At the Quiet Edge
Victoria Helen Stone
CHAPTER 1
The police officer stared at her from behind mirrored sunglasses, his blond brows raised high enough to crease his forehead into deep wrinkles. Lily couldn’t make out his eyes behind the lenses, but she tried her best to hold his gaze and look innocent.
The smile lines around his mouth seemed like a good sign, but the dimples she glimpsed when he spoke remained inert now despite her attempts at friendliness. He showed no interest in returning her smile, and she’d convinced herself he must be able to see the frantic thud of her pulse in her throat.
“No,” she said again, repeating her answer as if saying it twice would make it more true.
“You’re sure about that?” he pressed. “You didn’t see anything?”
“I’m sure. Nothing strange around here last night, not that I noticed.” Her smile trembled at the edges when his straight mouth stayed firm. “And obviously we’re pretty focused on security. Have to be.” Her wide gesture toward the storage lockers behind her felt far too dramatic, a hostess showing off prizes on a game show.
“Obviously,” he said, finally removing the shield of the reflective glasses. His eyes angled purposefully toward the camera mounted above the gate. Hazel. He had kind hazel eyes and more smile lines to frame them, and the sight eased her fear down by the tiniest fraction.
“Yeah,” she offered lamely, following his gaze to the unblinking black of the camera’s lens. It perched high above the sad lilac bush she and her son had planted five years earlier. The damn thing had only grown scraggly leaves and hadn’t flowered yet, and when her eyes drifted to the branches, she couldn’t help but see it as a sign of her failures.
“How many cameras are there? Do they all function?”
“Yes, they work.” She pulled her gaze from the shrub to force herself to meet his eyes. “But the gate never opened after hours last night, Officer. I would have received an alert if it had. It was quiet out here, and the gate is completely disabled after six on Sundays, so the only way in is over the razor wire.”
“It’s ‘Detective.’”
“Pardon?”
“It’s Detective Mendelson. I don’t think we’ve met, but I’ve seen you around, I think. Perils of a small town. I’ve probably stood in line behind you at the hardware store.”
“Of course!” she said brightly, though she didn’t remember him, and he was handsome enough that she probably would have. Was it possible he recognized her from the police station? But there had been only two detectives on the force the last time she’d been called in, and he hadn’t been one of them.
She cleared her throat. “Are things that serious? You only said someone reported a car lurking around. Was there a break-in?” Angling her neck, she looked past the gate toward the business park on the other side of the street.
Movement drew her gaze, and she spotted Sharon in front of the upholstery shop, crossing her arms, head craned to the side as she tried to spy. Of course.
Sharon waved cheerfully when she caught Lily staring. The woman had never once expressed any chagrin over what she called her “attention to detail” and Lily called “general nosiness.”
“Detective, if Sharon was the one to call, you should know she has a tendency to overreact. She’s very nice, don’t get me wrong, but . . .”
“You haven’t noticed any parked cars on the road? Maybe people meeting out here at night? Perhaps a woman you’ve never seen before?”
Alarmed at this sudden shift in questioning, she quickly shook her head.
“The lack of lights on this street can encourage unsavory activities,” he added.
Lily was very aware of how dark it could be here after the sun went down. Her place was lit every hour of the day to protect the storage units, but the constant light made her home stand out like a beacon.
It felt eerie driving down the deserted road at night, the facility that housed her apartment spotlighted in the blackness for all to see. Every other business in the isolated development closed at five, six at the latest. On slow Sunday mornings Lily could walk the road for an hour without seeing another soul.
“The street is kind of a catchall,” she said with a shrug. “The UPS guy sometimes sits on the road to have his lunch. People pull over to text or make phone calls. At night . . . I’m not sure. Maybe it’s the latest version of Lover’s Lane for local teenagers? I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s probably a good spot for a meeting place.”
“There’s a back gate?” he asked, ignoring her theories.
“Yes, but it’s only for emergency use and also has an alarm. That’s the reason for the on-site apartment. I’m on call twenty-four hours a day to address any security problems.”
“You live here alone?” He looked past her again, toward the office this time, and the hair rose on the back of Lily’s neck. She got this question surprisingly often, and she hated it every time, but a law enforcement officer like Detective Mendelson was probably the only person who had a good reason to be curious.
And Lily really needed to keep him focused on her and not the maze of hiding places lurking at her back. She needed him to look at her and believe her, so that he would go away and never come back.
“My son and I live here.” She flashed a purposeful grin, determined to make herself believable. “Yes, I know it’s an odd place to live, but it’s a nice, quiet location to raise a family. It’s just us and the pigeons.”