Save Me: A dark romantic thriller (Novel) (19 page)

“What’d you do? Anything interesting?”

“Yeah. I did. Actually, me and Troy took Kimberly to Philadelphia.”

“Ah,” said Stella, remembering when she had lived in Philly as a child. “The city of brotherly love. What’d you go there for, the cheese steaks?”

“No,” Ashley giggled. “To buy art supplies. There’s this tiny shop in the downtown district that has canvases, paint, and brushes for really cheap. Since I’ve been having so much success selling my paintings, I’m determined to keep plucking away. If I‘m going to achieve big-time success, I have to be at my easel at least five days a week.”

“Well,” said Stella, “at the rate you’re going, you won’t need this job anymore. A thousand dollars for one painting and seven-hundred and fifty for another. Not to mentions your other sales. You must be the luckiest starving artist on this side of the Mississippi.”

Ashley smiled. She too had been surprised by how fast her artwork had sold.

***

There was one person, however, who didn’t give a damn about Ashley’s extraordinary Picasso-like paintings.

With wicked intentions, this person, at noon, when there was no one in the bakery (not even Stella, who had gone home for the day) stormed through the entrance, causing the bell over the door to jingle hectically. The ‘open Monday thru Saturday’ sign fell to the floor, and rather than pick it up, this individual rudely kicked the sign aside.

Startled by the customer’s abrupt entrance, Ashley immediately turned from the counter where she’d been preoccupied sketching a picture on the back of a napkin. The person who had walked in was a twenty-something female in an elegant black dress.

As she advanced toward the counter, the customer’s high-heels resonated against the linoleum floor, Click-clack. Click-clack.

“Hello there,” Ashley greeted her kindly. Friendly service was one of the keys Stella attributed to her staying in business for so long.

“Oh. Hey,” the woman said, retrieving something from her purse. “Are you still open?”

“Yes. Until four.”

“Smells divine in here. What is that, cinnamon?”

“Apple pie,” Ashley clarified, indicating the top of the counter where the fresh pastries were stacked. “Would you like a sample? I could cut you a small piece.”

“No thanks,” the customer answered, still rummaging through her handbag. “I was never big on apple pie.”

“How about lemon meringue?”

“Nah. I think I’ll pass on that too.”

Ashley cleared her throat. “Were you looking for anything unparticular?”

“Missy,” the woman snapped, practically growling, “when I find what I want, I’ll let you know. Okay? Give me a moment to think.”

Not sure what to do, Ashley went back to her sketch.

“How lame is this?” the fancily attired patron continued to gripe. “I’ve seen a better selection in a soup kitchen. How could you people not have Italian bread?”

“I’m sorry,” Ashley tried to sympathize. “We sold out.”

“Don’t you have anymore in the back?”

“I’m afraid not. Just what you see here.”

The customer sighed. “What kind of bakery doesn’t have Italian bread?”

“Ma‘m, we carry it. We just don’t have anymore at this particular moment. If you’d like to come back tomorrow, I’m sure we could accommodate you.”

“Tomorrow? I’m not coming back tomorrow. You must be tripping.”

Perturbed, Ashley shook her head.

The pestering customer bent down to inspect the sweet snacks. She had short dark hair, an appealing face, and wore big silver hoop earrings. “Since you don’t have what I want, give me a loaf of this French bread here.” With her finger, the woman pointed.

“This loaf here?” Ashley asked. In total, there were four.

“No. The one on the left. That’s it . . . Is that crunchy?

“Absolutely. All the bread we carry is crunchy. You’ll like this. Our French bread has a nice buttery taste.”

As the woman opened her wallet, she mysteriously uttered, “If you didn’t have this whole Marilyn Monroe thing going, he wouldn’t be attracted to you.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh. Don’t act so naïve. The only reason why Troy wants to be with you is because you have this vulnerable Marilyn Monroe persona, the hot blonde, damsel in distress.”

“Excuse me!” Ashley interrupted, totally confused. “Would you mind telling me who you are, and what you’re talking about?”

The woman stamped her foot. “You want to know who I am?”

