The Sierra Files Box Set: Books 1-3: Plus a bonus Christmas novella! Read online

  Except, thanks to Chad, I’d experienced what it was like to love and be loved. I’d tasted that sweet fruit and now I craved more.

  My heart sagged.

  It didn’t matter. Chad wasn’t speaking to me anyway. He’d never accept me just as I was.

  Would anyone?

  After work, I decided to swing by Sage’s apartment.

  All day, my soul had felt unsettled. It was partly over the whole finding a dead body thing and the subsequent intrusion into my house. But, most of all, if I were to be honest, my unrest was because of Chad. Honestly, I missed him.

  The two of us were opposites. There was no doubt about that. Our relationship had been a surprise for the both of us.

  I wasn’t even looking for a relationship. Nope, it was the last thing on my mind. And, if I did ever get seriously involved with someone, I had always assumed it would be with another animal rights activist. After all, I had tons of things in common with people who shared my passion.

  But then Chad happened. He’d expanded my worldview, pulled me out of my deeply focused existence, and reminded me that there was life outside of protests and online petitions and eviscerating exposés.

  But that wasn’t even why I liked hanging out with Chad. No, Chad just made me feel like I could walk on air. He made me feel like . . . well, to put it into cat terms, like I’d found my person.

  I’d thought I’d been in love one other time in my life. But that boyfriend—we’d dated in college—had been someone logical, someone I’d made sense with. His name had been Greg, and he was also Japanese, an intellectual, and studious. He understood my upbringing, my strict parents, and the expectations for my future. We could have had a nice life together—a respectable life, just as my parents wanted.

  But, the truth was, I didn’t want my life to be neat and tidy and respectable. I didn’t want to follow in my parents’ footsteps. I had no desire to be admired by thousands of people in the community while being despised in my own home. I didn’t want to treat strangers better than I treated my family.

  Besides, the medical field wasn’t for me. My passion didn’t lie with healing people, and life was too short to live for other people’s expectations. I wanted to pursue my own dreams for my future, even if that meant disappointing people who’d helped to mold me.

  Greg and I had been pals, which is a good way to start a relationship. But, in truth, it didn’t go beyond that. I didn’t dream about being with him. I didn’t get flutters in my stomach when he was around. I didn’t look at our future together and feel an indescribable excitement.

  We’d gotten along fine, though. We never fought. I even converted him to veganism—though it was more for health reasons than animal welfare. Still, I’d take what I could get.

  We dated for a year and had talked about marriage, though I never did get a ring. That was just as well. Everyone thought for sure that a proposal was coming. Even me.

  But then he’d accepted a medical residency in Cleveland. We didn’t see each other for weeks at a time. And I’d realized that I didn’t miss him. When we talked the next time he came home, we both had come to the same realization. We didn’t want to be with someone we could merely live with. We wanted to be with someone we couldn’t live without. And that wasn’t the case with us.

  When we’d broken up, it had felt like a relief. I felt anything but relieved by this change in my relationship with Chad, though.

  I moaned as I wove through traffic. Why did I feel so miserable right now? Then I knew. It was because love could make you feel like this. At least, when love went wrong it felt like this. The emotion was bipolar like that.

  Was I being too stubborn? Should I compromise more? Was I going about this whole relationship thing the wrong way?

  Probably. How could I be so great at intellectual pursuits yet so terrible at love? I seemed to be better at reading a dog’s body language than I did interpreting my own boyfriend’s unspoken messages.

  On second thought, maybe my expectations were too high. I’d always set lofty goals for myself. I had gotten that trait from my parents. There were certain things handed down to me that I could leave behind—behaviors, recipes for onigiri, and anything related to anime. But there were other qualities—ingrained qualities—that were harder. Things like loyalty, respect, and basic temperament.

