Hidden

Hidden a Novel by Catherine McKenzie

When Tish leaves my room, I realize I can't stay in this town any longer. Coming here in the first place was probably a massive mistake. Before, I had questions. Now, I have answers, but can I believe them? Can they possibly be true? If only there was a way to verify them, to not have to rely on the word of someone I don't know and, instinctively, don't trust.

I check online and if I don't care about arriving in the middle of the night, I can get home. I throw on my clothes, zip up my suitcase, and drive the car back to the rental place.

I have half an hour to wait at the airport, and those minutes of being alone in a crowd give me an idea. Maybe there is a way I can check some of the things she said. Maybe there's some certainty I can seek from a third party.

It's late, but it isn't too late for that.

I use my phone to find a number on the company website and call.

“John Scott,” he says, his voice rough and slightly slurred. “Hi, John, this is Claire Manning.”

A pause. Ice clicks in a glass. “Claire. My goodness. We didn't get a chance to speak... the other day. I'm so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“I... did you need something?”

I can't think of any way to say this that won't make him think I'm crazy, but I have to go ahead anyway, and at least I have recent widowhood to fall back on if I ever need to explain myself.

“You were at that retreat, right? The one in Palm Springs?”

“Sure. It was excited. He... had fun. Look, this is going to sound nuts, but do you remember getting a prize pack there? A kind of gift bag?”

His ice clinks again, a deep swallow. “Um, oh, yes. That's right. Would you still happen to have it, by any chance?”

“What's all this about?”

I almost hang up, but I have to know ore than I care what he thinks of me.

“Could you check? It's important. And hard to explain.”

“Yes, all right. Let me ask Cindy.”

He clunks the phone down and I hunch over in my seat, a cramp of nervousness attacking my stomach. I take a few deep breaths and straighten myself up, looking out the black windows at the sihouette of the mountains that surround this Springfield.

A thud. A scrape. “Claire You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Cindy had it. She's such a pack rat.” He chuckles. A bag crinkles. “You want the inventory.”

“You still have the whole thing?”

“It was in her processing area. She has this kind of staging area where she keeps stuff before she turns in into crafts.”

“Give me a sec. Okay, one mini-album of photos fro the office, courtesy of Jeff. He used one of those programs, like a computer thing -”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Of course. Ha! Tom's going to die when I show him this one.”

“Was there anything else?”

“Oh, yes. Sorry. There's a macrame picture frame. That must be from that crone from the other Springfield, and a book of... poetry it looks like. Ah, yes, the golf girl's daughter.”

“Would you mind... is there an inscription in there?”

“Let me check.” The pages flip. “Here we go. “I'm proud mama.” Huh. What an odd thing to write.”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“That's it. Did you need anything else?”

“What? Oh, no. Only... did you notice if Jeff was... spending any time with anyone in particular over the weekend?”

He chuckles again. “You mean his dinner companion? I wouldn't worry about that. He rebuffed her pretty hard. Though I couldn't see why. Flirting never hurt anyone, am I right?”

Some secrets should stay hidden. Illustration by Elena.