“Yes. For starters. Then you can tell me how you know my boyfriend Troy?”

Sarah Kline was a scorned woman and all she wanted right now was revenge.

Sweet revenge!

Three weeks before, Troy Young, the man Sarah had been dating for a little more than six months, had sent her an email stating that he wanted to break up with her.

Troy had not given Sarah a detailed reason as to why he did not want to see her anymore, except to say that between them, he did not think it was working out.

But Sarah knew better.

That overly sensitive buffoon had fallen for Ashley Ferguson. This was exactly what she had feared might happen.

What made Sarah more livid was not so much that Troy had acquired feelings for someone else. After all, that sort of thing sometimes happened.

Rather, she did not appreciate the way in which he had concluded their relationship. In Sarah’s opinion, sending an email at one o‘clock in the morning, which had only consisted of one paragraph, was a spineless way of pushing someone out of their life.

Throughout the month of August, Sarah had been aware that, now and again, Troy and Ashley Ferguson had continued to meet. In spite of that she had not thought she had grounds to be concerned since Troy kept insisting that their affiliation was strictly platonic.

We just talk
, he would often say.
There’s nothing more to our friendship than that
.

What a liar!

Now Troy would pay.

***

“My name is Sarah,” the customer revealed brashly. “Sarah Kline.” She slapped a ten-dollar bill down on the counter.

Still at a loss, Ashley replied, “So! You say that like I’m supposed to know who you are.” She looked down at the register.

“You should.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because,” the woman in the attention-grabbing dress explained, “as of three weeks ago, your boyfriend and I were involved in what I had thought was a committed relationship . . . But all that ended when Troy decided he’d rather be with you.”

Ashley was about to tap in the price for the loaf of bread. Then, she suddenly found that she could not move. Did this person just claim that she and Troy had once been lovers? And as recently as of three weeks ago? “What did you say?”

“I take it by the expression on your face, that he never mentioned me?”

“That‘s correct. The only former girlfriend Troy had ever talked about was someone named Naomi Cartwright.”

“Right. Naomi Cartwright.” Disdainfully, Sarah Kline rolled her eyes. “I heard that story too. All about how brokenhearted he was when she ran off to Montana. Swept off her feet by a modern-day John Wayne. By the twentieth time I heard that story I almost gagged.”

Still not thinking clearly, Ashley dipped her hand into the till to get the customer’s change.

“You’re sure he never mentioned me?”

“No. If he had, I would have remembered.”

Now counting her change, Sarah Kline added, “He’s such a two-timer. Looks like he had us both fooled.”

“Oh.” Ashley studied the woman intently. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Did Troy ever tell you why he sought you out? Why he dropped by here at the beginning of the summer?”

Ashley frowned. “No. He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Let‘s see if I can clear it up for you. Originally he came here because your mother had asked him too.”

“What?”

“Yes. One day your mommy, who was worried about you, went into Crown Jewel and told Troy you were an emotional wreck. Possibly even suicidal. She thought that if he talked to you it might help you feel better. Obviously it did.”

“You’re full of it,” Ashley accused. “My mother wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Sorry.” The customer shook her head. “Have to disagree with you. The only reason why Troy is with you right now is because he feels sorry for you. So don’t think it’s because he loves you. You heard him yourself; his heart still belongs to that gold-digger Naomi.”

“This is ridiculous,” Ashley said, backing away from the counter. Now she refused to comply to Stella‘s policy of being polite. “You’re lying. I don’t know who you are, you outspoken bitch, or what the hell you’re trying to start here, but I know everything you’re telling me is a lie.” Ashley put her hands over her ears, hoping to quell the madness. “So just shut up! I don’t want to listen to anymore of this. Take your stuff and leave!”

“Sure. It‘ll be my pleasure.” Sarah Kline also purchased a large coffee, with cream and sugar. Both the hot beverage and the loaf of French bread were in a medium-size paper bag, which she held in the hand that wasn‘t clutching her purse. “I’ll get out of here. No problem. Just remember what I said though. Because what happened to me could very well happen to you.”