  Maybe the very things I tried so desperately to leave behind were working against me now. After all, you could take a chicken out of a chicken house but it would still be a chicken. Maybe I was fighting myself and purposefully ruining every relationship because I knew that deep down inside me, ingrained within my DNA, I was just like my parents.

  I sighed and pulled up to Sage’s place. I’d see if anyone had come into town yet to take care of her things—her possessions, her funeral, her body. Then I’d ask about Mr. Mouser.

  I tapped on her door. A moment later, a young woman—probably my age—pulled the door open. Her eyes were red, and she had a tissue in her hands. “Can I help you?”

  “You have to be Sage’s sister. You look just alike.” The woman had the same dark hair, round face, and big eyes as my former coworker.

  I watched her expression when I said her sister’s name.

  “Sage?” She nodded and fluttered a hand through the air. “Right. I am Sage’s sister. I’m Thyme. My parents had a twisted sense of humor and named us both after herbs.”

  I looked down at my empty hands. I usually didn’t care about proper formalities. They were just one of the things about my upbringing that I could easily shake off, my secret way of rebelling and showing I was my own person. But there were times—like now—that I wished I did give more heed to those traditions. “I should have brought something. Food. Tissues. A card of condolence.”

  “Don’t worry about it. What can I do for you?”

  I glanced behind her at Sage’s apartment. Yesterday, it had been a mess. Today, it looked straight and neat. Thyme had been a very busy lady.

  “I’m a friend of Sage’s. We worked together. I just wanted to let you know that I have Sage’s cat. I wanted to make sure he was taken care of in the midst of all this craziness. I didn’t know if you wanted me to bring him over or not.”

  Just at the mention of a cat, she sneezed. “I’m allergic. Please don’t. I’ve been sneezing since I stepped foot into this apartment.”

  “It’s just terrible what happened.” I paused solemnly, trying to weigh my words. “I hate to be nosy, but are there other family members who might want the cat?”

  Thyme shrugged. “Mom will be here later. I doubt she wants a cat. I guess we’ll probably end up taking him to the pound.”

  A moment of silence passed, and I congratulated myself for not saying something inappropriate at the mention of the word “pound.” “I’m sure I can find a home for him, if you need me to.”

  I’d keep him myself before I took him to the pound.

  “I might have to take you up on that offer.” She nodded behind her. “If there’s nothing else, I have a lot to do. I’m meeting with the funeral home tomorrow to start planning her . . .” She shrugged. “You know.”

  Her funeral, I filled in.

  This would be a good time to go. Instead, I found myself saying, “Listen, I’m the one who found your sister. I haven’t been able to get everything out of my mind. Are the police closing in on any suspects?”

  She sniffled. “Not that I know of.”

  “Not to sound insensitive, but do the police know what happened?”

  “There was a single gunshot wound to her heart.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe something like this has happened. I’m not sure why bad things always happen to my sister.”

  Now that was an interesting statement. “She was unlucky?” Maybe Thyme needed someone to talk to. After all, she was here all alone after her sister had just died.

  Thyme offered a half groan, half laugh. “You could say that. From big things in life, to small things. Nothing ever seemed to go
her way. And now it all ends like this.” She shook her head. “She deserved better. She deserved happiness.”

  “I’m really sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “Tell people she was a good person.”

  I licked my lips, weighing my next thought. Though there were many people who didn’t care for Sage, I didn’t want Thyme to know that. “Of course she’s a good person. I can’t believe anyone would say otherwise.”

  “Exactly. You know she wouldn’t hurt a flea. The things that people have said about her . . . especially after her husband died.” She covered her mouth. “She probably didn’t talk about that part of her life, did she? She wanted to keep so much private. Of course, it doesn’t matter now. She’s dead.” A small sob escaped and she stared off into space.

  I dove in, though I’d had no clue the woman had been married. I was fishing for the truth—in my life, this was the only kind of fishing that was acceptable. “That was just awful. Quite the ordeal.”

