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“No, Michelle, no! They have guns!”
But she seemed deaf to the pleas. When she was thirty feet away from the man she flung the bolo, which flew in a fierce arc and nearly struck his head. He stood his ground-just as Bry
Undaunted, Michelle continued her charge.
Bry
Then decided: Oh, hell. She grimaced, rose to her feet and charged after the woman, trying to keep low. “Michelle, stop!” Any minute, the man would fire. It must’ve been Hart; he remained motionless, waiting for the perfect shot.
Michelle sprinted directly toward him.
The man couldn’t miss.
But no shots came.
Slowing to a stop, Bry
“I hate you!” the young woman’s shrill voice echoed.
“Michelle!”
Then, when she was ten feet away, Michelle apparently realized her mistake. She stopped, gasping for breath, staring at the trunk. She dropped to her knees, lowering her head, hands over her face, sobbing. An eerie keening came from her throat, both mournful and hopeless.
The horror of the evening finally poured out; the tears up until now had been tears of confusion and pain. This was a rupture of pure sorrow.
Bry
Michelle’s voice rose to another wail. “Leave me alone!”
“Please. Shhhh, Michelle. Please be quiet… It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay! It’s not okay at all.”
“Let’s keep at it. We don’t have much farther to go.”
“I don’t care. You go on…”
A faint smile. “I’m not leaving you here.”
Michelle hugged herself, rocking back and forth.
Bry
Michelle looked absently at the knife, slipped it back in the sock scabbard. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“What?” Bry
“It’s my fault they’re dead,” she whispered, her face miserable. “Steve and Emma. It’s my fault!”
“You, why?”
She snapped, “Because I’m a spoiled little brat. Oh, God…”
Bry
“My husband…” She cleared her throat. “My husband’s seeing somebody else.”
“What?”
A faint, pained smile and she managed to say, “He’s cheating on me. I said he’s on a business trip. He is, but he’s not going alone.”
“I’m sorry.”
“A girlfriend of mine works for the travel agency his company uses. I made her tell me. He’s going with somebody else.”
“Maybe it’s just somebody he works with.”
“No, it’s not. And they got one hotel room.”
Oh.
“I was so mad and so hurt. I couldn’t be alone this weekend! I just couldn’t be. I talked Emma and Steve into coming up here and bringing me along. I wanted to cry on their shoulders. I wanted them to tell me it’s not my fault. That he’s a bastard, that they would be my friends after the divorce and dump him… And now they’re dead because I couldn’t act like a grown-up.”
“That’s hardly your fault.” Bry
Michelle complied. They collected her pool cue and continued toward the river.
“How long’ve you been married?”
“Six years.” Her voice caught. “Michael was like my best friend. Everything seemed so fine. He was so laid-back, generous. He took really good care of me… And you know what’s so messed up? That’s why I lost him-being a spoiled little girl.” She gave a sour laugh. “He’s a banker. He makes all this money. When we got married I quit my job. It’s not like he wanted me to or anything. It was my idea. It was, like, my chance to go to acting school.”
Michelle winced, stepping hard and apparently jarring her ankle. She continued, “I told you I was an actress… Bullshit. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old acting student. And not a very good one. I was an extra in two local commercials. And Second City told me no. My life is lunch with my girlfriends, te
To the tune of a svelte size 4, Bry
“And I became…a nobody. Michael’d come home and I couldn’t even talk about the housework-because the maids had done it all. I got boring. He fell out of love with me.”
Part of a law enforcer’s job is to recognize the psychological issues at work within the people she meets professionally-the bystanders, witnesses and victims, in addition to the criminals. Bry
“I’m such a loser…”
“No, you’re not.”
Bry
As for the other issue, the more important one, Bry
“You think?”
“I do, yes.”
The girl wasn’t completely convinced. Bry
Isn’t that a prayer for every day? Bry
Michelle sighed. “I’m sorry I lost it. I shouldn’t’ve screamed.”
“I don’t think we have to worry. They’re miles away, in the bottom of the ravine. They couldn’t hear a thing.”
GRAHAM BOYD WAS pulled from his stew of thoughts about his wife when he heard the distinctive sound of the engine in his F150 start up.
“Somebody’s stealing the truck.” He stared at his mother-in-law and instinctively slapped his pants pocket, felt his set of keys.
How? he wondered. In the shows A
But when he saw the deadbolt on the kitchen door open and that the spare keys he kept on the hook were gone, he knew. “Jesus, not this. Not now.”
“I’ll call the sheriff,” A
“No,” Graham shouted. “It’s okay.”
He ran outside.
The truck was backing up against the gardening shed to turn around so the driver could head out, hood first, down the narrow driveway. It tapped into the corrugated metal with a loud bang. Not much damage, none to the truck. The driver slammed the transmission into drive.
Waving his hands like a traffic cop, Graham walked to the passenger window, which was open. Joey looked straight at him with a fierce expression.
Graham said, “Shut off the engine. Get out of the truck.”
“No.”
“Joey. Do it now. This minute.”
“You can’t make me. I’m going to look for Mom.”
“Out of the car. Now.”
“No.”
“There are people doing that. Tom Dahl, some deputies. She’ll be fine.”
“You keep saying that!” he shouted. “But how do you know?”
True, Graham thought.
He saw the boy’s edgy eyes, his firm grip on the wheel. He wasn’t short-his father was well over six feet-but he was ski