This picks up right after the last part ended. You can find the rest of Spence here.
"Golden Rule" by Lil' Ed and the Blues Imperials
"Don't Fear the Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult
“Well, hell, Spence, what are you doing back in this neck of the woods?” he demanded. “And what in the devil’s name are you doing with Faye Spencer’s license? You know those kind of people take that kind of thing real serious,” he said, his face sober.
“No, Jim, that—that’s my license,” Faye said. “That’s me. I’m Faye Spencer. I changed my name.”
He whistled. “Well, shit!” he exclaimed. “So that’s what you’ve been doing!”
She kept the smile on her face through sheer force of will and nodded. “Yep. That’s what I’ve been doing.”
Jim leaned against the side of the truck and Faye sighed. Good old dependable, thick-as-log Jim. Couldn’t take a hint if it hit him over the head. No wonder he’d gone into law enforcement.
“So what are you doing back here?” he asked. “We all heard about Sarah. I’m real sorry, Spence. We’ll all miss her.”
Faye made sharp dismissive gesture. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course, of course,” he said understandingly. “It must have been an awful shock for you. If there’s anything we can do—”
“Jim. I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Right. Sorry.” He fell silent, and then after a moment he said, “So what are you doing back here? Not that I ain’t glad to see you, but you gotta admit, Spence, no one’s seen you around here for years.”
“Sarah left me her house,” Fay said shortly. “I’ve come up to look at it.” She tapped her hands together and looked up at him from beneath her lashes, resting her chin on her fist. “I was on my way there, so if I could keep going that’d be great.”
Jim looked serious. “There’s still the fact that you were speeding, Spence, and I gotta deal with it—”
“Jim,” Faye said, laying a hand on his sleeve, “look. I’ve been under a lot of emotional stress lately, and I’m not thinking very clearly. I was just focusing on getting here and I wasn’t paying attention to how fast I was driving. Can we just…forget about it? I can promise you it won’t happen again.”
Jim hesitated. Faye stroked his sleeve and smiled up at him, and she could see him giving in.
“All right,” he said at last. “But just this once,” he warned, pointing his finger at her. “Just because you’re some famous woman don’t give you the right to go zipping through here as fast as you like. It’s dangerous.”
“Duly noted,” Faye said, throttling her temper. “Can I go now?”
He sighed and handed back her license and registration. “Stick to the speed limit from now on, Spence. If I pull you over again, I’m sticking you with a ticket, and I don’t care how much emotional stress you’ve been under. I don’t care if you cry, you’re still getting a ticket.”
“Got it,” Faye said. “Now, can I go?”
“Yeah. Get out of here.” He grinned. “See you around, Spence.”
She slammed the door and pulled back onto the road, waving back at him out the window. Once he was out of sight, she let herself relax, feeling the tell-tale pain at the back of her head that heralded a migraine. She’d hoped to be able to get into town and settled into her Aunt Sarah’s house—her house, she thought—without running into anyone she knew. Now that she’d encountered Jim, the fact that she was back would be all over town by morning.
Driving on auto-pilot, she made her way through the outskirts of town, drove up Seeman Street, and pulled into the parking lot for the Darrington Iga. The stop at the convenience store earlier had mostly been for the booze; she hadn’t really wanted her first stop at the Darrington Iga to involve a basket full of beer. The last thing she needed was a town full of well-meaning people thinking she was an alkie.
“Stay put, Barney,” she said, cracking the window for him. She grabbed her wallet out of the glovebox and slid out of the truck. “I’ll be back soon.”
Faye walked into the store and stopped just inside, letting the cold air wash over her. It was a shock after the outside heat. She didn’t remember the summers being this hot when she was younger, but then when she was younger she’d spent a lot of time in the river. And then there was global warming. Maybe that shit had more to it than she’d thought.
The store had been remodeled since the last time she’d been here; not surprising, since it had probably been fourteen years. She stuck her hands in her pockets and headed into the bakery, following the smell of bread.
Two aisles and half a basket later, she stood staring at the frozen dinners, trying to decide between lasagna and pizza and finally tossing one of each into the basket, when an excited, high-pitched voice squealed,
“Oh, my god, you’re Faye Spencer!”
Faye continued to stare at the frozen foods, finally plucking some kind of Mexican dish that seemed to have dancing chilies all over the box off the shelf before turning to face a teenage girl, who was staring at her with wide eyes. “Did you want something?” she demanded.
“Oh, my god,” the girl said again. “I recognized you from the picture on the back of your books. You’re, like, amazing. I’ve read all of your books.”
Faye brushed past her, wishing yet again she’d been able to convince her agent that that picture had been a bad idea. She had never liked the fact it had thrust her in to the public eye in the first place, and after recent events— She shook herself out of the past and found that the girl was keeping pace with her. “For Christ’s sake, stop following me,” she snapped.
“What are you doing in Darrington?” the girl asked eagerly. “Are you here on, like, a book signing? Only we never get anything interesting like that. We always have to go to Everett or Bellingham or Seattle.” The girl’s voice got progressively higher at the end of each sentence as she got more and more excited.
Faye pressed her fingers against her temple, willing her head to stop hurting. “If I tell you, will you go away?”
“I’m living here.”
“Omigod! That’s so awesome!” the girl squealed, following Faye as she turned into the next aisle and tipped several boxes of Kix into her basket. “Where are you living? Are you going to—”
Faye rounded on the girl. “Seriously, fuck off,” she said. “I am not in the mood to deal with overenthusiastic fans, and unless you want me to clock you one, get out of my face.” She looked down at her basket, decided she had enough food for now, and headed for checkout. The girl stayed behind, her face crestfallen, her eyes welling up with tears.
“Wow, you must really like Kix,” the clerk said as he bagged her groceries.
“Can’t stand it,” Faye said as she picked up the bags and headed for the door.
Next: Spence III