  Thyme’s eyes widened. “She actually talked to you about it? I didn’t think she would tell anyone around here what happened. She was so desperate for a fresh start, for people not to judge her. I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Now this.”

  I wanted to ask more, but Thyme’s cell phone rang. She glanced down. “I’ve got to take this. It’s my mom. I’ll make sure and ask her about the cat. I don’t have high hopes, though.”

  She waved goodbye and shut the door.

  I stood there for a moment until I owned up to the fact that I had absolutely no idea where to go from here.

  Chapter Six

  I checked my phone again as I walked to my car. It was past eight, and Chad still hadn’t called.

  I hated the fact that I cared about the fact that Chad hadn’t called.

  I sighed, refusing to call him. He was the one who needed to apologize. For me to say I was sorry about trying to protect my cats would be the ultimate betrayal to them.

  My parents always said my stubbornness would either get me everywhere in life or it would get me nowhere. I didn’t want to hear anyone’s opinion on what choice this one might be.

  It was dark outside already. Another day gone, I mused to myself as I unlocked my car.

  I hated thinking about returning to my apartment with nothing to do. I’d gotten used to Chad being there to hang out.

  At least I had my cats. But, I had to admit, my cats . . . well, they weren’t Chad.

  When did I turn into such a sap? When had the change in my life occurred from where people won over cats? I mean, cats gave me unconditional love. They never gave me ultimatums. They always had time for me. They beat people any day . . . didn’t they?

  I checked my backseat, saw no one was there, and then climbed into my car and cranked the engine.

  That’s when I spotted the paper on my windshield. Apprehension rose in me. I had a feeling this wasn’t a flyer from a pizza joint.

  I looked around for a telltale sign that someone was watching me. When I saw no one and no sign of danger, I opened the door and reached for the paper. I quickly darted back inside and locked my doors.

  With trembling hands, I opened the envelope.

  The message was simple and clear.

  I’M STILL WAITING. REMEMBER YOUR POOR KITTIES. THEY’LL BE CRYING OUT FOR YOUR HELP AND YOU’LL BE POWERLESS TO DO ANYTHING.

  Below the sick message was a picture of my cats, taken from one of my social media sites. Each of their faces had an “X” over it.

  I gasped and stared in horror at my beloved cats. The sense of danger and urgency increased twofold. I couldn’t let anything happen to my babies.

  This guy was serious. I couldn’t waste any time. I had to figure out how to keep my cats safe.

  I had to swallow my pride. A lot of my pride.

  In my whole entire life, I didn’t think I’d ever asked a man for help. I may have paid a man to help me with something—a handyman, that is. And I felt okay about that, because I’d paid for it, so in essence I’d done it myself.

  But as I drove through town and pulled up at Chad’s bayside apartment, I knew I was stepping into unfamiliar territory. I was . . . desperate.

  I stared at the building in front of me. It was right on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay, in an area called Chick’s Beach. The Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel jutted out from the middle of it. To the north, there was a view of the resort beach with its high-rise hotels, and to the south there was a military base. On good days, you could see the SEALs practicing exercises out over the water.

  Chad lived in a vinyl siding covered transitional style structure that had six apartments inside, each with a balcony that looked out over the water. It was perfect for my beach loving boyfriend—or ex-boyfriend. I still wasn’t sure what we were, and that realization pressed down on me.

  We’d enjoyed many walks on these shores. We’d talked about life, about the future, about going snorkeling in Mexico one day. We’d made plans and blocked out the other concerns of life, even if just for a moment. We’d even discussed, if we were to ever get married, how many kids we’d want, how we’d balance our schedules, what holidays we’d celebrate, and what our families would think of each other.

  How could things have gone south so quickly?

  Right now, I climbed the outdoor stairway and pounded on Chad’s door, continuously looking over my shoulder for a sign someone had followed me. After all, that’s the only way they could have left that note when I was at Sage’s. All I spotted behind me was the darkness.

