The Back Door of Midnight by Elizabeth Chandler Read Free Book Online Page B

AND it was already hot and humid. I took Water Street over to High, passing a marina, a crab house, and a municipal park, thinking that being close to the river, I’d catch what little breeze there was. High Street, which ended at the river, was Wisteria’s “Main Street.” On the first block above the intersection with Water were large homes bearing plaques with the words “Historic Landmark.” Beyond that block were smaller houses, many of them converted to shops and restaurants.
    I found Jamie’s place, Tea Leaves Café, on the fourth block up from the water in a long building that had been built as a series of windowed storefronts. After buying six fresh doughnuts and an iced cappuccino, I snagged a seat by the window. It was a comfortable kind of place, with an old tile floor and wooden tables and chairs painted in a rainbow of colors, none of the sets matching. At the back of the café were two cases displayingbakery items, salads, and yogurt. I watched a girl about my age waiting on customers. I wished I were her, working a summer job in a place that seemed friendly—and normal.
    Sipping my cappuccino, I gazed out the window at the people walking by, eyeing a family with little kids, suddenly missing Jack, Claire, Grace, and Mom so much that I started to sniffle. I pulled out my cell phone. I could call. I could call and—ruin their vacation? Even if I said everything was fine, my voice might give me away. Instead, I’d text Mom later on and tell her that Wisteria was “interesting.”
    I dabbed at my nose, then saw a guy standing on the curb across the street, looking in my direction. He was tall, wearing slick sunglasses and a preppy-looking shirt, its sleeves rolled up neatly to the elbows, as if he were working an office job. He smiled a gorgeous smile. I surveyed the sidewalk on my side of the street, then turned to look behind me, wondering who he was smiling at. When I turned back, he pointed in my direction.
You,
he mouthed, and lifted the shades. Zack.
    The traffic light changed, and he started across the street, as if he was coming to Tea Leaves. I felt a thump-thump inside my rib cage and realized suddenly that it was my heart. He came through the door and flashed me a grin. Then he joined a girl and guy at a table across the room.
The
girl, the crying girl, the hot costar.
    I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed her—I was probablyogling the baked goods—for she was straight out of Drama Club at my old school, the kind of person who was on stage even when she wasn’t. A table of tweens watched her with awe as she talked with Zack and the other guy. The other guy had brown hair streaked with peroxide and close-set eyes with brows rising toward the center. A smile would have made him cute in a quirky way, but his mouth was a long straight line.
    Pulling my eyes away from the three of them, I got out my map of the town and the sheriff’s map to the burn site, trying to focus on what I was here to do. I’d call the lawyer, find a food store, look for—
    “Hi, Anna.”
    I glanced up. “Hi . . . hi.”
    “Zack,” he said, as if I might have forgotten his name.
    I nodded. “Zack Fleming.”
    He smiled, not only with his mouth, but with his amazing eyes.
    “The sheriff told me your last name.”
    That got rid of the smile.
    “Saving this seat for anyone?” He assumed I wasn’t and sat down.
    “So . . . so you spoke to him,” said Zack.
    “Just now.”
    “Was he helpful?”
    “In what way?”
    Zack hesitated. “In whatever way you need help.”
    There was something about the tone of his voice. He was worried.
    “Yes and no.”
    He waited for me to say more. His friends at the other table were watching us closely.
    He tried again. “Have the police learned anything new?”
    “I doubt it.”
    “So what did McManus say?” he persisted.
    “Nothing much more than you did.”
    Two can play this game,
I thought. I didn’t trust him. Worse, I didn’t trust myself not to be suckered in