Page 33 of Murder Road

“Not to me.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his jaw. I heard the familiar rasp of a man who needed to shave. “You got your first driver’s license when you were twenty.”

That was true, and it wasn’t. My first driver’s license had been under a different name, because I’d needed to be older than I was. But I’d decided to make April Delray permanent—at least I hoped to—so I’d had to get one in that name as well. It was a lot of work. “Not everyone can afford a car,” I told the detective.

“Something isn’t right about you,” Beam said. “You look like a pretty, unassuming newlywed, but it doesn’t quite fit. Everything about you is murky. I think that the best case is that you’re scamming your husband somehow.”

That made me mad. “I am not scamming Eddie.”

“No? Does he know your parents’ names and how they died? Should I ask him?”

I didn’t answer. They could ask Eddie all they wanted. I’d told him enough, and he would keep my secrets. The ones he knew, anyway.

“The worst case,” Beam went on, “is that you killed Rhonda Jean Breckwith and made your husband, who is smitten with you, help cover it up.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how else to get it through to you. You’re looking at the wrong people. We ended up here because we took a wrong turn. It was just bad luck.”

“I’ve seen bad luck, and this isn’t it,” he replied. “Something brought you here. Why don’t you tell me what it was?”

I was about to say something—I didn’t know what—when the door opened. Detective Quentin stepped in. His shark’s eyes looked at me for a minute, speculating. Then he turned to Beam. “Detective, can I speak to you outside for a moment?”

Beam complied, but I caught the surprise and frustration in his expression before he covered it up. This wasn’t a bit of police theater; Quentin was truly interrupting him. Without a word, he pushed his chair back and stood, following Quentin from the room.

They were gone for a long time. I was so hungry all I could think about was hot dogs. I had a craving for one. I wondered where to get a hot dog in Coldlake Falls. And an ice-cold Pepsi.

The door opened again. Quentin stood outside, and he didn’t come into the room. “Mrs.Carter, you’re free to go,” he said in that dead voice of his. “We’re sorry to have taken up so much of your time.”

I stood and walked past him into the corridor. I turned the corner to the front room of the Coldlake police station, where there were a few police milling about or talking on telephones. Eddie was already there, waiting for me. He looked sweaty and tired and handsome. He still had dirt smeared on his shirt and his face. He took one of my hands in his. “Are you all right?” he asked me.

“I’m fine,” I said, confused. “I’m hungry.”

“Same here. Apparently, we’re free to leave.”

And go where? How? They had driven us here in police cars. Robbie’s car was still parked next to the black truck, I assumed. We were stranded yet again.

The front door of the station opened and Rose walked in. “There you are,” she said to us. “I came to get you. Let’s go.”

I glanced around. A minute ago, I’d been a murder suspect. None of this made any sense. But I didn’t want to question it. I just wanted out.

“Nice to see you, Rose,” Detective Beam said, his tone sarcastic.

Her glance at him was dismissive. “You shush, Beam. I want Robbie’s car back in my driveway in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t yes, ma’am me like I don’t know disrespect when I hear it. That car is my property. I know my rights.”

Quentin gave her one of his laser looks. “We have to discuss the fact that you lent the car to two murder suspects, Rose. I’ll be in touch.”

“You don’t scare me, Quentin. Robbie told me plenty about you. About all of you. And they aren’t murder suspects, are they? I could have told you that.” She looked at Eddie and me. “Let’s go.”

Before I followed her, I looked at Detective Beam. He looked back, straight into my eyes.

He was right. I wasn’t the nice one.

Eddie squeezed my hand, and we headed for the door.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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