  The smell of salty air and rotting sea life filled the atmosphere. Most people didn’t think of the smell as dead creatures—it was probably better that they didn’t—but that’s exactly what it was. Crabs, fish, seaweed, conch egg sacks, jellyfish . . . all of it washed up on shore and created the odor we affectionately thought of as “the beach.”

  Chad opened the door, and the sound of the TV blaring from his living room floated out. It sounded like some kind of recap of a surfing championship.

  He stood there, his eyes narrow at first and then widening. “Sierra?”

  My first impulse was to frown, put my hands on my hips, and let him know just how dissatisfied I was with his controlling behavior yesterday. But I needed his help, and acting like that wouldn’t get me very far, nor would it bring any restoration to our relationship.

  “Can we talk?” I asked. I shoved my hands into my pockets, hating the awkwardness between us.

  He looked over his shoulder. Fidgeted.

  I looked beyond him. At the table by his front door. That’s when I saw another set of keys there.

  “You have someone here?” My mind instantly went to images of a woman. Chad had a woman here? My mouth dropped open.

  Maybe I didn’t understand Chad, at all. I’d thought he was a good guy. But had he moved on this quickly? Had I meant nothing to him at all?

  “I do. But it’s not what—”

  Just then, Pastor Randy—Gabby always called him Pastor Shaggy because he resembled the character from Scooby Doo—appeared around the corner. “I thought I recognized your voice. How are you, Sierra?”

  I glanced at Chad, hoping he saw the questions in my eyes. Since when did Chad and Pastor Randy hang out?

  “I’m okay,” I finally said. “Been better.” I didn’t bother to hide the agitation in my voice.

  “Listen, it was fun, Chad. Let’s talk again some other time.” Pastor Randy grabbed his keys and squeezed past me. “I’ll see you around, Sierra.”

  I waited until the pastor was out of earshot before turning back to Chad. “Pastor Randy?”

  Chad shrugged. He wore an ugly surfing T-shirt and old khaki shorts that were frayed at the ends. “We’d been talking about surfing together for a while. It turned out today was a good day.”

  “There are conveniences to being unattached.” Okay, so I’d said I wouldn’t be hostile. But, here I was, being very hostile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

  “It’s not li
ke that.” He gave me “that” look. The one that said he was losing his patience and that he felt like arguing would be futile.

  I licked my lips. “You guys talking religion?”

  “Maybe some.”

  “Been hanging out with Gabby too long?”

  “I’m not all that excited about religion, but talking about Jesus is pretty cool. I’d like to think He was the type who might catch some waves with me.”

  Interesting. I didn’t ask. I wasn’t an atheist. I didn’t know what I believed.

  My parents were agnostic; their parents were agnostic; and who knew how much farther it actually went back? Generations.

  Part of me didn’t want to be agnostic just because my parents assumed I would be. Not that that was any reason to get religion. I knew that. Instead, I wavered in this in-between place of not really knowing. I didn’t want to rule anything out, nor did I want to embrace any ideologies.

  I had moments when I thought believing in God had its appeal, if for no other reason than because I wanted to pave a different path for my life than the one my parents had put before me. I saw how Gabby’s life had been changed when she started believing in a higher purpose than herself.

  But then I figured God was probably something pretty close to a dictator, just like my parents. He was all about rules. The last thing I needed in my life was more ways to disappoint those who had other ideas for my future.

  Besides, how could I believe God was loving if He approved of people eating animals? It might sound trite to some people, but it was important to me.

  “Can I come in a minute?”

  Chad stepped back. “Of course.”

  We stared at each other a second. I think I was secretly hoping he might apologize, but he did no such thing. He was probably secretly hoping I’d apologize. And so the dance continued, not unlike the mating ritual of hippos where the male attracted the female by spraying her with his feces.

  Finally, I started. “Look, I’m not here about last night. I . . . I need your help, actually.”