Almost Dead (Lizzy Gardner #5)(59)
“You think he forced her to go with him?”
“I don’t think he had to use force at all. Not in the beginning. Not until he got her far enough away from the school.”
That would explain a lot, Lizzy thought, but she’d seen the way Shelby acted around Ben. Not only did Shelby obviously like Ben; she had recently had sex with the boy. Something about this story didn’t add up. “Do you have a face or a name to put with this crazy story?”
“Not yet.”
“So, you think my guy, as you called him a moment ago, is a phantom? A figment of my imagination?”
“After talking to witnesses, it’s clear you were chasing a man who fits the description you gave.”
“But—”
“But it could have been anyone, Lizzy. Like you’ve told me many times, your line of work brings you in close contact with a lot of nut jobs.”
“The guy broke that driver’s nose! He’s not exactly harmless.”
“Maybe you should do what you tell many of your clients to do?”
“What’s that?”
“Hire a bodyguard.”
“So that’s it?”
“I’m sorry.”
She headed for the door.
He got to his feet and followed a few steps behind.
“Thanks for the sandwich,” she said before opening the door and then slamming it shut behind her.
She marched to her car, angry with Detective Chase, furious with herself, pissed off at the world.
Shelby could have fought off a boy her age, but there was no way she could’ve fought off a giant with the build of a lumberjack.
“Don’t worry, Shelby,” she said out loud. “I’m not going to give up on you.”
After she climbed in behind the wheel of her car, she realized she hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk to him about the calls she’d gotten from the woman who was taking out the Ambassador Club one member at a time.
She started the engine, but before she drove off she noticed a white Volkswagen Passat parked across the street. She killed the engine, climbed out of the car, walked straight over to the Volkswagen, and tapped on the driver’s window.
There wasn’t any point in talking to Detective Chase about the Ambassador Club murders since he wasn’t taking her seriously, but she was pretty sure Murphy, or whatever his name was, would love to hear every detail.
She motioned for him to open his window. He did, and he didn’t give any sign of embarrassment or concern that he’d been caught following her.
“Are you following me?”
He nodded.
“A little pushy, aren’t you?” she asked.
“That’s what they teach in school.”
“Is that right?”
He nodded again.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Just trying to catch a break?”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
“Why don’t you follow me to the coffee shop down the street and I’ll give you a story that the public will love.”
“A story about you? About your life?”
“Nope. A different story.”
He had the gall to look at his watch.
“If you don’t have time, I’ll be happy to call Miste Newport at Channel 13. She’s always hungry for a good story.”
“I’m good with it,” he said.
“Well, good. You’re buying.”
Derek Murphy, the rookie journalist, was getting on her nerves. Every time he opened his mouth, she thought of one of those he’s-so-dumb jokes: he had to get naked to count to twenty-one, or it took him an hour and a half to watch 60 Minutes.
His head angled to one side like a puppy dog. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She tried not to smile. “What was it?”
“Am I amusing you?”
“Not in the least.”
“So you’re telling me that all of these accidents aren’t accidents at all?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“If I did, maybe Detective Chase would be taking this all a bit more seriously.”
“So, this is all conjecture on your part . . . nothing more than speculation.”
She moved her coffee cup to the side and leaned forward. “I’ve been talking for ten minutes straight and you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.”
“This person who was bullied—the killer—what’s her name?”
Lizzy’s chin dropped to her chest. It was no use.
“This is all really interesting,” he said, “but I think the public really wants to know about you and how you’re doing.”
“Wow. You really are something.”
His face got all animated. “The public loves you. Think about all the business a story about you and what you’ve been through could stir up. People will be knocking at your door to find their long-lost loves.”
“ ’Cuz that’s what I do—look for long-lost loves.” She put the strap of her purse over her shoulder and began to scoot out of the booth.
“I’m sorry. Please. Can we start over?”