Driven (A Jenny Watkins Mystery Book 1) Read online

  Driven

  By Becky Durfee

  Copyright 2013

  Dedication

  There are too many people to thank for their support. Everyone in my life has been encouraging when I’ve disclosed my previously-secret and still-embarrassing plight to write a book.

  I will say these words would have never been put on paper if it weren’t for the love and support of my wonderful husband Scott. When I mentioned I wanted to write a book, he simply said, “Go for it.” I did, and now here I am.

  My children and step-children have also been wonderful means of support. My daughter Julia routinely asked when my book was going to be published. When I replied, “Probably never,” that wasn’t a good enough answer for her. She encouraged me to get it published, or at least try, and I couldn’t argue. How am I supposed to encourage my children to follow their dreams when I’m too afraid to follow mine? So thank you, Hannah Durfee, Seneca Durfee, Evan Fish and Julia Fish. You’ve been my inspiration.

  More thanks to the people who read my book when it was a simple email attachment: LynDee Walker, Sam Travers and Felicia Underwood. Their positive comments gave me the courage to submit the book for publication. More thanks to Bill and Sarah Demarest for additional edits.

  So many other people have touched my life in a way that has been reflected in this book. Again, there are too many to mention, but you all know who you are. J

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Two months later:

  Chapter 1

  2013

  “Everything hurts,” Jenny said weakly.

  Jenny Watkins lay on one end of the sofa; her husband Greg occupied the other. Exhaustion ravaged her body as she looked around the room at the countless boxes waiting to be unpacked, a thought she couldn’t even begin to contemplate being as sore as she was. Loading the moving van at the old apartment in Kentucky had been easy for her; with all of their friends and family around to help out, she was tasked with minimal heavy lifting. Unloading in Evansdale, Georgia, however, had been a different story. Three hundred miles from home, they had no friends to help, so she found herself struggling with her end of a couch, some dressers, and various other items she hoped to never lift again.

  Her eyes scanned the room, noting the peeling paint, antiquated fixtures, and inadequate lighting. Lifting furniture had been only step one in a very long process which, at that moment, invoked more dread in her than excitement. Flipping this once-beautiful house had seemed like a reasonable idea when Greg had first devised the plan; now she wasn’t so sure.

  At that moment an inexplicable wave of déjà vu washed over her. The feeling lasted only a couple of seconds before it vanished completely. Due to its brevity, she dismissed it as nothing more than exhaustion.

  “Next time we’re hiring movers,” she muttered. “I hurt in places I didn’t know I had.”

  “Teachers can’t afford movers,” Greg countered, throwing a pizza crust into the delivery box at the foot of the couch. “Besides, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You only did about a quarter of what I did.”

  Jenny wished he was kidding, but she knew he wasn’t. Even though she had lifted more than she’d ever thought possible, it still wasn’t enough for Greg. Under ordinary circumstances that comment would have made her angry; at the moment, however, she didn’t have enough energy to become irritated.

  The two laid in silence as Jenny considered how difficult it had been to say goodbye to everyone back home. She’d spent her whole life in Kentucky. Most of her friends were there; her family was there. Over the past few months she’d spent so much time deciding on a house and applying for jobs in Georgia that she hadn’t fully considered what she’d be sacrificing when she moved, which was essentially her entire life as she knew it. Apparently she’d underestimated the void she’d feel in her heart when she left it all behind.

  In an attempt to thwart the tears that threatened to fall, Jenny stood up, groaning with pain. “I’ve got to go to bed,” she announced warily. She put her hand on her forehead as a realization struck. “Which box has the sheets?”

  “It’s upstairs in the corner of the bedroom,” Greg replied.

  “Okay, thanks,” Jenny said. She picked up the pizza box and held it out to Greg. “You done?”

  “One more,” Greg replied, taking a piece from the box. Jenny stopped by the kitchen to put the rest of the pizza in the refrigerator and then headed up to the bedroom. She said “Ow” precisely thirteen times on her way, once for every step in the stairwell. Upon reaching the bedroom she managed to locate the box that contained the sheets rather easily, but then she struggled to open it. Tape had never been so difficult to remove. Despite the fact that she felt like she had weights dangling from her limbs, she managed to put the fitted sheet on the mattress, which was lying on the floor in the center of the room. After successfully tucking the last corner in, she half-heartedly threw a comforter on top and declared, “Good enough.” She headed into the bathroom, dutifully taking her toothbrush out of the toiletries bag.

  She heard Greg come in as she was almost finished brushing her teeth. “I think I’m going to bed, too,” he declared. “We’ve got a long day tomorrow.”

  Jenny spit into the sink. “I don’t even want to think about it.” She kissed his cheek as she walked past him and collapsed onto the mattress. Within seconds she felt waves of relaxation washing over her.

  “Steve O’dell.” The words woke her with a start.

  “What?” She asked her husband, somewhat annoyed that he had woken her.

