted to. The color was navy blue, patterned with what looked like little dots at a distance, but which up close turned out to be tiny roses. It was what she imagined a literacy tutor in a small town would wear.

  She opened up her daypack and took out the matching sweater she'd picked out from a catalog. Blue with narrow white stripes, perfectly nautical for a little beach town. A bit hot in this stuffy bus station, but she didn't think her bare arms were totally right with the look she was going for. Buttoned up or no? She considered it in the mirror both ways, finally settling on unbuttoned for that casual yet conservative vibe.

  "Teri Forest," she whispered to herself. "You're Teri Forest." She gave herself a brave smile into the mirror, straightened her glasses, and then walked out of the bathroom to catch her bus.

  She made her way to the ticket window. There weren't too many people around at this hour, but there was a man in front of her in line, so she just crossed her arms and tapped her foot nervously while she waited for him to finish at the window.

  The customer was in the midst of some sort of an argument with the ticket seller.

  No, not an argument. The guy was not arguing. He was calmly, peacefully, even happily insisting that he needed to take his gigantic surfboard onto the bus with him.

  The ticket seller was, not nearly as calmly or happily, explaining that he should put it in the luggage compartment.

  "But ticket dude, I couldn't do that," the guy said. He shook his head. His shaggy black ponytail, held in place by a grimy bandana that had once been green, flopped back and forth to emphasize his words. "She's a present, and she could get scratched." He said the last as if the world would come to an end if the board—which Teresa could see was of a gorgeous polished wood—got a mark on it.

  "Your ticket entitles you to one seat. Not one seat for you and another one for your luggage," the ticket seller repeated, his eyes roaming the room, obviously looking for a security guard.

  "Oh!" the loopy surfer guy said, the light apparently dawning. "Is that all? I'll just buy her a ticket, Mister Ticket Dude." He pulled out some wadded bills from the pocket of his jeans, and the surfboard, which he let go of during this process, started to f
all.

  Teresa stepped forward and grabbed it before it could hit the ground.

  "Hey, pretty lady," the guy said with a big grin. "That's like real nice of ya. Hold on." Then he turned back to the ticket window and set down a bunch of the crumpled dollar bills. "Is that enough?"

  The ticket seller took the bills and counted out the right amount, then shoved the extra back to the surfer. He handed him another ticket. "Next!" he bellowed, obviously relieved.

  The surfer turned to her. "Thanks for taking care of her," he said with a big grin. "She's a present."

  "I heard that," Teresa said.

  "Yup," he said. "For my wife. Love her," he added unnecessarily. She wondered what kind of woman would be married to this strange guy—and whether she had any idea that she was about to get a huge surfboard for a present.

  The guy just stood there, grinning at her in a very loopy way that somehow made her smile back at his uncomplicated friendliness.

  "Um…," she said, nodding to the board that she still held.

  He took it from her, effortlessly slinging the giant thing under his arm. She and everyone else within ten feet stepped back when he turned around, swinging the massive board around in a circle. He turned back to face her. "Bye, pretty lady," he said. "You're a nice lady."

  Then he walked away, people parting as he obliviously swung the surfboard through the crowd toward the parked buses.

  She stepped up to the ticket window, finding herself grinning. A nice lady? She'd never been called that before.

  "One for Pajaro Bay," she said to the man.

  The seller handed her a ticket and some change. She turned and followed in the cleared wake of the surfer and his board, heading toward the parked buses.

  There was a stand of pay phones along the wall. She felt the pile of change in her hand. On an impulse, she gave a quick glance around, then went to one of the phones.

  You're the child, not the mother, had been one of Detective Graham's sayings, repeated whenever she had asked about what was going on at home. He had promised to keep on eye on her family, to make sure the rent was paid, but it took more than that to keep Mama out of trouble….

  She dropped some coins into the phone slot, and punched in the number.

  "Yeah?" a voice slurred, then the phone was dropped with a crash that almost busted her eardrum.

  "Mama?" she said into the phone. She could hear the incessant beat of music, and the murmur of different voices. Great. Partying.

  "Who's this?" came another voice when the phone was picked up off the floor.

  "Amy? It's me," Teresa said softly, then repeated it when the blare of the bus announcements over the loudspeaker drowned out her voice.

  "Teresa? Where have you been?"

  "I told you last time I called, I'm not going to be around for a while. You should be used to it by now. It's been months."

  "But we need money. For the rent."

  "I paid the rent. Direct to the landlord."

  "You didn't pay it."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Your sugar daddy did. Who is he?"

  "None of your business. It got paid. That's what counts."

  "Right. Now that you found yourself a big shot client, you think you don't need us."

  The thought of Detective Graham as a client was pretty crazy, but she let that assumption ride.

  Her sister was still whining about money. "You probably got all new clothes, too. Bet you look all fancy. Did he give you a car? Make him give you a car."

  "Yup," Teresa said quickly. "I'll do that. I've got to get back to my dude, so put Mama on real quick."

  "…maybe I can get a cut of whatever you're doing," her sister was saying.

  "Nope," Teresa cut in. "It's a one-woman deal. Look, just put Mama on."

  "In a minute. We need more money. If you won't cut me in, you gotta send more."

  "I'm covering the rent. The rest is up to you, Amy."

  "You don't even care about us."

  Right. That's why I'm spending most of my stipend money on you. She said out loud, "Look, are you gonna put her on the phone so I can talk to her or not?"

  "She's asleep. So where are you?"

