Page 36 of Memory of Murder
Unlike her, he was quick with his shopping. They even swung through the aisle where camping supplies were sold and grabbed another flashlight and batteries. Then after a quick stroll through Health and Beauty, they were off to the checkout lanes. Once they were checked out and ready to go, rather than walk out the main exit, he ushered her in a different direction.
“Where are we going?”
He flashed her another of those adorable grins. “To the garden department.”
The garden department was on the opposite end of the enormous superstore from where they had parked. She wasn’t sure how that would help, but obviously the man had a plan. To her surprise, she trusted him completely.
As they reached the area stocked with all manner of grilling and pool supplies as well as loads of plants, he checked his cell and continued toward the exit.
Outside a car waited at the pedestrian crosswalk. Jack opened the rear passenger door for her. She climbed in, her bag of goods in hand, and he slid in next to her, the box and his own bag in tow.
“All set?” the driver asked.
“We are. If you don’t mind, go out on this end of the lot.”
“Will do.”
Jack turned to her. “Uber,” he whispered. “He’s taking us to the car-rental center. We’ll pick up our new car and head to our hotel.”
Anne twisted around in the seat and looked for the black sedan that had parked just beyond the grocery entrance—all the way at the other end of the massive building.
Then she grinned at Jack. “That was good.” Worry tugged her lips into a frown. “What about your car?”
“Someone from the agency will pick it up.”
Anne relaxed and settled back into the seat. She was grateful to be in such good hands. She just hoped he was good enough to keep this search for the truth from turning into a bigger nightmare.
Though she hated admitting as much, she hadn’t expected her business and certainly not her life to be in danger while pursuing this quest.
But then, she hadn’t fully embraced the idea that Mary—her mother—had been telling the truth.
And that someone would be willing to do anything to prevent that truth from coming out.
Chapter Thirteen
Moody Motel
Carpenter Street, 6:00 p.m.
The place wasn’t as bad as Anne had feared. Not that Jack had given her any particular specifications regarding where to book a room. Still, she sort of wanted him to be pleased, if not impressed, with her choice. The place was far from impressive, but that wasn’t the primary requirement this go-around.
There had been two rooms with a connecting door available. The motel was not an upscale place by any stretch of the imagination. The upside was that the rooms were clean. A little shabby, but in a charming sort of way. The outside had been painted recently in one of those popular dark bluish-black colors. The inside was freshly painted in a very pale shade of gray. No carpet. Hardwood and tile. The tiny bathroom was, to be kind, vintage—including a clawfoot tub.
Anne liked it. She wasn’t sure how Jack felt. He was probably accustomed to staying in the higher-end hotels. Her goal had been to find a decent place where no one would look—at least not at first.
This was, she figured, exactly that sort of place.
It was funny, she considered as she hung up her new clothes in the very tiny closet, how easily appeased she was with accommodations. She went to great lengths to provide beautiful, elegant and trending designs to her clients. Personally, if she didn’t work from home, she would live in a little cottage by thewater somewhere. Vintage was her favorite style. But clients expected certain things when they met with a designer. So she lived in an upscale neighborhood in a trendy town house that would hopefully whet their appetites and earn their trust.
Her hands fell to her sides. At university one of her professors had warned that she shouldn’t be afraid to color outside the lines. He’d done this because she never took risks with her designs. She was very good, he had insisted, but she needed to extend outside her boundaries. Over time her work had grown and taken on more of a cutting edge. But her personal life—the person she was—stayed in thatsafezone.
Which probably explained how she’d almost reached thirty with few romantic relationships.
It wasn’t that she didn’t try. She did. She just didn’t try very hard…or often.
Her gaze swung to the connecting door. Jack kind of made her want to jump outside that safe zone she’d built around her personal life. It was easy to imagine coloring outside the lines with him.
She shook her head. He was here to do a job, not become a romantic interest for a lonely designer about to hit the big 3-0.
