What If I Never (Necklace Trilogy 1)

Married, I repeat in my head. Considering Allison’s sudden departure, and weird behavior, that sounds rather ominous.

And considering what I know of my father’s wining and dining of his mistresses with expensive gifts and fancy trips, the necklace definitely falls into form. Unfortunately, my mother not only found out about those gifts, but one of the other women told her he used those lavish gifts to take the sting out of the other woman, whoever she was at the time, being the other woman. This all comes together and reminds me of a book I once edited. The mistress ended up dead. I don’t like where my head is going right now.

“I do believe I like my version of the story better,” I reply, glancing over at Katie with a growing urgency to erase the silence between me and the other Allison. “Do you happen to have Allison’s phone number?”

“I do,” she says. “I left her a message earlier today just to talk about the auction, but it went to her voicemail. She hasn’t called me back and I really don’t know if she will. We were more casual work friends than real friends.” She indicates her phone. “I’ll text you her number. Then you’ll have mine and hers.”

“Great,” I say. “Thank you.” I give her my number and she pings my phone with a text.

Katie glances at her watch. “Shit. I have to do reception relief. I’ve got to run.” She races for the door.

My finger itches to dial Allison, but I wait until Katie exits the room, and I’m alone. After which, I punch the link to the number and wait for it to ring. The call goes straight to voicemail.

This is Allison. I’m not available right now but you know the drill. Leave a number. Or don’t, and text me.

Her voice is sweet and young and a little familiar, which is odd. There’s a beep and I say, “Hi Allison. This is also Allison. I’m filling in for you at Hawk Legal. I’d really like to talk to you about the auction. Please call me if you can.” I leave my number and hang up.

Drawing a breath, I glance around the room, with low lighting, and empty seating, with an eerie feeling of emptiness and unease, I can’t quite really explain. My gaze returns to my phone and I type out a text message to Allison that says basically the same thing as my message. I’m horrible at listening to voice messages. Maybe she is as well. Once the message is sent, my gaze goes to the horizon where hues of orange and yellow are like watercolors melding into the quickly darkening skyline. A bit like Allison’s life is melded with mine. I’m living her life, not mine, which is probably, most likely, not a good thing, but I’m here, I’m not leaving. And as of lately, I’ve become an expert worrier and I’m using those skills on her now.

I tell myself that she packed her things and left the house I’m about to live in. She made an active decision to leave her job and her home. She’s fine.

And yet, unease inside me squeezes a little harder and I can’t help but feel something is not right with her departure and therefore my arrival in her place.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Me and Katie work late that night.

For reasons I can’t explain I dread going to my new temporary home, the one the other Allison left behind. As for Katie, I don’t know what her excuse for refusing to leave is, but it’s nearly seven when I push her out of the door for the evening. It’s nearly eight when I finally leave the dimly lit, ghost town of an office, and mostly because I’m feeling a creepy vibe right about now. I walk through the lobby, rubbing my neck with the tingling sensation there. Once I’m in the parking garage, I make sure my keys are in my hand, and I all but run to my car. Truly, I can’t climb inside fast enough and get the doors locked. As I’m pulling onto the street, I laugh at myself. This is what a fiction editor does. She sees a murder mystery everywhere she looks, as I did earlier, talking to Katie about Allison.

I’m driving myself nuts.

Dismissing the creepy feeling, on the way to my new home, which is her old home, I continue my stall tactics by swinging by the grocery store where I shop like the single person who doesn’t cook that I am. I buy Lean Cuisines, low-fat cherry yogurt, coffee, creamer, Splenda, and not much else. I’m exciting like that. I pull up to the garage and guess at the password on the security panel being the same as the door. Sure enough, it is.

Once I’m safely sealed inside the garage, I leave my things behind and head for the door.