  "Asleep? You mean she's nodding. Have you checked to make sure she's okay? You can check her breathing by—"

  "—I don't need a lecture from my baby sister. She's fine. But you could send us a little cash to tide us over."

  Cash they'd spend on drugs and then come back, demanding more. "Listen to me, Amy. This is important." She gripped the plastic handle of the phone tighter. "If something happens… you know where I hid the naloxone. It's still in the hiding place behind the sink in the bathroom, right?"

  "What?" Amy said.

  "The medicine. It's still there, right?"

  "Yeah, yeah."

  "I've got to go now, Sis. If she needs it… if you need it… if anyone there does…." She sighed. "Amy, just tell Mama I love her."

  "Last call for Route 90, Pajaro Bay," came over the loudspeaker just over her head.

  "Where are you?" Amy asked suspiciously.

  "With my sugar daddy, of course. I gotta go," Teresa said quickly. "Kiss Mama for me."

  She hung up the phone. Her hand lingered on the handset.

  Then the pay phone rang. Amy hitting redial, probably. Still wanting another shot at dragging some money out of her.

  She let go of the handset, slung her bag over her shoulder, and headed for the bus.

  Chapter Two

  Teresa let her head rest against the cold glass of the bus window and cradled her precious birthday present in her arms. The miles rolled by in the darkness until her head lolled forward and she fell asleep, the rumble of the wheels on the highway a lullaby beneath her feet….

  She was in her favorite mini skirt and her red stilettos. She had loved those heels. They made her feel tall and tough and somehow invulnerable. Eye-level with the men she dealt with. She walked down the dingy hotel hallway, seeing the glowing outline of the door frame in the darkness ahead of her, beckoning her forward….

  "You dropped your present," said a pleasant voice.

  Teresa opened her eyes, glad her dream had been interrupted before she got to that door.

  She took off her glasses to rub her hand across her eyes. Her face felt sweaty, as it always did when she dreamed like that.

  She put the glasses back on, then looked around to get her bearings.

  She must have only been asleep for a few minutes. The bus was still roaring down the freeway in the dark. Most passengers were sleeping. The surfer dude's snoring in the seat behind her was like a faulty motor rumbling at her back, his surfboard looming over her shoulder like a vulture.

  Up at the front of the bus, the din of raucous video game music was accompanied by the giggles of a little boy. His exhausted mother had tried in vain to settle him down for the first hundred miles, and now that he was occupied with his noisy game, no one on the bus would dare to interrupt the respite in his fussing to ask him to turn down the music.

  Teresa blinked her eyes in the semi-darkness and looked around, her gaze finally coming to rest on the elderly woman in the seat across the aisle from hers. The petite, silver-haired woman sat in the glow of the overhead reading light, knitting away on something small and blue, her legs crossed in a yoga pose on the narrow bus seat. "You dropped your birthday present," she repeated calmly.

  "Oh!" Teresa looked around and saw the precious package had landed on the floor at her feet. She picked it up and dusted it off. It was undamaged.

  "My godson's birthday is coming up, and I'm making him a sweater," the woman said, holding up the knitting project.

  Teresa nodded.

  "So whose birthday are you going to?" the woman asked, obviously dying to chat. She appeared to be a very sweet, wholesome lady, the kind who could turn on a dime to sneer and point in judgment at a girl like her.

  But she was Teri Forest at the moment, so she pulled back from the sarcastic, defensive c
omments that immediately sprang to mind to ward off criticism and just said, "it's my birthday." She looked out the window and saw a pale wash of dawn was beginning to break over the fields that flew past the windows. "It's my birthday today."

  "Well, happy birthday…"

  "—Teri."

  The woman's smile deepened. "Happy birthday, Teri." She reached the end of her row of knitting and turned it around. "I'm Pamela. Caleb will be three at his next birthday," she added. "My godson," she explained at Teresa's confused look. She lifted the knitting again. "I'm on my way to visit him. I've got to hurry to get this done."

  "Are you going to finish it before you get where you're going?"

  "Oh, no. I have plenty of time to finish. But I can't work on it when I'm with him—he's very observant. Are you going to one of the towns on the coast, or heading all the way to Southern California?" she asked. "I'm getting off in Pajaro Bay, so I only have a few hours left on this charming bus." She uncrossed her legs and turned toward the aisle to stretch out. She was so short she could stretch her legs straight out even in the cramped bus aisle. "Tai chi chih," she said when she noticed Teresa's expression. "I'm seventy-three and can do a ten-minute handstand. I recommend it highly."

  "Tai chi chih," Teresa repeated. "Okay."

  "So where are you headed?" the nosy woman asked.

  "Actually, I'm going to Pajaro Bay, too."

  "Oh? How nice." The woman recrossed her legs without even pausing her knitting, making the move look easy, then leaned closer, still knitting away, and said, "I haven't seen Caleb in a while. I wonder if he's learned about video games yet." She gave a pointed look toward the ruckus in the front of the bus, and Teresa smiled back.

  "Let's hope not," she said, and they shared a chuckle.

  It must be nice to be heading to a place where people were looking forward to seeing you. Teresa looked down at the present in her lap, feeling at the spine through the wrapping. A book. A thick one in hardcover. Detective Graham had of course known the gift that would make her happiest. What could it be? She was dying to open it, and wondered when would be the best time. Should she wait until tonight, when she would be spending a lonely evening in a rented room in a strange, unfriendly town? Or maybe save it until she had a really bad day, and needed the boost to keep her going?