Page 38 of Murder Road

“Mrs.Carter,” he said. “Your husband around?”

“What do you want?” I asked him.

He let his gaze move down and up my body. I was wearing my jean shorts and a cream tee that was probably wrinkled. My hair was likely mussed from sleep. Still, he didn’t scare me. I kept my chin up and didn’t move from the narrow slot I’d made when I opened the door.

“Well?” I said.

“We’re returning your car.” He gestured with his chin. Behind his shoulder, I saw Eddie’s Pontiac parked at the foot of Rose’s driveway. Sitting in the street, the motor running, was a police cruiser with Chad Chipwell, the other uniformed cop, in the driver’s seat. When he saw me looking, he gave me a small wave.

“Fine,” I said, holding out my hand. “Give me the keys.”

Kyle held the keys to the Pontiac up as if he was going to give them to me, but at the last minute he snatched them away, as if I were a toddler and we were playing a game.

“You know,” he said, “I had you pegged for killing that girl. Still would, if it wasn’t for Max.”

“Is he a friend of yours? Congratulations on being friends with a murderer.”

His eyes went dark with anger. I never did know when to keep my mouth shut. Then again, I wasn’t afraid of him. It was almost fun to watch rage in men like Kyle. They always thought it was so frightening. They had no idea how well I knew real fear.

“You really are a bitch,” he said.

“I really am,” I agreed. “Give me my keys.”

“Get out of town and don’t come back.”

“Believe me, I will. I’d love nothing more than to get out of your shitty, murdering little town. Now give me my keys.”

For a second, I thought he’d say something else. Something worse. Then Chad Chipwell tapped the horn of the cruiser, sending a cheery beep.

Kyle dropped the keys onto the porch next to his feet. Then he turned and walked back to the car.

I waited until the cruiser drove away, and then I stooped to pick up the keys. I looked at the Pontiac, parked on the street, and took a breath. There was nothing for it.

I retrieved my flip-flops and walked to the car. I turned the key in the passenger door and opened it.

It was awful.

The smell blasted out first—the metallic smell of blood, left to fester in the heat. I gasped for air and forced myself to look inside.

The police had done a thorough job. Black fingerprint dust—smeared where Kyle had touched it—was all over the wheel, as well as on the inside door handles and the glove box. Strips of fabric had been cut from the back seat, leaving the foam to spring out. More strips had been neatly cut from the fabric on the floor, and the rubber mats to put your feet on were gone. The former contents of the glove box—a map, the car manual, the ownership papers, one of my hair ties, a few quarters, an old receipt—had been placed into a large Ziploc bag on the front passenger seat. Mixed with the blood stench was the smell of some kind of chemical, or maybe alcohol. It was incredibly strong.

I blew out a breath. Just get me out of this town.

I rolled down the window on the passenger side—the roller was covered in fingerprint dust—to let the blood smell out. I slammed the door. I didn’t bother to lock it. I didn’t think anyone would steal this particular car.

Then I went back to the house to let Eddie know we needed to do some cleaning.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The storm hit as we left Rose’s. The lowering skies opened and huge raindrops pelted the windshield, washing away the old road dust. I had the passenger window cranked down, trying to keep the blood smell to a minimum, and my arm and shoulder immediately got wet.

Our bags were in the trunk of the Pontiac, Eddie was driving, and I was sitting cross-legged, my bare feet tucked under my thighs. The scene was almost exactly as it had been the night we arrived—except for the rain, the ripped upholstery, and the smell of blood. We had wiped up as much of the fingerprint dust as we could. The back of Eddie’s neck had a pink sunburn from his hour doing yard work.

Eddie flipped on the wipers as we stopped at the light turning onto Atticus Line.

“There’s probably another route out of town,” I said.

He didn’t answer. The light changed, and still he didn’t move.

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