CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER THREE
The woman kept thinking about poor Cody Woods. She was sure that he was dead by now. She’d find out for sure from the morning newspaper.
As much as she was enjoying her hot tea and granola, waiting for the news was making her grumpy.
When is that paper going to get here?
she wondered, looking at the kitchen clock.
The delivery seemed to be getting later and later these days. Of course, she wouldn’t have this trouble with a digital subscription. But she didn’t like to read the news on her computer. She liked to settle down in a comfortable chair and enjoy the old-fashioned feel of a newspaper in her hands. She even liked the way the newsprint sometimes stuck to her fingers.
But the paper was already a quarter of an hour late. If things got much worse, she’d have to call in and complain. She hated to do that. It always left a bad taste in her mouth.
Anyway, the newspaper was really the only way she had of finding out about Cody. She couldn’t very well call the Signet Rehabilitation Center to ask about him. That would cause too much suspicion. Besides, as far as the staff there was concerned, she was already in Mexico with her husband, with no plans ever to return.
Or rather, Hallie Stillians was in Mexico. It felt a bit sad that she’d never get to be Hallie Stillians ever again. She’d gotten rather attached to that particular alias. It had been sweet of the staff at Signet Rehab to surprise her with a cake on her last day there.
She smiled as she remembered. The cake had been colorfully decorated with sombreros and a message:
Buen Viaje, Hallie and Rupert!
Rupert had been the name of her imaginary husband. She was going to miss talking so fondly about him.
She finished her granola and kept sipping her delicious homemade tea, made from an old family recipe—a different recipe from the one she’d shared with Cody, and of course minus the special ingredients she’d added for him.
She idly began to sing …
Far from home,
So far from home—
This little baby’s far from home.
You pine away
From day to day
Too sad to laugh, too sad to play.
How Cody had loved that song! So had all the other patients. And many more patients in the future were sure to love it just as much. That thought warmed her heart.
Just then she heard a thump at the front door. She hurried to open it and look outside. Lying on the cold stoop was the morning newspaper. Trembling with excitement, she picked up the paper, rushed back to the kitchen, and opened it to the death notices.
Sure enough, there it was:
SEATTLE —
Cody Woods
, 49, of Seattle …
She stopped for a moment right there. That was odd. She could have sworn that he’d told her he was fifty. Then she read the rest …
… at the South Hills Hospital, Seattle, Wash.; Sutton-Brinks Funeral Home and Cremation Services, Seattle.
That was all. It was terse, even for a simple death notice.
She hoped that there would be a nice obituary in the next few days. But she was worried that maybe there wouldn’t be. Who was going to write it, after all?
He’d been all alone in the world, at least as far as she knew. One wife was dead, another had left him, and his two children wouldn’t speak to him. He’d said barely a word to her about anybody else—friends, relatives, business colleagues.
Who cares?
she wondered.
She felt a familiar bitter rage rising in her throat.
Rage against all the people in Cody Woods’ life who didn’t care whether he lived or died.
Rage against the smiling staff at Signet Rehab, pretending that they liked and would miss Hallie Stillians.
Rage against people everywhere, with their lies and secrets and meanness.
As she often did, she imagined herself soaring over the world upon black wings, wreaking death and destruction upon the wicked.
And everybody was wicked.
Everybody deserved to die.
Even Cody Woods himself had been wicked and deserved to die.
Because what kind of man had he been, really, to leave the world with no one to love him?
A terrible man, surely.
Terrible and hateful.
“Serves him right,” she growled.
Then she snapped out of her anger. She felt ashamed to have said such a thing aloud. She didn’t mean it, after all. She reminded herself that she felt nothing but love and goodwill toward absolutely everybody.
Besides, it was almost time to go to work. Today she was going to be Judy Brubaker.
Looking in the mirror, she carefully made sure that the auburn wig was properly aligned and that the soft bangs hung naturally over her forehead. It was an expensive wig and no one had ever caught on that it wasn’t her own hair. Beneath the wig, Hallie Stillians’ short blond hair had been dyed dark brown and trimmed into a different style.
No sign of Hallie remained, not in her wardrobe and not in her mannerisms.
She picked up a pair of stylish reading glasses and hung them on a sparkly cord around her neck.
She smiled with satisfaction. It was smart to invest in the proper accessories, and Judy Brubaker deserved the best.
Everybody loved Judy Brubaker.
And everybody loved that song that Judy Brubaker often sang—a song she sang aloud as she dressed for work …
No need to weep,
Dream long and deep.
Give yourself to slumber’s sweep.
No more sighs,
Just close your eyes
And you will go home in your sleep.
She was overflowing with peace, enough peace to share with all the world. She’d given peace to Cody Woods.
And soon she’d give peace to someone else who needed it.