Her finger hovered over the call button, unable to press it. She wasn’t ready to confess this yet. Was she embarrassed or just not ready to share her memories with Ruston?
Pastor Ruston. If she called the girls, she would have to confess not only that she ran away and attended parties to get away from her life that she always said she loved, but also that she had sex with her minister. Not only hers. Natalie, Mia, and Mandy attended the same church as her. Sometimes they even talked after church, but not often, and not if Mia or Mandy wasn’t there. She and Natalie did not talk.
It had been almost six months since the book club had first met. It had started without Hazel. It had started by chance on a Facebook page that Hazel had never heard of but wished she had.
One blustery Saturday afternoon, she had been sitting with her grandparents at the café in downtown Landstad. Mia had been their waitress. But she was the only waitress almost all the time. Though it was her fault since she owned the café and didn’t hire extra staff. But it wasn’t the waitress who had caught her attention; it was the conversation taking place in the booth behind her.
Tess Thorn from the bank and Ruth Kennedy, who was the secretary at the insurance office just down the road, were talking about a book they were reading, a book about Ted Bundy, the serial killer. Both were in discussion about whether he got away with too much or was credited with too much.
The conversation behind her held more appeal than the one happening in her own booth. Her grandparents were talking about how winter was going to be long, cold, and snowy. It was the same conversation the couple had been having for the last forty-five years they had been married. Hazel had heard it before and a hundred times before and twice that day. Her son beside her was calmly coloring on the kid’s menu.
One of her hidden escapes over the past few years had been reading about serial killers. Their crimes and why they do what they do. And now, behind her, two people she knew were talking about one of them openly.
Their conversation dragged on, and Mia dropped off the May family’s lunches, then stopped at the booth behind them. Where she told the ladies she too had read the book and hated it. Hazel wished she knew which book they were talking about, but she was unable to look behind her to see without being obvious.
As she ate her hamburger, she heard one of them say, “We are starting a book club, Mia. Are you interested in joining? These are the kinds of books we plan to read and discuss.”
Straining to listen, she waited for the bubbly waitress to answer the question, “Yes, where and when?”
One of the others in the booth stated, “We were thinking a weeknight and trade-off places each time.”
Mia didn’t answer as a customer came in and called out a greeting. Then she answered, “How about Sunday afternoons here? I close at around one pm and have the place cleaned by three. Would that work for you two?”
Both seemed to be in agreement, and Mia walked away to take another order. Once the waitress was gone, both women started to gather their coats, hats, and mittens. Hazel put down her burger and jumped to her feet, mumbling something to her grandparents about the restroom, and walked down the aisle. As she did, she looked into the booth the women shared to see what book was being read. Recognizing the title, she turned back to look in front of her but too late—she ran into someone who had been walking toward her. Pastor Ruston grabbed her by the shoulders. He was all black coat, dark pants, and steamy blue eyes. Smiling at her, he said, “Excuse me, Hazel.” Then he let her go.
The whole incident had been such an embarrassment, she had stayed in the bathroom a little too long. She always had a way of having situations blow up on her. When she had finally made it out of the restroom, he was seated at the booth across from her grandparents, and they were chatting, probably about the weather. The two women were gone, and Mia was talking animatedly to another customer about something.
It had been on the way back to the table that she had noticed Natalie Beckett sitting two tables down from her grandparents. Except for church, Hazel never saw Natalie Beckett; the two did not run in the same circles. Not anymore.
Just seeing her around town made Hazel depressed, and sometimes she would almost hyperventilate. It wasn’t Natalie herself that caused the reaction; it was just the fact that she was here. She was alive, and they were gone.
Making it to the booth, she slid in next to her son and pulled him to her, silently praying for his safety, as if danger was close at hand. His struggles made her let him go. He was three and didn’t like mom hugs like he used to. Pushing her plate away, she looked at her grandparents, who were looking at her with concern in their eyes. Biting her lip, she excused herself to go sit in the car and wait for them to finish. She’d had enough of people. Neither argued with her about leaving.
As she got up from the booth, her eyes caught Pastor Ruston’s, who was studying her like a bug under a microscope. Pulling her eyes away, she walked out into the blowing cold and sat in the car in the parking lot. She had forgotten her coat, but the cold didn’t bother her. The cold reminded her she was alive.
To get her mind off her memories of the past that Natalie Beckett always brought up, she pulled out her phone and researched the book the book club was reading. By the time her grandparents made it out of the restaurant with her son and her coat, she had started chapter two of the book. She continued reading as they drove away from the restaurant.
Once home, she put John Henry down for a nap and finished the book, then started another on the same topic. Maybe she could get her grandmother to watch the baby while she would see if others could join the book club, or was it just for professionals from downtown?
In reality, she knew none of the women who would be there. Tess Thorn was the bank president and well over a decade older than Hazel. Both Mia and Ruth were in nearly the same class at school but were around seven years older, and they were all professionals or business owners from downtown. She was just a small-town farmer, and not even a good one.
The next day, it had taken every ounce of courage she had to walk into that café. Way more than getting on stage at a raging party to sing a few songs. None of the four women, expanded to include the nurse practitioner Mandy, had said anything to the younger woman who asked if anyone could join the club. Everyone had smiled, and Mia had jumped up to get another coffee for her.
Sitting with these women who had accomplished so much in life had intimidated Hazel. Even when they asked her a question, she had a hard time answering. Her opinion meant nothing compared to these four.
Pushing her coffee away, she decided she would not be able to do this. Hazel May was not going to be able to let herself enjoy a book club that seemed like just what she needed. Before she could slide out of the booth, Mia sat down next to her, blocking her in. She possibly sensed Hazel was about to leave.
“How about we start with introductions?” Mia said. She was always so upbeat. “I’m Mia. I work and own this place, have for a few years now. I’m single and hate snow and this little town, but I stay because this is where everybody is. My favorite serial killer is not Ted Bundy, but I cannot decide who it is. Angel?”
Ruth Kennedy from the insurance company frowned at Mia and said, “Ruth, just Ruth, Mia. I work at the insurance office a few doors down. Also single, I live above the insurance office and spend almost every weekend with my mom, but it snowed this weekend, so I was able to stick to town. Favorite killer is Dean Carrol. I don’t know why. So many details are unknown.”
Next to Ruth, Mandy went next, “Mandy Nordskov, nurse at the clinic. Divorced, and new to town, but I did grow up here. Mia is my cousin and invited me. I can read anything about Jack the Ripper.”
Tess Thorn glanced at Hazel but realized she wasn’t going to say anything. “Tess Thorn, bank president. I’m not from here—I grew up in Minnesota. I really like this little town, very friendly so far. Favorite is The Chessboard Killer if we can choose foreign ones.”
Mia’s eyes lit up. “That’s a good one.” Then she turned to Hazel. “Hazel, you’re next.”
Swallowing hard, she mumbled, “Hazel May, farmer. I have a three-year-old son. I guess I like H. H. Holmes, but I don’t know if he actually did many of the murders he was accused of.”