***

Outside, Sarah Kline, who was jealous that Troy’s new girlfriend was almost as pretty as she was, walked over to the front of the bakery where Ashley had her Toyota parked.

For a few seconds, Sarah stared at the car, contemplating what she wanted to do. She considered keying the door, making a long saw-toothed scratch.

But now, rather than do that, with the midday traffic cruising by on the nearby highway, she elected to snap off one of Ashley’s windshield wipers instead, and whip the useless blade onto the concrete pavement. Then Sarah poured her coffee on the hood.

“See you around, basket case!” she said, while hurrying back to her own car. “I hope it doesn‘t rain today because you might have trouble seeing the road.”

Sarah was certain that sometime later, when Troy came into contact with his new blonde girlfriend, he would have a lot of explaining to do. And if everything turned out the way she hoped, he would be dumped in a similar surprising fashion to the way he had dumped her.
What a creep!

After work, Ashley went to a Texaco Station and had the attendant fill her car with gas. Then she drove to the Crown Jewel supermarket to confront Troy.

Sarah Kline, that loudmouth!

Ashley didn’t know what upset her more, the part about Troy supposedly only being with her because he felt sorry for her. Or how her mother had allegedly asked him, back in July, to go see her.
One day your mommy, who was worried about you, went into Crown Jewel and told Troy you were an emotional wreck. Possibly even suicidal
.

Was it possible that Ashley’s mother would really portray her in such a pathetic manner? Making it sound as if she should have been placed on twenty-four hour watch, so that she wouldn’t hurt herself?

As Ashley hurriedly entered the market, she heard, over the store’s intercom, an announcement advertising that Tide laundry detergent was on sale. The absurdity of how this place went about its daily business-regardless of how hurt and confused Ashley was-made it so that she wanted to take something down from one of the shelves and smash it against the floor!

A bag of junk food.

A light bulb.

Anything.

She needed to do something to alleviate her pent up frustration.

When she finally reached the modestly crowded produce aisle, Ashley did not see Troy anywhere. However, she did spot Adam Campbell. The young produce clerk stood loading, onto a wide table display, bags of Idaho potatoes. His butter-yellow hair was parted to the side, and Adam seemed to be totally immersed in the project at hand.

Now, while Ashley made her way in his direction, she noticed that one of Adam’s shoelaces had come untied.

“Better fix that,” she commented, tapping him on the shoulder. “You’re libel to trip.”

Quickly, Adam looked up. “Oh. Hey. What’s up Ashley?”

“Hi Adam.”

“What are you doing here?” He seemed pleased to see her. “Have some shopping to do?”

“No. Actually, I’m looking for Troy. Is he still around?”

“He should be. I saw him not too long ago. Do you want me to go track him down?”

“Yes. If you could. I’d appreciate that.” She turned to leave.

“Hey!” Adam called. “Where’re you going?”

“Just tell Troy to meet me outside. I’ll be waiting by the shopping carts.”

“Okay. You‘ve got it. Will do.”

***

Adam Campbell found Troy inside the cold walk-in refrigerator.

With a clipboard and a ballpoint pen in his hand, Troy was carefully sifting through a massive pallet of fruits and vegetables, which had arrived by truck earlier. Part of his responsibility as manager was to make sure the department had received everything that had been ordered.

“Adam,” Troy spoke, his breath misty from the frosty air, “did you take a box of Bosc pears off of this pallet?”

“Yeah I did,” Adam replied. “I put them out in the aisle. About an hour ago.”

“Cool. What about red delicious apples?”

“I put them out as well. I even changed the price. A lot of shoppers are already buying them.”

“Great.” Troy put his clipboard down. “All right. It looks like my day is about done. Before you punch out, Adam, do me a favor and blitz the floor.” That meant power wash the walk-in. “We’re suppose to be inspected in the next few days. You don’t have to go crazy in here. Mainly focus on getting those blackberry and cherry stains underneath the racks. And make sure there‘s no lettuce, kale, or leeks left in the sinks.”

Adam said he would make sure everything was taken care of. Then, in a dramatic voice, he proclaimed, “Dude, Ashley’s here.”

“She is?” Troy was slightly taken aback.