Anywhere but Here Read online

  Anywhere But Here

  A Novel

  L. J. French

  © 2020 L.J. French

  L.J. French Indy Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction.

  All characters, location and events

  are a product of the author’s imagination

  or used fictitiously.

  This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the author

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Anywhere But Here is the product of time on my hands while social distancing and self-isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic. I have been so grateful to friends and neighbors who have stepped up to help each other and me as we all struggle through this new and, hopefully, temporary normal. I am in awe of the first responders, healthcare workers and medical professionals who put their lives on the line each day to help the victims of this virus. I’m thankful to the clerks at our grocery stores and drug stores, people who work at gas stations, banks, post offices… all of you who are working at home, doing what you can to keep our country going and meet our needs during this crisis. And kudos to those of you who are helping to make masks or other PPE… and to manufacturers who are refitting their equipment to do what they can to supply medical equipment and ventilators. To the state and federal leaders and servants who have taken this pandemic seriously and are being as proactive as possible,

  thank you.

  You are all heroes.

  I saw many people online sharing their talents by entertaining us. I can’t sing (you would thank me for choosing not to), but I chose to share this book, chapter by chapter, on Facebook as it was being written. I hope you enjoyed coming along on this daily adventure. You got a raw draft, but I hope it has now been edited enough to make sense. I wouldn’t even try to name you all for fear of excluding someone. I met some new friends along the way. I appreciate your encouragement and your kind comments during this process. The final manuscript is due in part to your comments, catches and questions.

  I suppose this time around my biggest thanks goes to my husband, Kevin. I have not attempted a suspense or mystery like this before. Having been a deputy sheriff in Monterey County and a police officer in Modesto, his technical knowledge was a great help to me. Most of all, his daily encouragement and love keeps me going, no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in.

  I would not want to self-isolate with anyone but you, Kevin.

  Anywhere But Here

  Chapter 1

  The queen of hearts was face down beneath the upturned jack of spades. There was no way to get to it without cheating. She wasn’t above cheating—but she’d never been that desperate to cheat in solitaire. The remainder of the deck rested in her left hand, while the fingers of her right hand wrapped around a mug of tea.

  “Well, isn’t that ironic,” she said to herself, drawing the mug to her lips as she glared at the jack.

  After taking a sip, she frowned at the tepid liquid. Frustrated and bored, she shoved all the cards into a pile. She got up from the sofa and walked into the kitchen to heat the tea in the microwave.

  Waiting for the tea to warm, she looked out the window over the sink. Condensation from the steamy soup she’d been heating ran in rivulets down the glass. It distorted the scene before her, making the small flower garden surrounded by a white picket fence look more like an impressionist painting. The freezing rain had turned to hail and had settled in the corners of the window. Now, lithe and graceful snowflakes were drifting down in a beautiful ballet, landing one on top of the other like dead swan. Early spring crocus in the field beyond the backyard struggled to lift their petals from the white blanket that had begun to bury them.

  “Never trust spring, Salty,” she said. “Like every beautiful thing, it will come in for the kill when you least expect it.”

  Salty, a huge and hairy, one-hundred-pound mix of unknown breeds, yawned and rested his head between his white paws. His eyebrows twitched up and down over his big brown eyes as he listened to her.

  Salty had come with the house, or so it seemed. It had been pouring rain when she moved in two weeks earlier. As she was carrying the last box from the car, she saw the dog sitting on the top porch step. He was dripping wet with no collar, looking pitiful. She couldn’t leave him out in the rain, so he spent the night in the kitchen, warming himself by the woodburning stove on a rag rug that she had placed there for him.

  She would have done the same for any stray she’d found on the street. She had been known to buy meals for homeless people or drive them to a shelter if they would go. She took up collections for coats and clothing for those in need. Mike had called her crazy and said she was part of the problem. That was the least of the differences between her and her husband. He said everyone had the same chance in this world and if their character was too weak, it wasn’t up to the rest of us to save them. Her generosity toward the homeless and less fortunate angered him. He told her she was enabling them. In fact, for the last several months, everything she did had angered him. He would have hated Salty, which made her love the dog all the more.

  The vet said she was new in the area and wasn’t familiar with the dog, but she said he was healthy. She immunized him and said if no one had reported him lost, he was probably one that had been abandoned.

  Knowing that she probably couldn’t afford to feed him, she brought him home anyway. Seeing her get out of the car with the dog, the elderly woman who lived next door walked up to the fence. She’d seen the woman peering over the Lady Banks roses that separated the two houses several times, trying to get a better look at who had moved in.

  “I see you found Salty,” the tiny old woman said. She was wearing big green garden gloves with claws for fingers. It was humorously menacing.

  “You know who this dog belongs to?”

  “Did belong to—he was Hank’s before he died. Run off when they hauled the old codger outta here. You keepin’ him?” The old woman asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  Hank was the man who had lived in the cottage before. She started to walk up the steps when the woman called out to her, “He’s a good dog.”

