Anonymously Yours Read online

  Anonymously

  Yours

  by

  Shirley McCann

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 by Shirley McCann

  Originally published by Wild Rose Press

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by AmazonEncore, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and AmazonEncore are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  eISBN: 9781503990326

  Cover Designer: Debbie Taylor

  This title was previously published by Wild Rose Press; this version has been reproduced from Wild Rose Press archive files.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  A word about the author...

  Chapter One

  “Damn it, Miss Thomas!” The booming voice echoed in the empty diner. I jerked my attention toward the cold stare of Harry Winslow’s narrowed eyes. “Stop daydreaming and get to work for a change.”

  Had someone come in? I wondered. My gaze flittered over the twelve empty tables.

  It isn’t my fault customers prefer the other two eating establishments in Clayfield to your greasy-spoon cuisine, I wanted to point out.

  “I was just finishing up,” I answered instead. I bit my tongue and quickly wiped away the remaining grime from the table I was cleaning. I placed the wet rag on the utility cart, then watched as a customer entered through the front door.

  “I realize it’s almost closing time,” Mr. Winslow said in his customary sarcastic voice. “But we have a customer. Would it be too much of an inconvenience for you to take his order?”

  “Right away,” I answered, vowing never to forgive my father for pushing me into this job. Dad thought it would be the perfect place for me to work while I waited to hear from the numerous job applications I’d submitted to law enforcement agencies. Thirty years ago, Dad and Harry Winslow had been high school classmates. So naturally when he asked his old friend to offer temporary employment to his only daughter, Mr. Winslow had obliged.

  At the front entrance, I reached for a menu from the wooden compartment on the side of the cashier’s booth and tucked it under my arm.

  “Guess this job isn’t nearly as exciting as digging up dirt on people for profit.”

  I leaned against the counter and sighed. It was the kind of statement I would expect to hear from Heather Marlow. She and I had been high school classmates also, but we were never considered friends. Acquaintances would be a more accurate term.

  “It’s definitely not the job I had in mind,” I answered with a forced smile. If my uncle Bob hadn’t reneged on his promise to hire me for the summer at his private investigator’s office, I wouldn’t be stuck working for the rotund, obnoxious Harry Winslow in the first place. I was sure everyone in town knew of my disappointment, but I didn’t plan to make this a permanent career.

  “At least Justin will be happy you’re not doing anything dangerous now that he’s back in town,” Heather remarked. “I’m assuming the two of you will be together again?” Talking with Heather about Justin Banks was not an option. Justin and I had been together since middle school. I was in sixth grade when he was in seventh, but we had parted ways just after his graduation five years ago. I’d heard he was back in town, but I hadn’t seen him yet. For all I knew, he had a wife and kids by now.

  Since I had no intention of discussing my love life—or lack of love life, as the case may be—with Heather or anyone else, I forced another smile and walked away.

  The last minute customer had already seated himself at table twelve near the back of the diner. With menu in hand, I approached him, where I was met with a set of unfriendly dark eyes.

  “Would you like a minute to look over the menu?” I asked, politely. All I needed was a customer complaint to Mr. Winslow. While it wasn’t the job I wanted, I still needed an income, no matter how small.

  “Just coffee,” the man replied sharply.

  “How about a piece of pie to go with that?” Three months of working at the diner had taught me to always suggest dessert.

  “Fine.”

  “Apple, cherry, or banana cream?”

  He drew in a long deep breath, then let it out quickly. His head lifted slowly, annoyance evident in the deep creases around his steely brown eyes. His coal black hair was slicked back away from his face, giving him the appearance of a gangster.

  “Apple,” he stated. His sharp tone indicated finality.

  Why me? I rolled my eyes. Why did I get all the weirdoes?

  Many times I’d been tempted to storm out and find something more suitable. Unfortunately there wasn’t exactly a stream of employers standing in line to offer me temporary employment. Clayfield, Missouri, was a small town, home mostly to farmers, retirees, and the few people willing to commute the long distance to Springfield, where there were more employment opportunities. I had to keep telling myself this job was only temporary until I landed the job I truly wanted. And living with my parents allowed me the opportunity to avoid housing costs while I searched for the perfect spot. I couldn’t wait until my application with the police department went through the appropriate channels.

  I returned promptly with the man’s order and placed it on the table along with his check. I watched while he reached for the sugar, shaking the small packet incessantly before ripping it open. He poured half into the steaming cup and half onto the table.

  As I watched him stir his coffee, my gaze strayed to the window facing the intersection. Approaching storm clouds darkened the sky. An uneasy feeling brought an involuntary shudder. A low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, causing me to regret my decision to walk to work instead of borrowing my mother’s minivan—my parents lived only a few blocks away. While I usually enjoyed the long walk to and from work to clear my mind, a walk in the pouring rain was something I hadn’t bargained for. And my parents were vacationing in Florida for the next two weeks, so begging for a ride home would do me no good either.

