A lump formed in her throat. She looked down, but all that did was draw attention to her outfit. She’d fretted over it all week, because the Spring Fling was going to be it for her. The mortgage was the last remnant of her old married life she’d been dragging behind her and now it was finally meant to be time for her fresh start.
She was wearing a bra that the shop assistant had promised would give her “like, amazing self esteem”, a silky dress that shimmered when she walked—heck, she was even wearing heels…
And then Reg had sauntered in just as she was putting the finishing touches on her make-up and said Oh, by the way, you know Deirdre can’t do the evening shift tonight because of her thing on the weekend, and I was wondering and he’d hmm’d and haww’d and gone on about and it’s Jonesy’s first Spring Fling since he made deputy and you know his Ma’s going to be so proud and Now young Marsha, it would just be a shame for her to miss out, what with her not making it to her prom last year and he’d made it the whole way around the office twice before getting to the meat of the matter:
Jacqueline’s ex-husband would be at the party. And his new wife. And their kid.
So Jacqueline took the night shift.
She swallowed angrily, spinning back to face her computer.
I’m done. Free. So what if I don’t make it to the Spring Fling? I don’t need it. I could move out, today—well, not today, maybe tomorrow—or next week—and start my super amazing, dirty thirties lifestyle in the city. I’ll live in an apartment, and drink cocktails with stupid names, and date, and—
The phone rang again and all the anger Jacqueline had held back while she was talking to the pizza woman exploded. She snatched up the phone.
“This had better not be another—”
The line crackled so loudly Jacqueline pulled the phone away from her ear. She squeezed her eyes shut. Stay calm. Stay professional. Even that angry pizza lady is probably just pissed because she has to babysit while everyone else is at the Fling.
The phone hissed and popped, and then a male voice quavered:
“Hello?… calling… Hideaway…”
Jacqueline’s heart sank. Is someone seriously calling to complain about the curse? Complaining about the weather was one thing, but…
She sighed. Most people she knew joked about their neighboring town bein
g responsible for any problems they faced—everything from late buses to, yep, electrical problems after storms—but calling to lodge a complaint with the sheriff was going too far, surely?
“Sorry, sir, can you repeat that please?”
“Trying to call—is this Hideaway? Got the number from…” His voice crackled and faded out.
Jacqueline rubbed her forehead. Not a curse complaint, then; just another crossed wire. “I’m sorry, sir, this is the Dunston sheriff’s office. I can try to transfer you…” And it’ll probably go through to the pizza place, knowing my luck.
“No, I… trying to get to… left them… storm…”
Jacqueline frowned. The voice on the other end of the line was male. His voice was deep, but it kept cracking, going up and down and wobbling with tension. Either she was imagining it, or the phone line was so bad it was making her hear things… or this guy was scared.
Alarm bells started going off in her head, but she forced her voice to remain calm.
“Sorry, sir, could you please repeat that?”
There was another burst of static, and then: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to do, but I left them there and now I can’t get back, the road’s closed and none of the buses are running and my car won’t start and I can’t get back to them—”
“To who?”
“I thought they’d be safe there, they’re only… too small… left them… marine reserve. Trying… get to Hideaway but I couldn’t call and now…”
Jacqueline’s heart dropped. Too small? Is he talking about children? “I—you’re saying you left someone at a marine reserve? During the storm?”
She could have hit herself. Stupid. Her job was to get the details and keep the caller on the line until she could get hold of someone to take action—not to berate them for whatever had made them call.
Especially not if there were children involved. Jacqueline’s stomach clenched. She knew better than this. She couldn’t let her own situation affect her professionalism.
“Sir, I understand if you don’t want to leave a name, but if you could let me know where you are—we’ll do whatever we can to help—”
She thought he started to say something else, but then there was a roar like a huge engine—Or a storm—and the call cut out.