Page 40 of Killer Secrets

Maybe her whole life.

The parking lot at the ice-cream shop was filled with vintage cars, their hoods raised, people talking engines and restoration and good ole days. Several of them greeted Sam, a couple including Mila in their nods, and he returned their hellos. At the curb, he stopped and pulled a debit card from his pocket. “You want to stay out here with Poppy or go in and get the food?”

Staying in the parking lot with friendly people around? That was a no-brainer. “What do you want?”

“Double cheeseburger with jalapeños and fries. Don’t forget Poppy’s ice cream.”

She withdrew her own debit card, but he took her hand, laid his card in it and folded her fingers over it. “It was your grandmother’s treat last time. This time it’s mine.”

The instant his fingers made contact with hers, she lost the ability to move. Instinct told her to pull away—she wasn’t a touchy-feely person at all—but all her muscles had gone rigid while every nerve in her body was firing off neurons and sparks and tiny, strange, delicious little electric shocks. It was…

The first time any man besides a doctor or dentist had ever touched her.

Ever.

It was incredible.

An older man standing next to an even older pickup called Sam’s name, and he squeezed her hand before letting go. “Get Poppy a carton of ice cream. Maybe she’ll share with us for dessert.”

Unable to speak over the swelling in her throat, she nodded, stiffly turned and walked into the restaurant. The chill inside was a shock to a system already in shock. She shivered, goose bumps raising everywhere, went to place their order, then got a tub of ice cream from the freezer. While she waited for the food, she watched out the plate glass windows as Sam chatted with a group of the car enthusiasts. His hair stood on end, his shirt clung to his body and his smile was worthy of preserving forever.

Just the sight roused an ache in her chest for all the things she’d never had. All the things her parents had taken from her.

They’re dead, Gramma reminded her.

Dead. They couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Unless she let them. Unless she stayed hidden away the rest of her life. Unless she chose solitude over people.

Because it was a choice. The easiest one she’d ever made, but also the hardest. She was safe, all right. No one knew anything about her past because no one knew her. No one could hurt or shame or hate her, but that also meant no one could like her, love her, hug her, laugh with her, cry with her. Life with her parents had been a prison, but the life she chose now was also a prison. Not as ugly, not terrifying, not one with a death sentence hanging over her head, but a prison all the same.

Maybe it was time to plan the greatest escape in the history of escapes.

A teenage employee came around the counter to where Mila waited against the wall. “Ma’am, here’s your food,” she said in a bored voice that suggested it wasn’t the first time she’d said it. She handed over two bags, hot food in one and ice cream in the other, then hurried back to her spot.

The intense smells of greasy meat, jalapeños, onions and French fries made Mila’s stomach growl. She and Poppy were going to be such happy girls this evening.

It took only a second to locate Sam, bent over a flame-red car, peering at the engine as if he fully understood what he was looking at. Cars and engines weren’t on her list of interests, so she waited until he noticed her. He smiled, said good-night to his friends and they left.

“I take it Poppy loves hamburgers.” He was walking on the far inside of the sidewalk, the leash wrapped repeatedly around his wrist to restrict her bounds and contortions.

“She loves them. And French fries. And peach ice cream is her absolute favorite.”

“Aw, man, homemade peach ice cream at the Porter Peach Festival. It’s in July every year. Have we missed it?”

“I have no idea.” With her uneasiness in crowds, she never went to any of the local festivals. Bad things could happen in crowds. But as Mr. Carlyle and Mr. Greeley had found out, bad things could happen alone in your own backyard.

Poppy didn’t dally this time, making Mila glad she carried the food. Being on the receiving end of the pooch’s jerks and twirls and excited leaps could make for sore muscles sometimes. And while her muscles were in good shape, thanks to her job, Sam’s were a whole lot better.

---