Once Bitten (An Anya Maynard Novel)

Chapter One

Book One of the Anya Maynard Series 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Anya, is it? Steve told me you'd be in today. That's such an interesting name, you really never hear that. I'm Jess by the way, I'll be the one getting you started, have you ever waitressed before? If you haven't its no big deal, it's not like it's that hard to pick up. Come on and I'll show you around, it's not much to look at but..." 

That had to be a world record for 'number of words said in one breath'... and she was still going. 

I followed the obviously perky Jess around the counter into the inner sanctums of the diner as she continued to rattle off about things that had nothing to do with the job she was supposed to be training me for. 

Not that I would have had the chance to interject, but I have been a waitress before, several times before actually. It's an easy job to pick up. In every town in America there's a diner or a coffee shop looking for help. Most take food service jobs as a last resort when they can't find anything better, which means they are always looking for a new, better, job. In other words, my boss and restaurant manager didn't even blink at the number of jobs I've held in the last year...I had to ask for an extra sheet of paper. Not me though, I wasn’t looking for anything better, I took this job because it was one hundred percent under the table. All cash, no paycheck, and no way to trace me. 

All my boss cared about was if I had any outstanding warrants, nope, no warrants. 

"And this is our little cubby,” she said as she came to a stop at a wall off the kitchen, “it's good for your jacket but I'd leave the rest of your stuff in your car. Otherwise everything you got will smell like pancakes and fried food…" 

"I don't have a car," I mumbled more to myself then to Jess. 

I hadn't expected her to hear me, but the stunned look on her face said otherwise. "Really? Then how did you get here, there’s no busses or anything." 

She was right about that one, and though only a minor inconvenience, this small New Hampshire village was a far cry from the last city I had vacated. It’s the kind of picture perfect town that Normal Rockwell would have painted, the same quaintness that adorned thousand of postcards. Now Boston may be small for a city but it had all the amenities –and problems –of any other major city like regular and varying modes of public transportation.  But I came here for exactly that reason, a small town means fewer people, and if that meant I had to hoof it everywhere then so be it. 

I shrugged off her surprise, "I walked." 

Thing was, it may be a small town, but it was an affluent small town. Which meant this...maybe eighteen year old girl, had her shiny new Mustang sitting in the diner parking lot. And no, her tips most definitely were not paying for that, or the perfectly highlighted hair, or the manicured fingernails. I'd met plenty like her before. The only reason she had a job at all was so that mommy and daddy could pretend like they were teaching her responsibility before they handed over her trust fund and sent her on her way. 

I didn't have a shiny new Mustang or a rusted out Sentra either. I've never owned a car, never even applied for a driver's license. All I could hope for with my tips was food on my table and maybe some clothes on my back...after I saved up enough for a roof over my head. Not to mention a driver's license would require a social security card, which I don't happen to have in my possession either. 

"Oh, so then you don't live far?" 

"Um...no...Not really." 

At the moment I didn't live anywhere. I had only made it to the area a couple of days ago and the local pastor had been kind enough to put me up for a couple of nights. I promised him I'd only burden him for a few nights, but as is their way he told me I could stay as long as it took me to get me on my feet, which after getting this job should only be a few more days at best. The very next day I got to work, I bought the local paper and scoped out the local living situation along with the help wanted. It was slim pickings. Ninety five percent of the apartments were out for the sole fact that they wanted background checks, never mind their four figure price range, but at the very bottom there was a simply stated ad...