  A bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky, followed by a loud clap of thunder that shook the building.

  I glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until closing time. I considered asking Heather for a ride home. She loved showing off her new red sports car. Surely I could put up with her mindless chatter long enough to get home safely.

  I’d just picked up the coffee pot to offer a final cup of brew to my only customer when the front door swung open.

  Heather screamed, “Close the door!” The wind had caught the door, flinging it open longer than necessary, while a torrent of rain flooded the entrance.

  My heart skipped a beat when I recognized the tall, dripping wet, blond-haired young man bounding through the door.

  Justin struggled to pull it closed against the gusty wind and rain. “Sorry,” he said to Heather. “I hope this lets up before you go home. It’s quite a storm.”

  Heather reached up a manicured hand and smoothed her hair back into place. “Welcome home, Justin.” My stomach lurched. I knew Heather had a crush on Justin through high school. Apparently nothi
ng had changed. My eyes shot bullets when she leaned her voluptuous figure across the cashier’s booth, giving Justin more than just a casual glimpse.

  “Nice to see you again, Heather,” Justin replied. He removed his dripping raincoat and draped it across a hanger hear the entrance. “Again, I’m really sorry about the mess.”

  She waved her hand, brushing away his apology. “Couldn’t be helped.”

  “Am I too late for a cup of coffee?”

  Heather turned in my direction. “I’m sure Denise can come up with a cup.”

  I tried to evoke disinterest by keeping my gaze on the beverage cart, while my ears remained on alert. Although Justin and I had ended our relationship a few years ago, I’d never been able to get him out of my mind. Seeing him here now brought back feelings I thought had died.

  I waited to approach him until he seated himself at a table. Smoothing imaginary wrinkles from my work uniform, I made my way over to him. I inhaled a sharp breath before speaking. “The kitchen is closed.”

  Justin raised his wet head, his deep blue eyes melting my cool demeanor. It was hard to resist such a perfect specimen. His wavy blond hair contrasted with his deep golden tan. His damp shirt clung to his muscled body.

  He folded his hands on the table. “I heard you were working here,” he said. Our eyes met and held for an awkward moment.

  “I assure you, it’s only temporary.” His warm smile rekindled old memories. Portraying an ease I didn’t feel, I spoke again. “There’s still some pie left, if you’d like something to eat.”

  “Just coffee,” he replied. “If you’ll join me.”

  I noticed the pleading look in his eyes. I glanced around the diner for Mr. Winslow, nervously running my hand through my short thick hair.

  “You cut your hair!” His statement startled me. I quickly lowered my hand and faced him again.

  “Yes, I did,” I answered a bit too harshly. “I thought it would be a more suitable style for Uncle Bob’s office.”

  He bit his lower lip and weaved his fingers together. He seemed to be contemplating what to say. The subject of me working with my uncle Bob had always been a heated topic between us. I’d been prepared to work in law enforcement since the sixth grade. He heaved a heavy sigh before he spoke again.

  “So how about that coffee?” he asked, obviously trying to steer the conversation to a more neutral subject. “And your company, of course,” he added. “You will join me, won’t you?”

  “I don’t think my boss would like that very much.”

  I started to walk away when Justin reached for my hand. “Then promise me you’ll let me drive you home. I know you’re staying at your parents’ house for now.”

  I directed my attention toward the front of the diner. “Thanks for the offer, but I wouldn’t want to cause problems between you and your new girlfriend.” I spat out the words with a venom I didn’t know I possessed.

  His gaze followed my lead to where Heather was watching us with obvious disapproval.

  “Ah yes, Heather Marlow,” he said slowly. “You know, I thought she worked in the school office now. Is this just a temporary position for her as well?”

  “I have no idea,” I answered. “But she seems very interested in you. Why don’t you ask her yourself?” I didn’t mean for my jealousy to show its ugly face. I wished I could have taken back my venomous words.

  Justin turned back around, meeting my gaze. “She’s not my type. I don’t go in for gorgeous glamour girls.”

  I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or insulted. Fortunately I was saved by issuing any kind of response when a loud clap of thunder rattled the building again. “Looks like the storm is here to stay,” I said.

  Justin nodded. “Which means you need a ride, right? I know you. You’re the adventurous type. No way you drove here when it was so gorgeous out this morning. So how about it?” he asked. “Want the most irresistible, good-looking guy in town to escort you safely to your front door?”

  When I didn’t respond right away, he reached for my hand. The gesture felt good, familiar. “Please, Denise. I think we need to talk.”

  I hesitated only briefly before answering. “I think we do too,” I said. There was a surprising eagerness in my voice I couldn’t ignore. The truth was I had been hoping I’d get the chance to see Justin again. Rumor had it that he had accepted the coaching position at Clayfield High. Memories of the two of us confronted me all over again. If there was a chance we could work out our problems, didn’t we owe it to ourselves to try? After all, it had been five years. We’d both grown up.