  “I didn’t say anything,” he said, sliding onto the mattress next to her.

  “I swear to God I heard you say a name,” Jenny replied.

  “Nope,” Greg said. “You’re hearing things, babe.”

  “Great. That’s all I need.” She wriggled in the bed, getting comfortable again. “Love you.”

  Greg leaned over and turned off the lamp. “Goodnight.”

  Jenny wondered exactly what it would take for her husband to ever say the words, “Love you too.” With a shrug she dismissed the thought and fell asleep almost instantly.

  She awoke to the sound of Greg unzipping a suitcase. “Hey,” she said groggily, squinting at the brightness of the curtain-less room. “What time is it?”

  Greg glanced at his watch. “6:45.”

  “It’s early,” Jenny wiped her eyes. “You sure you don’t want to sleep a little longer?”

  “Lots to do,” he replied, putting on his clothes.

  In Jenny’s mind she knew she should have been getting out of bed too, but she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She closed her eyes, hearing the sounds of Greg getting ready to take on the day, finding herself both jealous of his enthusiasm and irritated by it. She drifted in and out of sleep as he made noise while getting ready, until she finally heard him head downstairs. The resulting quiet allowed her a few moments of deeper slumber.

  “Steve O’dell.”

  Jenny shot up in bed. She distinctly heard a name; there was no denying it this time. She looked around the room to see if Greg had come back
in, but she heard him milling around downstairs. She sat very still, scanning the room with just her eyes, consumed with the eerie feeling she wasn’t alone.

  “What is going on here?” she whispered as fear engulfed her body. “Who is in this house?”

  Now wide awake, she hopped out of bed and quickly headed downstairs. “I heard it again,” she immediately told Greg with a trembling voice. “I swear I just heard a man say ‘Steve O’dell.’ It’s the same name I heard last night when I thought it was you.”

  Greg nonchalantly continued rummaging through a box. “Are you saying the place is haunted? Is that why we got it so cheap?”

  Greg’s calm reaction caused Jenny to realize how crazy she must have sounded. She let out a laugh as the fear left her body. “I guess you’re right. I’m being ridiculous. I just don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

  Greg pulled some plates out of a box. “Did you do any drugs back in college that you didn’t tell me about?” He glanced at her with a smirk.

  “Yeah, right. I was a real party animal back then,” she said sarcastically. She rubbed her temples. “Maybe I’m becoming schizophrenic.”

  “You’re probably just tired,” Greg reasoned, “or stressed out. Stress can do some funny things to people, and you’re certainly under a lot of stress.”

  “I don’t know,” she declared, eager to change the subject. “How many plates are you unpacking?”

  “I figure about four,” he said. “A few cups and a little bit of silverware. That should get us through for a while. I hope to get the cabinets done before school starts, and then we can unpack the rest.”

  Jenny nodded in approval. She ran her fingers through her hair as she walked over to a box labeled “food,” dragging it over to the pantry. She ripped off the tape, opened the box, and reluctantly began the daunting task of unpacking.

  By the end of the day, the house had some semblance of order; Jenny and Greg were able to eat dinner at the kitchen table, which was actually located in the kitchen.

  Jenny stirred the take-out Chinese food with her fork and looked around. “You know, this house must have been incredible in its day.”

  “No kidding,” Greg agreed, “It’s a shame it was let go like this. Well, not for us. We get to reap the benefits of somebody else’s laziness.”

  Jenny wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “It’s hot in here. Are you sure the air conditioning is on?”

  “It’s on,” Greg assured her, “but it’s struggling. We’re definitely going to have to upgrade that. The unit is too small to keep up with a house this size.”

  Jenny made a face; that was exactly the kind of thing she didn’t want to spend time or money on. The artist in her wanted to jump straight to the cosmetic work. She viewed the house as a blank canvas, just like the ones she used to fill with intricate landscapes before she’d met Greg. Looking around the kitchen she envisioned paint on the walls, curtains on the windows, and granite countertops complementing the new appliances. She smiled as she considered the house’s aesthetic potential.

  “I’m thinking a light mustard color in here,” she announced.

  Greg squinted. “Really? Mustard? I was thinking more of a tan color. Mustard may not be neutral enough.”

  Jenny made a face as she pictured the walls being tan. She didn’t think that would have looked nearly as nice, but as she did with many things, she kept that opinion to herself.

  “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” she exclaimed as she walked her empty take out containers to the trash can.

  “We’ve only just begun,” he said. “Look on the bright side; we don’t need to spend money on a gym membership.” He, too, threw out his containers.

  “I’d better look like a model when this whole thing is over,” she said dryly. “Can we call it a night as far as work goes? I’d love nothing more than to sit down on the couch and chill out for a while. I think I’m done unpacking for the day.”

  “Yeah, me too.” Greg replied, stretching. “I think twelve hours is long enough.” The two lumbered into the living room, plopped down on the couch, and started to watch television. Jenny did not last long, however; fatigue quickly got the better of her, and she declared she needed to go upstairs to bed.

