science fiction is tomorrow’s science fact. Or don’t you believe that?”
Deliberately, he said, “I believe answers are usually ordinary and almost always simple, Joanna. Being a cop in a much bigger place than Cliffside for a few years taught me that much.”
“So you’re a hardheaded realist?”
“If you want to call it that.” He shrugged. “People are fairly predictable, on the whole, and their motives are seldom complicated. What you see is usually what you get. It makes my job easier.”
“And what do you see when you look at me?” she asked him seriously.
“I see … Joanna Flynn.”
After a moment, she smiled. “You’re a bad liar, Griffin.”
“I’m not lying.” He tried to keep his voice even. “Caroline McKenna is dead. Unlike most of the people in thistown, I saw her body, so I couldn’t begin to convince myself that you’re her. Even if I wanted to.”
Joanna’s smile had vanished. She looked down at her coffee, frowning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you—”
“Of something painful? I was a cop in Chicago for nearly five years, Joanna; I’ve seen a lot of bodies. I can talk about her—and what that wreck left of her—without going to pieces.”
She looked at him, grave now. “Given your job, I’m sure you can. But when I said you were a bad liar, I didn’t mean I thought you literally saw Caroline when you looked at me.”
“Then what did you mean?” He knew he was so tense it showed, and he knew his voice held a harsh edge despite all his efforts to sound detached. Most of all, he knew that his quick denial of any pain about Caroline’s death had sounded jarringly untrue.
“What I meant was that you hadn’t gotten past the—the features I shared with Caroline. When you look at me, when anybody in this town looks at me, they see Caroline’s face. They see somebody who looks like Caroline looked. Nobody knows
me
. Nobody here has any idea who Joanna Flynn is, so they don’t see me at all.”
After a moment, Griffin nodded. “Okay, fair enough. It’s … disconcerting, I admit.” And no doubt explained his own turbulent feelings, he thought. His brain was just trying to reconcile images of two women who happened to resemble each other even though he knew they had to be different in other ways. That was all.
“How do you think I feel? People look at me as if they know me. They assume things. Do you know, when I went to the drugstore just before the library, the clerk automatically got a pack of cigarettes and pushed it across the counter to me?”
“Caroline smoked,” Griffin heard himself say.
“Yeah, so I was told when the clerk realized what she’d done. Mrs. McKenna smoked, she said, and she’d just assumed…” Joanna sighed. “The poor kid didn’t know where to look, and neither did I. It feels peculiar, let me tell you.”
Griffin hesitated, then said, “Does that mean you’re going to cut your vacation short?”
She sipped her coffee, those big golden eyes fixed unwaveringly on his face, and didn’t answer until she had set her cup back on the table. Then she merely said, “No.”
“If we make you so uncomfortable…”
Joanna shrugged. “If it gets too bad, I can always leave. In the meantime, according to the Chamber of Commerce, Cliffside offers just what I need—wonderful scenery, peace, and quiet.”
“And if the people around here go on making you feel peculiar?”
“Then I’ll spend all my time staring at the scenery or reading peacefully on the veranda at The Inn.”
He wondered if he’d ever get used to her voice and that lazy accent. It was oddly pleasing, but startled him every time she spoke. “Is your life back in Atlanta so hectic?”
Her eyes lit with amusement, and her lips curved in that brief, just slightly crooked smile that was nothing like Caroline. “As a matter of fact, my life is pretty tame. I work in a private library.”
He nodded, trying to look as if he hadn’t already known
Deliberately, he said, “I believe answers are usually ordinary and almost always simple, Joanna. Being a cop in a much bigger place than Cliffside for a few years taught me that much.”
“So you’re a hardheaded realist?”
“If you want to call it that.” He shrugged. “People are fairly predictable, on the whole, and their motives are seldom complicated. What you see is usually what you get. It makes my job easier.”
“And what do you see when you look at me?” she asked him seriously.
“I see … Joanna Flynn.”
After a moment, she smiled. “You’re a bad liar, Griffin.”
“I’m not lying.” He tried to keep his voice even. “Caroline McKenna is dead. Unlike most of the people in thistown, I saw her body, so I couldn’t begin to convince myself that you’re her. Even if I wanted to.”
Joanna’s smile had vanished. She looked down at her coffee, frowning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you—”
“Of something painful? I was a cop in Chicago for nearly five years, Joanna; I’ve seen a lot of bodies. I can talk about her—and what that wreck left of her—without going to pieces.”
She looked at him, grave now. “Given your job, I’m sure you can. But when I said you were a bad liar, I didn’t mean I thought you literally saw Caroline when you looked at me.”
“Then what did you mean?” He knew he was so tense it showed, and he knew his voice held a harsh edge despite all his efforts to sound detached. Most of all, he knew that his quick denial of any pain about Caroline’s death had sounded jarringly untrue.
“What I meant was that you hadn’t gotten past the—the features I shared with Caroline. When you look at me, when anybody in this town looks at me, they see Caroline’s face. They see somebody who looks like Caroline looked. Nobody knows
me
. Nobody here has any idea who Joanna Flynn is, so they don’t see me at all.”
After a moment, Griffin nodded. “Okay, fair enough. It’s … disconcerting, I admit.” And no doubt explained his own turbulent feelings, he thought. His brain was just trying to reconcile images of two women who happened to resemble each other even though he knew they had to be different in other ways. That was all.
“How do you think I feel? People look at me as if they know me. They assume things. Do you know, when I went to the drugstore just before the library, the clerk automatically got a pack of cigarettes and pushed it across the counter to me?”
“Caroline smoked,” Griffin heard himself say.
“Yeah, so I was told when the clerk realized what she’d done. Mrs. McKenna smoked, she said, and she’d just assumed…” Joanna sighed. “The poor kid didn’t know where to look, and neither did I. It feels peculiar, let me tell you.”
Griffin hesitated, then said, “Does that mean you’re going to cut your vacation short?”
She sipped her coffee, those big golden eyes fixed unwaveringly on his face, and didn’t answer until she had set her cup back on the table. Then she merely said, “No.”
“If we make you so uncomfortable…”
Joanna shrugged. “If it gets too bad, I can always leave. In the meantime, according to the Chamber of Commerce, Cliffside offers just what I need—wonderful scenery, peace, and quiet.”
“And if the people around here go on making you feel peculiar?”
“Then I’ll spend all my time staring at the scenery or reading peacefully on the veranda at The Inn.”
He wondered if he’d ever get used to her voice and that lazy accent. It was oddly pleasing, but startled him every time she spoke. “Is your life back in Atlanta so hectic?”
Her eyes lit with amusement, and her lips curved in that brief, just slightly crooked smile that was nothing like Caroline. “As a matter of fact, my life is pretty tame. I work in a private library.”
He nodded, trying to look as if he hadn’t already known
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