Mean Streak(13)

He waited several beats. “But?”

“But I need to leave now and go home. You must let me go.”

He raised his shoulders slightly and motioned toward the door. “It’s unlocked. But I warn you, I don’t believe you’ll get very far. I walked a couple of miles down the road, thinking that the fog might not be so thick at a lower elevation. I never walked out of it.”

“You walked.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you drive?”

“For the same reason I wouldn’t drive you last night. There are dozens of switchbacks. I could miss a curve and go over a three-hundred-foot drop.”

“But you took the keys to your truck.”

“Because I didn’t want you driving it.”

“It occurred to me.”

“I figured. I didn’t want you wrecking it and possibly killing yourself in the process. Which is why I took the keys.”

He stuffed his gloves, bloodstain and all, into the pocket of his coat and hung it on a wall peg. He unwound the scarf from around his neck. Static raised his hair when he pulled off his watch cap. It and the scarf were added to the peg.

He went to the fireplace, hunkered down in front of it, stirred the embers with a poker, and then added several logs. Coming to his feet and dusting his hands on his seat, he asked if she’d eaten anything.

“No.”

He went over to the refrigerator and opened it. She marched up to it and pushed the door shut with enough force to rock the appliance and rattle bottles inside. He turned, looking like he might kill her then and there, but she didn’t let his murderous glower intimidate her.

“My husband will be frantic to know where I am and what’s happened to me. He’ll have the police out searching.”

“Well they won’t find you today. Not the way things are socked in.”

“I can e-mail him. But I need the password for your laptop.”

He glanced at the laptop, then turned back to the fridge, bumped her hip with his to move her out of the way, and reopened the door. “I don’t do e-mail.”

“That’s okay. I can contact him through Facebook. Even if Jeff doesn’t see my post, a friend—”

“Sorry, Doc, no.”

“But—”

“No.”

“I won’t mention you. How could I when I don’t even know your name? I’ll just let Jeff know that I’m okay.”

He shook his head.

“No details, I promise. You can approve the post before I send it.”

“No.”

It was like hitting the dreaded twenty-mile wall of a marathon. One had to press on, power through it, or be defeated. “You’re committing a crime, you know.”

“I haven’t laid a hand on you.”

“But you’re keeping me here against my will.”

“Circumstances are keeping you here.”

“You could change the circumstances if you wanted to.”

“I can’t change the weather.”

“I wasn’t referring to the weather. You’re refusing to let me use your laptop to—”

“The laptop is off-limits.”

“Why?”

“That’s my business.”

“Whatever that is, it can’t be good.”

“I didn’t claim it was good. It’s just the way it is.”

“Tell me why you’re holding me here.”

He advanced on her and bent down to bring his face almost on a level with hers. Speaking in a rasp more sinister than a shout, he said, “I’m not keeping you in, Doc.” He hitched his chin toward the door. “I’m keeping them out.”





Chapter 6



Jeff let himself in through the garage door and disengaged the house alarm. No lights were on inside. The house was cold and empty.

Before leaving Alice, she’d again expressed her fear that Emory was onto their affair. “You’re certain that she doesn’t know?”

“She’s feeling neglected and playing the wounded wife to the hilt,” he assured her. “She’s in a sulk, that’s all.”

But the fact remained that Emory hadn’t been heard from since Friday evening when she’d called from the motel where she’d spent the night. This was Sunday afternoon, which added up to a significant amount of time not to have heard from one’s wife, even a miffed one.

There wasn’t a married man in the world who wouldn’t understand his waiting out Emory’s little rebellion and letting her get over her huff in her own good time. But doing nothing made him look like a heel, even to his extramarital lover.

It’s not like her not to call, Alice had remarked more than once during their weekend. You’re not worried?

He wasn’t, but he supposed he should be. He called Emory’s cell phone, and before it even rang her voice mail greeting requested the caller to leave a message. “I thought you would be home by now. Call me.”

She often worked at the clinic after hours and on weekends, using that time to catch up on paperwork. He called the main line and then the private number reserved for family use only. Both were answered by recordings. He left messages asking her to call him. He then phoned the hospital where she practiced and asked to be put through to the pediatric floor.