  She turned and smiled and continued toward the door.

  “Iva Mae Walton.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “My name. Iva Mae Walton. No kin to the Walmart Waltons of course. If I was, I wouldn’t be livin’ here.”

  When she didn’t respond, the old woman asked, “What’s yours?”

  She continued up the stairs to the porch and fumbled with her key ring.

  “I say, what’s your name?”

  She turned the key and opened the door as if she hadn’t heard the woman.

  In the two weeks she’d been in Fort Landers, she had become attached to Salty. He was her only friend in this strange new town.

  The microwave beeped, and she took her mug and wandered into the dining room and over to the window that looked out over Trident Harbor. The small harbor was tucked out of sight and sheltered by a rock jetty that extended the natural protective arm of headlands. Its green water was calm, but gale warnings were in effect all up and down the eastern seaboard. Beyond the inlet the roiling sea was churning up white caps.

  Most of the fishing fleet that anchored in the harbor were safely settled into their allotted berths, but there were always the foolhardy who thought they could ride out the storm. She looked out past the inlet to the ocean where a few of those had ventured out for the last of the season’s king mackerel and bluefin. They were now returning with their noses pointed toward the harbor. Riding the cho
ppy seas like so many bronc busters, they were trying to beat the black clouds that chased them from the northeast.

  She felt herself very fortunate to have such a view from what the owner seemed to consider to be a worthless piece of property. It was certainly pure luck that she’d been able to rent the cottage. She had pulled off the highway to have lunch and was sitting at the bar at Landers Wharf eating a bowl of fish stew. She had been nervously watching the news on the overhead television, glad that the bar was empty except for two older men who weren’t paying attention to it.

  She heard one of the men mention that he hesitated to rent a cottage when he wouldn’t be around. The other man said he could keep an eye on it, and they began to discuss rent. That’s when she apologized and interrupted their conversation.

  The cottage was over a hundred years old, the man said. It wasn’t in a fancy neighborhood, but it was safe. He said his brother had lived there for more than forty years. The man’s brother had recently passed, and he had come to take care of the details. He said to be able to sell the place, he’d have to make several repairs and upgrades. He was in no position or had the desire to do so. Besides, he had said, he didn’t think it would be worth the investment. Therefore, he was willing to rent it, as is, fully furnished for a very reasonable amount.

  The rent was more than reasonable given the condition of the place. It was a one bedroom with a living room, dining room and kitchen. The utility porch had been turned into a bathroom as an afterthought. It had a fireplace in the living room and a wood-burning stove in the kitchen. It needed paint, inside and out, but it was good enough, and she moved in that very afternoon. It didn’t take long given the fact that she had one box of personal items and a few clothes.

  She went back to the kitchen to turn off the stove. She took the rest of a package of saltine crackers and crumbled them into the small pan. She set the pan on a metal tray that she’d found in the cupboard, and the single spoon that had been in the drawer and went into the living room to eat.

  She was getting tired of canned soup, but she had only two-hundred forty-three dollars and twenty-seven cents in her wallet. Because she had no references to give to the owner, he’d required her to pay three months’ rent upfront. Then there was the veterinarian’s bill, so she was making do with the few groceries she’d picked up from a Dollar General.

  As she ate the bland soup, she picked up the remote control to the ancient console television set in the corner of the room. She was surprised it still worked, but by adjusting the rabbit ears on top, she was able to get a couple of stations. She glanced at the clock that hung over the fireplace. It was noon, so she turned the channel until she found the news. The picture was snowy, but not so bad she couldn’t see it, and the sound was clear. She settled back on the lumpy sofa and listened as the news anchor covered world and political news and then began on local stories. As the photo of a blond woman flashed in the top right corner of the screen, her stomach tightened.

  There are still no leads in the disappearance of Etta Summers, wife of Mike Summers of Cleveland Falls. Mr. Summers is the City Manager of Cleveland Falls. He reported that he arrived home after a golf game with friends two weeks ago to find that his wife was not home. Her purse and phone were still in the house, and her car was in the garage. She did not return home that evening. After contacting friends and her only family member, a sister in Delaware, Mr. Summers called Cleveland Falls Police Department. The following day a Missing Persons Report was issued.

  There was no evidence of foul play. Mr. Summers indicates his wife has had some emotional issues and believes that perhaps she may have had a breakdown and wandered away.

  Etta Summers is forty-two years old, five feet seven inches tall, about one hundred forty pounds with long blond hair and blue eyes. If anyone has any information about …

  She looked at the picture of Etta Summers on the screen and then at her own reflection in the window across from her. The thin woman with short-cropped black hair and glasses staring back at her held very few similarities to Etta Summers.

  “No one could possibly know” she said to herself, hoping that was true. “No one would ever think Stella Brown is really Etta Summers, would they?”

