Home to Whiskey Creek (Whiskey Creek #4)(25)
Author: Brenda Novak

Her grandmother didn’t like her leaving. Addy could tell by the disapproval on her face. But Gran didn’t try to stop her. She was probably afraid to push too hard for fear she’d get the kind of backlash she’d always gotten from Adelaide’s high-strung mother. “Don’t be gone long, okay? It’s almost ten-thirty.”

Addy welcomed the late hour. It brought darkness and solitude and a chance to enjoy the crisp fall air. Halloween, one of her favorite holidays, was only a week away. She had so many fond memories of the hayrides and trick-or-treating in this town. She wanted to savor all the good things she associated with Whiskey Creek. She also needed a respite, needed to feel inconspicuous and anonymous and in control of her life, even though her love for Gran was forcing her to give up everything that had insulated her from the past. She’d thought that when she returned, she and Noah would have little or no interaction.

Her Toyota 4-Runner started immediately, but it wasn’t running smoothly. Over the past several months, she’d had it in and out of the shop. It was getting old and should be replaced—but she couldn’t afford another vehicle right now.

Feeling the engine’s rough idle, she wondered if she should venture out. But she couldn’t make herself go back inside. She had her heart set on seeing if she could find what they’d hit when she grabbed the steering wheel of her abductor’s truck. Whatever it was, they’d smashed into it hard enough to do some damage.

That meant there should also have been an exchange of paint.

Although she’d been pretty disoriented at the time, she knew which way he’d turned out of Gran’s drive because she knew where he’d been planning to take her. Anyone heading to the mine from Gran’s would go left. Only one road went in that direction—the main road that snaked through town—and they hadn’t been in the vehicle long before she caused the accident.

From what she could remember, it was something like…an eighth of a mile.

Addy crept along, studying every obstacle on the right-hand side. When she’d grabbed the wheel, she’d jerked it toward her, simply because that was the only way she could use her body weight, and they’d veered into a slight gully before slamming against—

There it was. The cinder-block retaining wall separating the lawn mower shop from Lovett’s Bridal.

After a brief check in her rearview mirror, she put on her brakes, but someone was coming up behind her, so she turned into Lovett’s and waited for that car to pass before walking over to take a closer look. This had to be the place. She could see the damage. The wall had a big crack in it and streaks of paint—white paint.

Standing back, she took a picture of it with her cell phone. She wasn’t sure why. She just wanted some kind of proof that the vehicle Kevin, Tom, Derek or Stephen had used had been white.

Feeling uneasy about being out alone, she hurried back to her 4-Runner. But once she was inside, with her doors locked, she wasn’t quite ready to go home. She needed more time to regroup. So she drove through the center of town, past A Room with a View, a B and B that had taken over one of the prettiest Victorians; A Damsel’s Delights, which reminded her that she still had to thank Noelle for the necklace she was wearing; 49er Sweets, with its barrels of saltwater taffy; a photography studio called Reflections by Callie, owned by one of Noah’s closest friends; Harvey’s Hardware; Whiskey Creek Five & Dime and several other stores, most of which hadn’t changed since she’d left.

Just Like Mom’s was coming up on her right. Other than a few updated Halloween decorations, it hadn’t changed, either. Painted a tacky purple, it had a forest of fake flowers stuffed into window boxes that desperately needed to be emptied and cleaned. In order to sell it, she knew she should throw out the contents of those boxes, plant real flowers and give the place a facelift. But she’d come to help Gran, not upset her. She had to ease her grandmother into the idea of cutting ties with Whiskey Creek.

The restaurant stayed open until eleven every night except Fridays and Saturdays, when it closed at midnight. Since it was nearly eleven, there weren’t many people inside. When she passed she could see Darlene, with her brassy yellow hair, through one of the wide front windows holding a pot of coffee as she made the rounds.

Addy needed to determine how things were going at the restaurant, whether it was even viable to sell, and only Darlene could tell her. But before she dove into the management of the restaurant, she wanted to wait until she wasn’t sporting so much evidence of her ordeal.

Maybe she’d go in after the weekend, on Monday.

Beyond the restaurant was Crank It Up, Noah’s bike shop. It was as dark as the rest of the businesses, but she parked at the curb and gazed in at the posters she could see, thanks to the streetlights, near the register. Noah was featured in one of them, wearing a silver, sleek-looking helmet, a Crank It Up bike shirt and black spandex shorts that showed the muscles in his legs as he balanced, at a complete standstill, on a big red boulder. She didn’t recognize the cyclists in the other posters, except the autographed one of the disgraced Lance Armstrong.

She leaned forward, studying the Halloween Specials of bike tune-ups and other gear advertised on the windows, the green awning that hung over the walkway and the horse hitch that had been turned into a bike rack out front. Noah seemed to have done well for himself.

Would Cody be a partner in Noah’s business if…if she hadn’t caused that cave-in?

The thought of what she’d cost Noah made her sick. She hadn’t meant to kill Cody. She’d been acting out of desperation, pain and humiliation, had merely been trying to get away.

But that didn’t change the harsh reality.

With a sigh, she twisted around to look down the street. Normally, she loved the Halloween decorations shop owners put up at this time of year. But tonight the glowing jack-o’-lanterns and gauzy ghosts that adorned so many windows, doors and trees seemed to be jeering at her. The fake cemeteries were even worse, since she knew Cody had been buried just around the bend, in the real cemetery located next to the only “haunted” B and B in the Sierra Nevada foothills.

She wondered if the newly dubbed Little Mary’s really had a ghost—because if the girl who’d been killed in 1871, possibly by her own father, could come back, maybe Cody could, too.

Feeling a chill, she rubbed her arms. She didn’t need Cody’s ghost to frighten her. His four live friends posed enough of a risk.