Chapter 6

6

"You saw Grant in the parking lot of the supermarket?"

Yes, I cracked and told Poppy. I couldn't help it. It's bad enough that I can't tell anyone I'm pregnant, but I couldn't keep this secret too. So as soon as I got home, I called her to come over. I had to hear what she thought.

So far, she seems to think I've gone off the deep end.

"It sounds really wild," I say, "but I know my husband's face."

"Yes…" Poppy shifts on the sofa next to me. "I don't doubt that. But there are a lot of men out there who resemble Grant. Maybe from far away, you thought…"

"But he was staring at me," I insist. "I'm sure of it."

Poppy doesn't believe me. And I can't entirely blame her, since I can't come up with one explanation for how I could be seeing my husband at the grocery store when he is, in fact, buried in the ground.

And we definitely buried him. I distinctly remember standing by his grave, surrounded by friends and relatives, dabbing the tears from my eyes with a lace handkerchief. I remember his coffin being lowered into the ground.

And we buried him in a normal cemetery. We didn't bury him in some special pet cemetery where he would come back to life after a week or two, carrying a terrible curse. Grant was buried in a regular cemetery where nobody comes back to life. Which means he's dead and in the ground.

I'm one hundred percent sure.

Well, okay, I guess not one hundred percent.

While Poppy is trying to figure a nice way to tell me I've lost my mind, Willie emerges from the kitchen, carrying a mug brimming with herbal tea. He is still shirtless, his taut muscles rippling under his deeply tanned and glistening skin.

"Here is your tea, Miss Lockwood," Willie says.

I accept the mug, but the smell of it turns my stomach. I've been noticing that smells make me more nauseated than they used to. I wonder how long I'll be able to conceal my pregnancy.

"Can I do anything else for you?" he asks me. "Anything… at all?"

There's a glint in his dark eyes that makes me shiver deliciously. Willie is devastatingly handsome, and now that my husband is no longer around, what would be the harm in showing a little interest?

But no. Willie is the last person I would want to get involved with. I know exactly what sort of person he is and what he's capable of, and while it's fine for him to clean my home, it would be a dangerous game to allow anything else to happen.

"I'm fine," I assure him. "Thank you."

Poppy follows Willie's progress with her eyes as he makes his way back into the kitchen. "That houseman of yours," she says. "He's really something."

"That's for sure."

She smiles shyly. "Do you think he might be willing to be my houseman too?"

I don't answer her question, partially because I'm fighting back a wave of nausea and partially because despite his appearance, she wouldn't actually want Willie to be her houseman. Not if she knew about his prison record.

Poppy pauses, and I notice she's staring down at my throat. I shift uncomfortably.

"That's a lovely necklace, Alice," she tells me.

My fingers fly to the chain around my neck, which has a snowflake pendant hanging off it. "Thank you."

"Have you worn that before? I feel like I saw you wear that snowflake necklace on another occasion."

"Well, yes, I'm sure I've worn it before."

"It's just strange to me." She cocks her head to the side. "The same snowflake necklace two different times. On two separate occasions. What does it mean?"

I frown. "Nothing."

"But there must be some sort of meaning or symbolism…"

"No. I'm just wearing the same necklace twice—that's all." I fiddle with my necklace, almost wanting to take it off just so she'll stop asking me about it. Sheesh.

"Are you okay?" Poppy asks.

I shoot her a look. She's seriously asking me that? Not only has my husband died in a fiery car wreck, but now I am seeing him at the grocery store. Does she really need to ask me if I'm okay? I am so clearly not okay.

"I mean," she says quickly, "you look a little green."

I have been keeping my nausea under wraps, but the second she points it out, it becomes overwhelming. I clamp a hand over my mouth and dash off to the kitchen as quickly as I can. I lean over the sink and vomit up everything I ate for lunch.

As I am bent over the sink, waiting to see if more is coming, Poppy's footsteps behind me grow louder. As I straighten up, I find her standing behind me, staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

"Alice?" she says.

I'm pregnant.

I almost blurt out the words. Poppy is my best friend, and I'm desperate to tell her the truth. And I surely would have, except at that moment, the doorbell echoes throughout the house. Wow, literally saved by the bell.

"I'd better get that," I say.

I at least have the wherewithal to gargle a little bit of water to rinse the vomit taste out of my mouth. Poppy hangs back in the kitchen while I tuck the strands of flaming-red hair behind my ears and pad over to the front door. I check the peephole, and for a moment, I am absolutely convinced that Grant will be standing there in one of his Armani suits, his Berluti leather briefcase clutched in his right hand.

But thank God, it's not him. Instead, it's a woman wearing a wool coat over a simple flower-print dress. She looks harmless enough, so I unlock the door.

The woman standing before me is about my height and build—she actually looks a bit like me. Her hair is a shade or two darker, but she has a similar nose and mouth and coloring. Someone could mistake us for sisters, or if not that, at least cousins.

"Hello," I say politely. "Can I help you?"

She stands there, wringing her hands together. I wonder if she's selling something. She doesn't have anything with her that looks like it could be for sale, but perhaps it's in a catalog. Or maybe she's selling magazine subscriptions.

Ooh, or maybe it's Girl Scout cookies. I hope that's what it is. I love Thin Mints.

"Hello," she says. "Are you Alice Lockwood?"

"Yes…" I say.

"And Grant Lockwood is…" She pauses. "Grant Lockwood was your husband?"

"Yes." I frown, suddenly wishing I had not opened the door for this strange woman. The chances of her pulling out a box of Thin Mints is decreasing by the second. "What is this all about? Who are you?"

"My name is Marnie." She looks me straight in the eyes. "And I am Grant Lockwood's wife."