  Chapter 2

  Etta remembered back to the moment she had made the decision to leave Mike. She knew what she had to do. The thought had been in the back of her mind for months, but she didn’t know what to do or how to make it happen. Certainly, she wasn’t the only one who ever wanted to disappear. She began researching it on the internet. She only did it from her computer at work so he couldn’t see her search history on her laptop at home. Would he think to do that? Was he that savvy?

  Of course, she thought. He’ll do anything to keep his filthy little secret. He’s already proven that. I’ll get away, and then maybe I can do something about it.

  She couldn’t report it to the police. Many of them were his friends, buddies he played golf and softball with on the weekends. They’d laugh at her and tell her she was paranoid, just like he did. He would have convinced them that she was off her rocker. After all, he held a prestigious job and was a pillar of the community.

  Maybe they’re involved, too, she thought.

  She had carefully begun to put a plan in motion. Sitting at her desk in the back corner of the real estate office, she saw the heading on the screen… “How To Disappear.” She clicked into the site and began to read.

  “You can learn how to do anything on the internet,” she said to herself.

  The first line of the article was, “Walk out and never come back… you have a lot of planning to do.” The article said to do it right you need six months to plan it.

  I don’t want to wait six months, she thought, but she didn’t know where to begin. “It’s okay, I’ll find the answers. But if I can find the answers, so can Mike.” She knew she had to be very careful.

  She studied the eight pages of how-to instructions. She burned them into her memory and tried to sort out what was absolutely necessary. The article said you had to get your affairs in order, just as if you knew you were going to die. She assumed she would die if he found out what she was planning. Then if she could not eventually find someone to believe her and prove what he was doing, life as Etta Bernard-Summers was over.

  The first thing was to establish her new identity and get used to it. She chose her new name at a pub where she went to have lunch one day. She had a hard time choosing a name.

  God, Etta, you’re not trying to choose a ball gown—just choose one. Etta was good at scolding herself.

  Then she looked up at the bartender who was pulling a draft from the Stella Artois tap. Next to it was a handle labeled Downtown Brown.

  “That’s it,” she said out loud.

  “Did you say something?” the bartender asked.

  She shook her head, paid her bill and left. Stella Brown was born.

  Next, she had to choose a target day, the day she would leave. It would be a Monday. Mike always said Mondays were his busiest days at City Hall. He’d rarely stayed home for any reason on Mondays. She noted on her phone calendar, “D Day,” as in disappearance day.

  The next item of business was to end all contracts. Mike’s control issues made that easy for her. She didn’t pay any of the bills. Mike had assumed control of everything like that. None of the utilities were in her name. The credit cards were in both their names, but he controlled those as well. She decided to stop using the credit cards. She thought it would be smart to buy something just a few days before she left—something that she wouldn’t be taking with her, but it would help dissuade suspicion that she planned it. In fact, she wouldn’t be taking anything with her… not photos, or mementos, nothing, not even her clothing.

  She wouldn’t owe anyone, so she wouldn’t be committing fraud to leave. No one would be looking for her… no one except Mike, and she knew he would be ruthless in his hunt for her. She was a threat to him because she knew too much. Besides that, his ego would
never let him allow someone to leave him. He’d never let her go easily, so she had to do this right.

  She didn’t tell anyone what she was doing, not her few remaining friends that she hadn’t totally alienated already, and not even her sister. They didn’t have the best relationship anyway, especially since she’d married Mike. She had only talked to her twin sister, Ella, once in the last six months. If she was lucky, Ella wouldn’t call her before she left. That way she wouldn’t have to pretend everything was wonderful, something she’d been doing for two years.

  As far as her friends, she had been the one to distance herself from them. They were always inviting her and Mike to dinner, barbecues, other social events. She was always making excuses, because he didn’t like them. He said she changed when she was around them. The truth was that she was herself around her friends, nothing like the person she had to become when she was with him. The only people they socialized with were his friends, those who held high positions in the city government, the mayor and city council, the Chief of Police, his friends at the country club.

  Her job at the real estate office was only part time. She answered phones, made appointments, and did some of the paperwork for the agents, but she wasn’t really one of them. In all reality, Etta Summers’ life had become very small. That, in itself, would make distancing from anyone she knew a lot easier.

  She used her regular phone if she had to call Mike or anyone else in her current life. However, she went to a thrift store and got an unlocked phone, paid for it in cash, and then bought a pay-as-you-go SIM. She used that phone to make inquiries relating to her plan.

  She knew she’d be traveling light, so she also purchased a few clothes from thrift stores. They had to be styles she wouldn’t normally wear. He had always insisted she dress in expensive, provocative clothes. The ones she bought were dull and conservative to say the least. She would be changing her looks along with her identity. She was taking a chance by storing them in a bag in the back of her closet, but she didn’t want to rent a storage space until she was able to get other identification.