Free What She Doesn't Know by Tina Wainscott Page B

breakfast, Rita felt the emotional effects of nearly dying and the physical effects of being tackled. She went back to her hotel room, promptly heaved up the three pancakes she’d managed to eat, and fell into a fitful, achy sleep for two hours. The images Brian had showed her saturated her sleep with feelings of fear. Finally she dragged herself to full wakefulness, wrapped her wool coat around her and found a cozy table down in the courtyard. The air was warming up some, and it helped to clear her head.  
    She had brought her cell phone and called Officer Potter in Boston. When he got on the line, she asked him about the feather.
    He paused, as though he wasn’t sure he should tell her. Finally he said, “Yes, we found a black feather. And a red feather. And two painted macaroni noodles. Detective Connard told me what you’re thinking, and I have to tell you, this feather doesn’t mean anything. Not unless you can produce the mask it came from, prove who owns the mask, and that the person was in Boston at the time of your accident…you get the drift?”
    Yeah, she got it. She thanked him for nothing and hung up. She might not have tangible proof, but that black feather was proof enough for her. She tucked her legs beneath her in the wrought iron chair and tried to figure out what to do.
    She kneaded her forehead, fighting off a headache. Her gaze drifted to room 315 where the woman had died in her sleep. Was that why she felt unsettled in the serenity of the beautiful courtyard?
    It was everything, she decided. She wanted to call Marty and ask her advice. The problem was she hadn’t exactly told Marty she’d come here. She’d said she was taking a couple of days off. She hadn’t mentioned the trip at all to her mother, who was making a habit of calling once a week to check on her. She felt a prick of guilt that she hadn’t initiated one call.
    “Tomorrow I go home, and I know nothing more than when I came, other than I’m not crazy. Brian did come to me and he didn’t try to kill himself.” How could she leave without getting someone to believe her, to check into it? To protect him?
    She couldn’t.
    Turning away from conflict was her weakness. She had justified it all her life. The roots went back to her childhood, and any therapist worth his or her salt would advise her to face those issues first and then begin to face bigger crises. If only she’d taken her own advice, she’d be better prepared for this situation. There wasn’t time to backtrack now, though, or shore up her foundation.
    She pulled the coat tighter and leaned her head back against the cushion, ignoring the throbbing ache in her elbow and the dull pain in the rest of her body. She needed more time, and she needed access to Brian’s life. There was more to the man than what was on the surface.
    That was true of Christopher, too. She couldn’t trust him, but she was pretty sure he had nothing to do with the attempts on her life. Unfortunately, he was her only way into Brian’s home. All she needed to do was get him to believe her.
    She’d start by thanking him for saving her life.  
     
     
    Rita stared at the business card. The printed side hailed Christopher as owner of Web-Tekk, an Atlanta-based company that created and maintained websites…and did specialty information retrieval. Like tracking her down, and finding out where she worked. “Hmph.”
    She started the car, glanced at her map once more, and headed out. The address scrawled in his bold handwriting on the back was in the Garden District. Once she reached the area, she envisioned herself on a stage set: plantation-style homes, cottages trimmed in latticework, a dull green streetcar moving between the two lanes of traffic, ornate iron fences, and…rooftops.  
    She took St. Charles Street east, wishing the serenity of the stately old homes would chase away her growing anxiety. Run the other way! the little girl inside her screamed. But her peace of mind wasn’t at stake