  Once upstairs she looked longingly at the mattress on the floor as she changed into her pajamas. She wished she could just climb into bed fully dressed with dirty teeth, but something within her would never allow that to happen. She needed to follow her routine.

  Once she’d completed her ritual, she laid down on the mattress. Within a couple of minutes she was drifting off to sleep. Then she heard it—that same unmistakable voice that had startled her twice before.

  “Elanor Whitby.”

  Chapter 2

  September, 1957

  Elanor Whitby sat on a picnic blanket overlooking Lake Wimsat with her boyfriend Ronald Dwyer. He sat very close to her, his arm around her waist, looking out at the water. The trees around the lake were just starting to show hints of color, which made the view even more breathtaking. The temperature was ideal, the sun was shining, and a light breeze was blowing. Ronald had planned everything else to a tee, arriving a half an hour before Elanor to make sure all of her favorite foods were on display when she arrived--the beautiful weather was the icing on the cake. Ronald couldn’t have been happier; he knew this was Elanor’s favorite place on earth, and everything was falling into place so nicely. Today was going to be absolutely perfect.

  “I’m really glad we’re able to spend the day together,” he said. “I’ve been missing you lately. You sure have been spending a lot of time at the magazine.”

  “I know,” Elanor replied apologetically, “but it’s really starting to take off now. I’m getting quite a following.” She smiled proudly, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “This little pet project of mine is turning out to be quite a hit.”

  “That’s great,” Ronald said unenthusiastically. He turned his body to face her, looking at her very seriously. “But have you ever thought about having something more?”

  Elanor squinted in the sunlight. “More?”

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice reflecting increasing excitement. “Like a husband. A family. With lots of kids running around. You know, a normal life.”

  Elanor retracted at the statement. Sensing her apprehension, Ronald continued to argue his case. “You’ve been working awfully hard lately, with the long hours and all. I hate to see you having to work so much. I hardly get to see you anymore.” He lowered his eyes. “I love you, Elanor, and I want to provide for you. I want you to be able to quit the magazine. I want it to be the two of us, all the time. You and me.”

  Elanor let out a sigh. “I love you too, Ronald. I truly do.” She looked into his hopeful brown eyes and felt her heart split in two. “But I’m not doing the magazine because I feel like I have to. I’m doing it because I love it.” She peered out at the lake, protecting Ronald from the optimism in her eyes. “I feel like I can make a difference. I want women to know there’s a whole world out there. And based on the increasing popularity of the magazine, it’s a message that women want to hear. Every month my readership gets bigger.” She hugged her knees into her chest. “I’m actually very anxious to see how big this thing will get.”

  “But if the magazine gets any bigger, we won’t see each other at all.”

  Elanor didn’t say anything. It was a prospect she’d already considered. Ronald was a dear, sweet, hard-working boy with a baby face and a refreshing, childlike innocence. His heart, which he wore on his sleeve, was pure, and he’d never uttered a dishonest word in his life. However, he didn’t offer her the intellectual stimulation she required. A life with Ronald would have indeed been simple and pleasant, but Elanor knew she needed something more. No matter how kind Ronald was, she would have never been happy just being somebody’s wife.

  Had Ronald ever read any of her articles, he would have known that about her.

  Wary of her silence
, but determined nonetheless, Ronald continued. “Elanor, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Inside and out. You make me so happy. If you give me the chance, I promise I will do everything I can to make you happy, too.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. Opening it, and getting up onto one knee, he said, “Elanor Whitby, will you marry me?”

  Time stood still for Elanor. She couldn’t believe she had let it go this far. Time and time again she told herself that she needed to end the relationship, but she never felt the need was immediate. He was such a kind soul, and the thought of hurting him was such an unpleasant image she’d always decided to put it off for another day. But she had waited too long. Now here he was, kneeling before her with a ring in his hand, and the rejection was going to be a million times more painful than it needed to be.

  “Oh, Ronald,” she sighed, reaching out to touch his face. “You are an amazing man. Truly. But the life you describe…” she shook her head and reduced her voice to a sympathetic whisper, “it just isn’t for me.”

  Ronald leaned back and distanced himself from Elanor. “So what are you saying?” His voice reflected both sadness and anger. “You’re choosing the magazine over me? You’d rather live alone and work sixteen hours a day than be married to me?”

  “Don’t say it like that,” she argued. “This magazine…it’s a dream of mine. I need to see it through. If I give up on it now I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering how big it could have gotten. How many women it could have helped.”

  “And you don’t think you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering how happy you could have been with me?” His voice cracked at the end of the question, and tears began to well up in his eyes.

  The agony on Ronald’s face was heartbreaking, but it didn’t change the answer. A rock formed in the pit of Elanor’s stomach as she acknowledged what she had to do. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see the expression on his face when he heard the words. “I’m sorry, Ronald.”