Page 124 of Passion at the Lake

Escape. I had to escape before I fell flat on my face in front of her. I had to get away fromhim. I restarted the car, which encouraged Marge to return to hers. After she started to move, I put it back in gear and headed into town, slowly this time. My leg wouldn’t stop trembling, probably because I’d almost screwed up royally. When the tremor intensified, I pulled to the side. It wasn’t remorse at screwing up, I realized. It was anxiety because I was running on autopilot without a destination, which was totally unlike me.

I needed a plan that didn’t involve running out of money on the way to Mom’s, getting mugged at a rest stop, or worse. The news had just had a case like that—a woman sleeping in her car at a rest stop got abducted, raped, and barely escaped.

Pris.

I had a key to her place, which is where we’d agreed I’d keep my notes on the Lee investigation so nobody could run across them by accident. With the proper begging, she’d let me crash there. With some sleep tonight, I could leave tomorrow morning and make it to Florida with the cash I had left.

I carefully checked my mirror before pulling back onto the road. I now had a plan so simple I didn’t even need to write it on the checklist.

* * *

Boone

My phone rang.

It was Rosella from the store. “Mr. Benson, the Cicero orders are due in by midnight, and I can’t get them done. I have to go to my daughter’s play.”

“You go to the play and don’t worry,” I told her. “I’ll do them tonight.” Cicero was the wholesaler who carried most of our high-volume items, and missing a deadline meant missing this week’s delivery.

“I can’t take it anymore,” she said. “I’ve been here every night doing these damned orders. When is the ordering software going to be fixed?”

It was a good thing Grace was coming back, because the software issue at the store was becoming a bigger headache every week. “I don’t know yet, but I’ll be on the problem full time starting tomorrow. I promise.”

“Good, because I’ve been pulling my hair out over this, and I can’t keep it up.”

“I hear you,” I assured her. “Enjoy the play. I’ve got us covered.”

“Thanks, Mr. Benson. See you tomorrow.”

I heard the door downstairs open and close, thanked Rosella again, and hung up.

“Boone, I could use your help if you have a second,” Marge called from downstairs.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, she was waiting, nodding slowly.

“What can I help you with?” I asked.

“I just saw Angela,” Marge reported.

“That’s nice.”

“She was on her way out, and crying. What did you do?”

I turned to go upstairs again.

She wagged a finger at me. “Oh no you don’t, Boone James. You come with me and explain what’s going on.” She walked toward the kitchen. “You can help me put away these groceries.”

There’d be no avoiding the conversation with Marge, so I followed. It was unfair that I had to endure this in my own house, but she was family, and I’d promised Mom to look after her. Tempted as I was at this moment, throwing her out wasn’t an option.

She carried a bottle of orange juice to the fridge. “I’m listening.”

I heard the front door open, and stupidly hoped Angela had come back.

“We’re home,” Grace called instead.

Marge returned the yell. “In the kitchen.”

* * *

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