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“I’m Freya Jenkins, and I was hoping we could chat.”
“Do I know you?” I asked, trying to place her face.
“No, dear. We’ve never met.”
I stopped cold. As it dawned on me. It was the woman from the restaurant the other night. The one who paid our bill.
I backed up. “I’m not interested.”
I wanted nothing to do with anyone who knew or dealt with Rhys Hughes.
“Please, it’s important.”
Maybe it was the way she said the wordimportant, putting emphasis on it as if she held some great secret that would change my life. Or maybe, in the end, I was looking for an answer. Some kind of resolution to the madness I now found myself in.
“Somewhere public,” I said.
“Good, I’ll buy you a coffee.”
We exited the building and headed to a coffee shop, sitting at a small table. The waiter came and took our order.
“Is this about Rhys Hughes?” I asked.
“No, dear, this is about you,” she said. “You seem to have found yourself in a bit of a predicament.”
I wasn’t sure what she was talking about and tried my best to play along.
“There’s no predicament. I’m leaving the country and going home.”
“You remind me of myself when I was a girl a long, long time ago. Young, beautiful, smart. With the whole world in front of you. And you remind me of myself now. Prudent, cold, detached.”
I stared at her, unsure of what to say. She was elegant and sophisticated. Her silver-gray hair was styled in a classic French twist, and her clothes were sleek and designer.
“It’s a lonely place to be,” she continued.
The waiter came back, placing two coffees on the table.
“Please don’t presume to know me,” I said, adding a splash of cream to my cup.
“I presume nothing. I can see it with my own eyes.”
“What do you want, Ms. Jenkins?”
“I only mean to give you some advice. Advice I wish someone had given me at your age.” She took a sip of her coffee.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“You take everything at face value. Only seeing the surface and what people want you to see. You need to dig deeper. Look deeper. The answers are right in front of you.”
I would take offense, but I had no idea what she was talking about. “That sounds cryptic. Would you like to explain further?”
“It’s only an observation. But once again,” she said, pointing a finger at me, “you’re operating at face value. What do you think I’m talking about, Navy? You’re smart. Think.”
“I don’t know. If you’re talking at Rhys, trust me, I know I missed all the signs about him,” I said.
“I told you this is not about Mr. Hughes.”
“If this is about my job? I’m quitting.”