  There was also the fact that I wasn’t keen on the idea of walking home alone in the storm.

  Justin’s gaze softened. “Good,” he said, obviously taking my hesitation as a yes. “Then I will have some of that coffee. It will take the chill off.” He shivered as if to make his point.

  I served Justin, then returned to table twelve with the coffee pot where the gangster-type gentleman had sat earlier. The seat was vacant. The pie had hardly been touched, and the coffee was almost to the rim. I sat the pot down, and started to clear the dishes when something beneath the table caught my attention. I bent down to my knees and retrieved a black leather wallet from the grimy floor.

  “Lose something, Miss Thomas?”

  Even before he spoke, I noticed Mr. Winslow’s brightly polished shoes from my awkward position. As gracefully as possible, I backed away, bumping my head on the table when I tried to stand. “I was just getting this wallet the customer left behind,” I explained. I massaged the bump on my head, wondering if it had left a bruise. I finally straightened, meeting my boss’s five foot nine inch frame with my own equally impressive height. I showed him the wallet I had found.

  He appeared uninterested. “Just look inside for some identification,” he said. “Then you can phone him and let him know it’s here.”

  “But…” I started to issue a protest, then decided against it. It was none of my concern whether the man paid his bill when he left. Maybe he was a friend of Heather’s and she let him slip by. Mr. Winslow walked away, his fingers twisting nervously behind his back.

  Strange little man, I thought.

  After returning the coffeepot to the beverage station, I quickly rinsed it out and shut off the burner. At the cashier’s counter, I started to reach for the telephone, when Heather’s hand stopped me. “No personal calls,” she said.

  I slid her hand from the receiver and picked it up. “It’s not personal,” I told her, offering no further explanation. Avoiding her curious stare, I made a mental note of the name on the driver’s license and dialed information. “Could I have the number for a Michael Black on Benton Street in Clayfield, Missouri, please?” I asked when the operator came on the line.

  I glanced at Heather to see if the name registered with her. She made no indication that she recognized the name.

  “Thank you,” I said to the operator after she recited the number.

  I jotted the information on a sticky note and dialed. After several unanswered rings, I gave up and started to hand the wallet over to Heather.

  “Miss Thomas, were you able to reach the owner of that wallet?” Mr. Winslow’s voice startled me even though I should have been used to his sudden appearances. Sometimes I wondered if those thin, round glasses he always wore sent out radar signals if there was something to report.

  “There’s no one home,” I answered. “I’ll just leave it with Heather in case he returns for it.”

  Apparently, my plan didn’t set well with my boss. He shook his head. “We’re getting ready to close for the night. If he lives close by, maybe you could just drop it off on your way to work in the morning.”

  His suggestion surprised me. “Well, actually, it’s just around the corner from me, but won’t that be too early to disturb him? I work at seven tomorrow,” I reminded him.

  “More than likely, he’ll be getting ready for work himself. Since you obviously have his license, I’m sure he won’
t mind the intrusion. Besides, it will be good customer service if you return it to him in person.”

  I didn’t like his idea. Six o’clock came early enough, barely allowing me sufficient time to shower and dress for work. Now I would have to make a stop along the way. Surely someone would notice their wallet was missing once they returned home, I thought. But I decided not to argue.

  I tucked the wallet into my apron pocket just moments before Justin appeared at my side.

  “Are you about ready to leave?” he asked.

  “I think so.” I glanced around the empty diner. “Looks like we’re done here.” I reached over and flipped the closed sign on the front door.

  Justin placed the money for his coffee on the counter and reached for his raincoat. “Nice to see you again,” he said to Heather. To me he said, “You wait here while I bring the car closer. There’s no reason why both of us should get drenched.”

  He pulled his hood up over his head, pushed the front door open, then dashed across the flooded parking lot, his long jacket blowing in the breeze like a bandit fleeing from a crime scene.

  I waited near the register in awkward silence while Heather pulled the cash from the drawer and zipped it into a bank bag. “A good day?” I asked. It was a lame question since I already knew the answer. Winslow’s Diner didn’t draw big customers. I assumed it was because Harry Winslow catered mostly to the high school age palates. I always wondered why my boss didn’t add a bit more variety to his menu. But since I didn’t plan to stick around long, my only concern was that it remained open long enough for me to find a more suitable position.

  Justin’s blue Malibu appeared at the diner’s entrance. I untied my apron and used it as a shield against the pelting rain. “See you tomorrow,” I shouted to Heather before racing out the door. Heather always stayed later to help close up the diner. I wondered why but never asked. I was just thankful I didn’t have to stay and help.

  Justin reached across his seat and threw open the passenger door. I ducked inside and pulled the door closed, then removed the dripping apron from my head. The thin material had done nothing to protect me from the rain. I tossed the wet fabric into the floorboard, then hand-combed my damp hair from my face.