Page 95 of If Looks Could Kill
“My God,” I whispered. “What if she’s dead, Mike?”
“Let’s not open that door yet,” he said. “All we know is that she’s not where she was before.”
“Why would she leave?” I said. “What could have been going through her mind?”
“Unless she had somewhere else she was eager to be,” Mike said, “it would seem something made her too afraid to stay.”
“Or,” I added, “she didn’t really want to… stay anywhere. Anymore.” I buried my face in my hands. “What kind of friend am I?” I moaned. “I never should’ve left her there alone.”
“Pearl wasn’t alone,” he said. “You felt she was safe. You hoped to keep others safe too.”
I reached for his hand. “You’re a great comfort, Mike.”
He took mine and held it between both of his.
“Where is the driver taking us?” I asked.
“That’s what I wanted to ask you about,” he said. “Unless you know where Pearl might be, I don’t know how we can find someone at large in this whole city at this hour of the night.”
I couldn’t think of anyplace she might go.
“How would you feel,” Mike said slowly, “about staying at my home?”
I stiffened. Staying overnight at a young man’s home?
“As the guest of my aunt and uncle,” he added quickly. “I can sleep on the sofa in the parlor, and you can use my room.”
My mind spun, trying to take this all in.
“We need sleep,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll figure out how to find Pearl.”
“Do you live above the tavern, Mike?”
He nodded.
“But… didn’t we think Mother Rosie’s people might be watching for your return?”
“It’s a risk,” he admitted, “but one I think we can chance. It’s after midnight. Maybe they’ve gone home.”
I considered this.
“I believe my home is our best option,” continued Mike. “I’ve asked the driver to drop us off around the corner. My plan is for us to slip in via the back alley.”
I was deathly tired. The thought of lying down was so very tempting.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he said quietly. “As much as it lies in my power.”
I trusted Mike. He had behaved in every way as a gentleman and a friend.
I barely knew him. I should say no to this.
A phalanx of every Sunday school teacher I’d ever had since the day of my confirmation stood in a ghostly line before me, scowling and wagging warning fingers.
“I’d love to,” I told him. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
A square of outside window light passed over him just as a smile lit his face.
“But what will your aunt and uncle say?”
