Free Crimson Eve by Brandilyn Collins Page B

sorry. Who am I speaking with?”
    A pause. “Ellie.”
    Bailey waited for the last name. None was given. And something told her to doubt the first. Pinpricks danced up Bailey’s back. Carla not showing up — now this. Something didn’t feel right.
    “ Ellie ,” Bailey emphasized the name, “I’m very sorry, but I’m not able to give out someone’s home phone.”
    “How about a cell number?”
    Unlike most realtors, who advertised their cell as well as office numbers, Carla had always chosen not to give hers out to just anybody. She was a private person. Bailey and all who knew her had simply accepted that. “I don’t — ”
    “Look, I have to talk to her as soon as possible. It’s important .”
    The edge in the woman’s tone only increased Bailey’s tension. She worked to keep her voice even. “Carla will probably be here soon; we were expecting her quite a while ago. Would you like to leave a message?”
    “You mean you don’t know where she is ?”
    Real fear hitched the words. Bailey’s thoughts spun. “I’m sure she’s fine. I just — ”
    The woman gasped. “I have to go.” Her words spilled over each other. “Tell Carla someone she knew years ago has to talk to her. I’ll call back.”
    The line clicked.
    Bailey pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it. Trying to tell herself this was some crazy coincidence, and Carla was all right. But Bailey couldn’t forget the phone call six months ago that had changed her world — Kanner Lake’s world — with word of a terrible tragedy. She’d stood in this very place, staring at the same wall . . .
    Slowly, she hung up the phone.
    “Somebody else looking for Carla?” Wilbur’s irritated voice cut through Bailey’s thoughts. “They can just wait. I get her first.”
    Bailey pasted a smile on her face before turning around. No need to get Wilbur any more riled. “You two hold the fort down, okay?” She tapped her palm on the Formica, then headed toward the opening of the counter. “I’m going to look up Carla’s cell phone in my office.”
    “Tell her she owes me a week’s worth of coffee,” Wilbur growled. “And when you come back you can fetch me one of those cinnamon rolls, heated. Put that on her tab too.”
    No need. Bailey would gladly give him the pastry free. She just wanted to hear Carla’s voice — safe and sound.
    Oh, Lord, please watch over her, wherever she is.

TWENTY-ONE
    Carla woke with a start.
    Her bleary gaze landed on a blanket in filtered daylight . . . her left arm . . . the diary. It was lying facedown on her chest, her fingers spread over it as if in protection.
    Had she heard something?
    Carla’s heart drummed. She raised her head from the pillow, cocked it. A rush of awareness flooded her body with heat. What had she done, wasting the whole night so close to Kanner Lake? Thornby could have found her car hours ago. Why hadn’t she driven across two states while she had the chance?
    A knock at the door.
    Carla sprang off the bed. Intense pain shot up her left ankle. She cried out, listed to one side, and crashed to the floor.
    A harder knock. “Housekeeping!”
    The rattle of the door.
    Carla sat up. Her head fell back and she dragged in air. She slumped against the bed, one hand against her roiling stomach. For a moment her throat refused to form words.
    Behind her, the door opened. How in the world had she forgotten to put on the chain lock?
    She twisted to look over her shoulder toward the entryway. “Hello, I’m still here! Be checked out in an hour or so.”
    A short, red-cheeked woman leaned in, staring at Carla across the bed as if she’d never seen anyone sit on the floor before. “You okay, miss?”
    “Yes. Fine.” Carla managed a sickly smile.
    The housekeeper held her gaze a moment longer, clearly unconvinced. Then she drew a deep breath, making her nostrils flare. “Sorry to bother you.”
    She backed up and pulled the door shut.
    Carla exhaled and closed her eyes. Rested