CHAPTER TWO. It was a glorious January day and Jill found a quiet park bench

A year earlier

It was a glorious January day and Jill found a quiet park bench. Her park bench. She slid to one side—the end still in bright sunshine—and unwrapped the sandwich she'd made that morning. She'd been coming to the park for years, enjoying the lake and woods while she escaped from the city for an hour each day. Development on the north side of the lake had the city streets encroaching on the park but the quiet remained. The lake and surrounding woods totaled over a thousand acres, land that local developers had been salivating over for years. And little by little, the county would sell a few acres here and there, shrinking the park while developers kept the county commissioners' pockets lined with cash. Jill was proud to have served on the Citizens Action Committee which helped pass a ballot initiative to stop any future land sales.

" Bunch of idiot politicians, " she murmured.

But the park was safe now. No matter how much the city grew—and it seemed it was getting bigger each year—this land would be here, undisturbed.

She bit into her sandwich, scanning the picnic area, seeing familiar faces but none of whom she knew. They were just faces of people like her, coming to the park for a quick escape. She never felt the urge to talk to any of them, but people-watching had become a hobby.

And then she saw her. The painter. The woman had been here every day for the last two weeks. She was closer today, standing out at the edge of the trees, facing the lake. She didn't have an easel this time, just a large sketchpad. As Jill watched her, the woman leaned back against the tree, head cocked sideways as she studied the lake.

Jill wondered who she was and where she was from. Her salt-and-pepper hair hinted at her age, that and the reading glasses that were sometimes perched on top of her head. But her lithe, graceful body contradicted those signs of an older woman. Jill stared, transfixed as her hand moved across the paper. She had a nearly overwhelming urge to walk closer, just to see what the woman was sketching. The lake, most likely, but still, Jill had to see.

Something was pulling her, urging her up off the park bench. Surprised, she found herself creeping closer to the woman, peering over her shoulder. She saw the woman's hand still, then watched as she slowly turned, sensing her presence. She slid the tiny reading glasses back to the more familiar position on top of her head. In the brief seconds that their eyes met, Jill noticed two things. One, her salt-and-pepper hair did indeed belie her age. She couldn't have been much older than Jill. And two, there was something so familiar about her, she nearly stopped breathing. Pale blue eyes collided with her own and a warm smile transformed the woman's face.

" Hi."

Jill finally remembered to breathe. She smiled in return, a bit apologetically. " I'm sorry but curiosity got the better of me, " she explained.

" Oh, my sketch." The woman held out the pad. " Here, take a look."

Jill gasped then looked up, again meeting pale blue eyes. " It's... it's me. Sort of."

The woman laughed. " Yeah, sort of. I've seen you on that same bench for days. I thought I would try and sketch it from memory. I didn't want to actually sit and stare at you. That freaks some people out."

Jill laughed too and handed the pad back. " And here I thought I was observing you in secret."

" No, people are generally curious when they see someone painting out in public. Or sketching, as is the case today." The woman held out her hand. " I'm Carrie Howell, by the way."

Jill took her hand, noting how strong the slim fingers were that wrapped around her own. " Jill. Jill Richardson."

" Nice to meet you, Jill. You come out here often? "

Jill nodded. " Nearly everyday. When the weather's good."

" Lunch break? "

" Yes, one to two."

Carrie nodded. " I usually come around one myself. It's too crowded during the noon hour, especially on gorgeous days like today." She pointed to the lake. " I was actually hoping someone would take a paddleboat or canoe out. I love sketching the lake when it's calm like this."

" But you do more than sketch. I saw you with an easel the other day."

" I use mostly chalk or charcoal if I'm not painting with water-colors. That's my favorite. And on the few occasions I feel daring, I play with acrylic or oils but not often." She shrugged. " It's just a hobby, really. I could always sketch but I've taken classes for watercolors and other mediums."

" Well, nice hobby to have. It must be relaxing." Jill motioned back to her park bench. " But I'm cutting into your time. I'll let you get back to it."

" Maybe it's me who is cutting into your time, " Carrie said with a laugh. " It was nice to meet you, Jill. Thanks for being the subject for my sketch."

" Any time."

Jill walked back to her bench, her sandwich long forgotten. She couldn't shake the feeling that their meeting was somehow preordained. Although she knew she'd never met Carrie Howell before, the familiarity of her eyes indicated otherwise. Jill would swear she'd stared into them before.

As she drove back to her tiny office on Oak Street, she replayed her meeting with Carrie, trying in vain to recall a time when she may have possibly run into the woman before. Nothing would come to her, so she simply attributed it to one of those dé jà vu feelings you could never explain.

But she felt certain she would see Carrie Howell again.