Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 639(@200wpm)___ 511(@250wpm)___ 426(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I remember everything about all of that,” I whispered, and it was safe to say, I was more freaked than I was freaked before, so that put me off-the-charts freaked.
“What kind of car was it, Lillian?” Rus pushed.
“A Ford. Dark blue. I don’t know what the model was called. Maybe a Fusion?” I asked like Rus could answer.
“A dark-blue Ford, you’re sure?”
I nodded again.
“And you knew he was one of Dern’s deputies?” Rus queried.
More nodding. “I saw him at the station when they took me in.”
“But when he was watching your house, he was never in a cruiser?”
I shook my head.
“And you thought he was sitting on your house, waiting to catch your parents if they came home?” Rus asked.
“Yes. I also thought he was messing with me, because he was really obvious about it, and sometimes he’d follow me.”
Rus instantly looked at Harry, and I knew why.
The vibe coming off him wasn’t electric anymore.
It was homicidal.
“Stay cool,” Rus said low.
“I’m cool,” Harry replied, even though he was not.
“What’s going on?” I asked again.
Rus returned to me. “Lillian, I’m sorry. I was wrong. This is going to take some time. I need you to come to the station and make an official statement.”
Oh God.
“Again, I’ll ask, what…is…going on?” I demanded.
Rus turned to Harry.
Harry jerked up his chin.
Rus came back to me. “We’re working on a theory. Lillian…”
He reached out a hand on the table toward me.
Automatically, I took it.
His fingers closed around and held tight.
I knew this as the warning it was and braced.
“A dark-haired man with a beard in a dark-colored Ford car was seen outside your parents’ motel room in Idaho.”
My stomach dropped, and my lungs deflated.
“Oh my God,” I wheezed.
“We think we have our guy,” Rus said. “And if you give me an official statement of all you remember, it might help us nail him when we find him.”
I broke Rus’s hold as I shot to my feet. “Let’s go.”
Slowly, Rus stood.
Harry did it a good deal faster and walked to the hall closet to get my jacket.
Rus went to the oven and turned it off.
Then the three of us walked to the station so I could give my official statement.
FORTY-THREE
Peace of Mind
Lillian
When we returned home an hour later, Harry went direct to the oven, pulled out the casserole, but switched the oven on to reheat.
Totally out of character, he completely ignored the dogs when he did this and continued to do so as he tugged off his jacket and went to the hall closet.
“Yours,” he grunted once he’d hung his up.
I shrugged mine off and handed it to him.
He dealt with it, walked by me and headed to the fridge, whereupon he pulled out a beer, grabbed the opener from a drawer, popped the cap and took a healthy swallow.
I flipped off my shoes, moved to the couch and got onto it on my knees, settling back on my calves, facing him.
For my part, I was jazzed. Seriously jazzed. Not only because they seemed to be closing in on my parents’ killer, but because I got to make an official statement. I got to say something that might be used to nail this guy when they caught him. And that meant something to me.
I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t try him. I couldn’t sentence him.
But I could do that.
And I did.
So, oh yeah.
I was jazzed.
However, Harry was in a mood I’d never experienced from him, and it brought to the fore for the first time since we began just how new we were.
Harry Moran wasn’t predictable.
Harry Moran was just a down-to-his-soul good man. He wasn’t about guessing games or walking on eggshells or solving relationship mysteries, the solution to which eventually bit you in the ass.
He was Harry.
You got what you saw.
He was not that now.
“What’s troubling you?” I asked cautiously and immediately stiffened, preparing for an emotional blow.
When I asked Willie this kind of question, the answer was usually issues with his family, which meant he got defensive, and he’d throw a tantrum, shouting about how I was trying to turn him against his kin (when I wasn’t, though I should have been—transference anyone?), and I just didn’t understand.
With Alex, I got impatience and such things as, “Well, you’d know if you’d move here, wouldn’t you?” Which led to secret keeping or twenty questions. It was exhausting.
Stormy was all about the brood. He didn’t talk feelings. He had a temper, but he didn’t lash out (at least, not to me). He didn’t make a scene. He just disappeared into himself.
I was expecting one of these three from Harry, in large part because he couldn’t talk due to his job, which had to be crazy frustrating.
And my heart was beginning to hurt because I was seeing this might be a problem for us.
But right then, being who he was, all he was, Harry proved me wrong.