Page 29 of The Stranger
Something clicks in my head, and I stare at her, trying to keep my tone from being judgmental. “Are you just saying this because you’re trying to get us to leave? I just walked down the road trying to get service, and everything’s still covered. The roads are trash right now, Tibby. I swear. It’s not safe?—”
“That’s not why I’m doing this,” she says quickly, her voice echoing in the quiet night.
I shuffle in place, the snow crunching underfoot.
“I know what I saw. It’s blood. Will you just come look, and then you’ll see? Please?”
I sigh, puffing out a breath of visible air. “Yeah, okay.”
She takes my hand, and my entire body lights up, no longer cold in any sense of the word. I let her lead me around the building and up the walk to the lobby. She pushes the door open, and we step inside. The warmth of the room envelops me, and I have to wonder why I ever left the heat in the first place.
Wasting no time, she leads me around the desk. “Come on. It’s over here.” She stops behind the desk, pointing to a small puddle of a thick, nearly black substance. “I came looking for you and couldn’t find you. And then I rang the bell and called for Ernest, but no one came. I’m not sure what’s going on, but…”
I bend down next to the puddle, studying it for any signs that it could be something other than blood, but I know I won’t find it. She’s right.
It is blood.
My stomach clenches, and it feels as if I’m a rubber band waiting to snap. Everything is falling apart, and this is just another domino that’s been knocked over. Another thing that has gone wrong.
“We have to leave, Walker.” She brushes her hand over my shoulder. “Please. We have to leave now.”
But we can’t.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BEFORE
For a teenager’s car, this thing isn’t bad. He kept it clean, I’ll give him that. Aside from two cups from a fast-food restaurant in the cup holders, there’s not a bit of trash in here. A thick coat sits in the back seat that might be useful later.
I’ll drive this car a few miles, dump it at a gas station or rest area, and find a new one. I can’t be in it for long. I didn’t hide the bodies well enough. Eventually, someone will find them, though with any luck it won’t be tonight.
It’s starting to snow again. I fiddle with the car’s knobs, switching it to the radio rather than its previous Bluetooth connection, and search for a station that will come in clearly.
This storm has knocked nearly everything out, and it seems to be getting worse by the minute. As if to confirm my thoughts, the second I land on a radio station, I hear a man’s voice.
“Well, folks, it’s going to be a rough night here in the Heartland. The winter storm moving through the area has taken a turn for the worse, altering some of the predictions from earlier this evening when we told you it looked as though things would ease up as the storm system moved farther south. As of right now, it looks as if the worst is yet to come. We’re looking at another eight to ten inches of snow by morning for most of the area, and the farthest counties south could be hit with an additional one to two inches of sleet and ice. Of course, things could change, and we’ll keep you posted on what to expect as we monitor the storm system, but please, folks, if you don’t have to be on the roads tonight, don’t. Stay home, warm, and safe, and allow the highway teams to do their jobs and get these roads cleared just as quickly and safely as they can. We’re looking for temperatures to warm up by the end of the week, so an end is in sight. We’re just going to have to be patient. As for traffic conditions?—”
I switch the radio off, slamming my hand into the steering wheel and cursing. The storm getting worse, lasting longer, just means my time is limited. The car’s low-fuel light is on, so the first exit I see with a gas station, I pull off and fill it up. Paying with cash, of course. I keep my head low, my hood pulled up.
In a storm like this, no one would think to question it. I’m simply your average, freezing-cold traveler trying to warm up. Not someone who just murdered three people and is now trying to hide their face.
The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that snowstorms make the perfect setting for murder. Maybe I’ll move to Alaska after this.
Before I leave, I use the restroom and get a coffee to keep me awake. I consider getting a snack but decide against it, though I do pick up a copy of the local paper on a whim.
Quiet town. The front page is simply an article about the Christmas parade from last week.
I smile to myself, thinking the paper will be much more interesting this week. Perhaps it could compete with the cities around here—Marion, Carbondale, or Belleville potentially, though I don’t think any of these tiny cities see much action either.
That’ll all change with my passing through town.
Consider it a public service.
People love drama.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TIBBY