Page 40 of I Know She Was There

You’re not safe!

CHAPTER21

SATURDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 9

For the first time, I was glad Emmy was with Tim. I’d have to tell him about the nail fragment, the evidence that linked me to a murderer—and how could it not be a murder? Someone had gone to such lengths... breaking into my home to snatch the one item that could link us both to a crime. I hoped that once Tim heard my story, he’d let me crash on his couch for a while. He could be a real prick about things, but he’d have to see the danger of his family being so exposed.

If the criminal decided I knew too much, he could come back and kill me. I had to get away, but who could I stay with? Tim wasn’t back for another four days. Staying with Tasha would be awkward. I’d only met her husband Nelson once, when Tim and I had bumped into the couple months earlier, at a pub on one of the rare nights Tim had taken me out.

Jeffrey had plenty of room in his house, but I hardly knew him. And what Ididknow—namely his possession of a key to a missing woman’s house—made me wary. There was Muzzy, but she wouldn’t even speak to me, or leave her house when I lingered in front of it. Much as I hated to admit it, that friendship was over. I sighed. That left Mary. She’d jump at the chance to have someone else around. A person to enjoy her strong coffee each morning, a drinking buddy throughout the day. I rubbed my chin, trying to think of anyone else who’d be willing to give me temporary shelter but couldn’t produce a soul. I’d met so few locals in the short time I’d lived here.

There were hotels in town, but that was costly. Tim would be livid at the expense, no matter the circumstances. Out of options, I pulled out a duffel bag and began filling it with clothes from my closet and drawers. Mary was getting a temporary roommate.

As I stuffed socks and underwear into the corners of the bag, I felt a hot stirring in my chest.Iwas the one who should be angry—with Tim and his cavalier attitude. Leaving us alone in the house without an alarm system. Too expensive, he’d said. And I resented how casual he was with Emmy when I wasn’t around. He never texted to let me know how she was doing. Babies weren’t toys. They had very specific needs, especially when colic was an issue. I was mindful of that—and of his all-important connection with Emmy. Apparently, he couldn’t care less about my needs. I pressed down, compacting the clothes so I could get the bag zipped.

When I showed up on Mary’s doorstep, she smiled.

“I knew you’d end up here.” She looked at the oversized sack I still had balanced over my shoulder. “Please, drop your bag. Make yourself comfortable.”

“How could you know I’d come here with a packed bag?” I asked, surprise raising my voice a notch. I swerved the duffle off my shoulder and let it slither to the floor.

“Who’d stay in a house with intruders?” she asked. “C’mon, I’ve got a room ready for you.”

This was the same woman who walked into my empty houseaftershe’d noticed a man’s shadow inside. Mary was either incredibly brave or quite reckless. Or drunk. That was it. Liquid courage had likely propelled the old woman across the threshold of my house, trailing a possible murderer.

I stepped inside the small bedroom and looked from the tiny dresser to the full-sized mattress laid out on a platform, with no headboard or footboard. A floor lamp stood on the other side of the bed, and a ladderback chair resided next to the closet. Bare bones. I looked at Mary and smiled. I could do no frills.

“Thank you, Mary, you are a good neighbor.” I couldn’t bring myself to call her a goodfriend. “I won’t stay more than four days. Tim will be back from vacation after that and, with any luck, he’ll let me stay with him until we figure out the whole mess.”

Mary tilted her head slightly, a ghost of a smile on her thin, chapped lips. She said nothing.

CHAPTER22

SATURDAY NIGHT, SEPTEMBER 9

If Mary thought she’d have a comrade to tip cups with all evening, she was sorely mistaken. After I settled my meager belongings into her rickety dresser, I headed to the food store for provisions. She protested, saying she was fully stocked with groceries, but I insisted. Hadn’t my mother instilled in me proper manners? It was bad enough she’d be disappointed with me for showing up uninvited on Mary’s doorstep, duffel in hand. She’d never countenance me not pitching in for my own care and feeding.

In my car, arms stretched across the steering wheel, I took a moment to inhale deeply and hold my breath in my lungs before expelling it. After the food run, I’d park on the side street opposite and diagonal to my house, turn off the headlights, and watch my place. If anyone showed up, I’d call the cops to report the break-in.

But first, the food. I swung onto the main road that eventually swerved left, one lane splitting off into the parking lot of Great Grocer Food Store and Bee-Clean, an environmentally friendly dry-cleaning business.

Staring at the oversized line drawing of a bumblebee on the sign over the cleaners, I stepped out of my car and snagged a stray shopping cart abandoned in the center of a parking space. Once inside Great Grocer, I pushed through the wide aisles, selecting whatever items seemed appropriate for a last-minute guest to offer her host. I grabbed eggs, a carton of orange juice, a head of iceberg lettuce, comforted by the smooth glide of the cart’s wheels guiding my steps. If I kept my gaze locked far ahead of me, I could pretend I was pushing Emmy through the store.

I paused at an endcap separating the produce section from the cereal aisle, watching a man bent over a display of onions. As if sensing my stare, he glanced up and our eyes met. Jeffrey. I raised my hand to wave as a look of alarm crossed his face. My hand stalled in midair when he looked down, plucked a white onion out of the bin in front of him, and turned in the opposite direction.

What was that about? Didn’t he recognize me?

Abandoning my cart, I took off after him, watching his retreating back as he hurried toward the checkout section at the front of the store.

“Jeffrey,” I huffed, slightly out of breath as I stepped beside him at a self-check carousel.

“Hello,” he said, not looking at me.

“Hey, is something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” he said, finally glancing my way, but his voice was coldly polite. “I’m just in a hurry.”

“Oh, okay.” I watched him bag his groceries. “Have you heard anything about Annie?—”

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