“Great. So, Tish, how’s the renovation coming?” Brad snared my eyes.
“Not as fast as I’d hoped,” I said, forgetting everyone but Brad. “I’m working on the rec room idea again. I’m hoping to get around the system by filling the slot on the Historical Committee.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea before your trial?” Brad asked. “Kind of cements your motive for killing Dietz.”
“For allegedly killing Dietz,” I said.
“You know what I mean. A jury is going to see motive and opportunity. Whether or not a murder weapon is recovered, they’ll put you away on circumstantial.”
I flicked my eyes toward David, hoping Brad would get the hint that the killer was sitting in the booth across from us. “I’m working on that,” I said. “I’m convinced the real murderer will be captured before I’m in danger of being convicted.”
“Really,” Brad said. “Do you think the person is going to step forward and admit guilt? Sounds a little too convenient. I don’t think you understand the gravity of your position.”
“Oh, believe me, I understand. I’ve been there and done that prison thing. And I don’t intend to show up for a repeat performance.” I glared at David.
David cleared his throat. “I agree with Brad,” he said softly from his place across the table. “You may not have a choice.”
“I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” Brad said, sliding out of the booth.
Don’t go, I screamed in my mind. I reached out my hand, but he walked away without even a backward glance.
Now I was alone again with the man who held my life in his hands.
“Perhaps I can help you, Tish.” David had a hint of a smile. “If I can make your murder charges go away, what would you give in exchange?”
Great. He’d figured out what made me tick. And he was right. I’d do practically anything to avoid prison again.
“I’m not guilty. I don’t have to bargain with you.”
“Tish.” He slid his hand across the table and covered mine. “You’re looking at me like I’m the enemy. I can help you. You get what you want, I get what I want, then we can get on with life . . . together.”
I jerked my hand away. “You’ll be getting on with your life, alright. Behind bars.” I leaned across the table and bared my teeth at him. Drool dribbled down the side of my mouth. I wiped it with the back of my hand. “You can’t get away with murder. As soon as I find Rebecca, you are going down.”
“Just pray Rebecca doesn’t find you first,” David said with a smirk.
42
I strode out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. I slammed Deucey’s door, steaming mad at myself for tipping my hand to David. I felt like a walking, talking dead woman.
“Stupid.” I slammed my fists on the steering wheel. I didn’t even own a gun. I didn’t even believe in guns. But if I did, I’d probably sleep better. I couldn’t imagine getting even one wink now.
I backed out and maneuvered my yacht out onto the main drag. I gunned it, hitting the speed limit right about the time the light changed to red.
I braked and rocked to a stop. What I’d give for a new vehicle.
“Sorry, Gram. I didn’t mean it,” I whispered toward the clouds.
A red car pulled to a stop behind me. I couldn’t be sure, but it looked a lot like David’s. The vehicle seemed to breathe as it hunched in the rearview mirror, waiting for the light to change.
I wasn’t about to roll over and die so easily. I spun the wheel and pulled into the right turn lane, cutting in front of oncoming traffic. Tires screeched. Horns sounded.
In my rearview mirror, the red car drove straight through the intersection. I sighed in relief. Still, all I was doing was buying time. I’d have to go home sooner or later. And David knew it.
I accelerated, following the highway that led west of town. The commercial district disappeared, and the terrain changed to frost-covered rolling hills speckled with newer homes.
I drove another five minutes before deciding I made too easy a target. Who could miss my big blue boat amongst the newer, sleeker vehicles? A sign ahead announced the turn to Fish Lake State Park. I veered onto the two-lane, then took the first left.
The gravel road led between two guardrails flanked by swamp. Then came a slight rise, followed by hardwoods skulking twisted and bare in the bleak afternoon. The light dimmed as I drove into the timber. The path wound along the downside of a ridge that in the summer would have brought sighs of amazement. But now, with the landscape coated in the glum grays and browns of early winter, I could only think of the Haunted Forest.
The road narrowed. Deucey took up the entire space allotted for traffic. Hopefully I wouldn’t meet someone coming the opposite way.
Just ahead, a two-track, blocked by an iron gate, led off to the right. Intrigued, I pulled the car off the road and shifted into park. The two halves of the gate met in the middle to form an ornate letter T. I strained to see out the passenger-side window, looking for a house beyond the fancy entry. The road wound through the trees, with no house in sight. For a moment I wished I’d be in Rawlings long enough to find out who lived down there. And maybe get a tour of the place.
It seemed like just my kind of home. Iron gates and miles of woods between me and the nearest neighbor.
No sense getting too excited. I popped the car back into drive and pressed the accelerator. Deucey stayed rooted in place. I pressed harder. The engine raced. My rear wheels spun. I felt the car sink.
I shoved the gearshift into park. I opened the driver’s door and looked down. Mud everywhere. And I was stuck in it, miles from nowhere.
I patted my jacket pocket and blew a breath of relief. I had my cell phone with me.
I flipped it open, checking for a signal.
No bars appeared on the display.
“Come on.” I tapped the phone against the dash. Still nothing.
Great.
At least I was parked in front of the only house for miles.
I stepped into the mud. My shoes made a sucking sound as I struggled around Deucey’s front end and over to the gate.
I looked down at my sneakers. Definitely ruined.
I scaled the gate, using the letter T for a foothold. I made it to the other side and set a fast pace for the residence I could only pray was somewhere down the road.
If the sun were shining in my eyes and birds were chirping around me, I could almost imagine I was back at the lake house up north. Mom and I spent summers there on the Silvan Peninsula. It was only an hour’s drive from our home in Escanaba. As soon as the snow melted, we’d drive out there and get the place ready for the season. Gram and Gramps had their own little cottage not too far away. We’d get together and do cookouts and swim in the bay.
But when Mom died, everything was sold. And Gram and Gramps bought the place in Walled Lake, about as far from the Silvan Peninsula as you could get. At least our new home had still been on the water. That helped make up for having to leave my friend Anne and my kitty Peanut Butter.
I crunched along the road, wishing I had a hat and scarf to guard against the chill. A gray, glassy surface shone through the trees ahead. I rounded a curve in the road and saw one of the many small lakes that dotted the area. On a bluff overlooking the shore sat a majestic log home. Leaves covered the path to the back door. Probably a sign that no one had been home for quite a while. I knocked anyway. Only the creak of trees answered. I checked the handle. Locked.
The clock on my cell phone read 1:50. I had plenty of time before dark. I could start walking home, and when my phone was back in range, I’d call for help. The temperature hovered right around thirty degrees these days, so I wasn’t in danger of freezing. Not for a while, anyway.
I headed up the hill back toward my car. I saw its glossy teal through the gates. Pulled next to it was a silver sports car.