The Carbon Murder(91)
“MC is in trouble, Matt. Alex Simpson is in Revere and has managed to lure her … someplace.”
“Hold on, hold on.” A steady voice, that allowed me to tell Matt what I knew and what I didn’t know.
“They could be anywhere,” I said. “What does he want with her? It’s over; there’s nothing he can do now to avoid arrest.”
“He might just want to get back at someone. Or he might have some hostage scheme in mind. That’s not important right now.”
“It is important. This probably means Lorna’s telling the truth and Alex is the one behind the murders.” I took a breath. “I’m sorry. I know what you mean.”
“Let’s work with this. MC wouldn’t go anyplace that would be obviously too private or hidden.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’d want to be in a public place.” I tried not to be influenced by the fact that MC had done a number of not-so-sensible things in her life, like letting a man push her around. She was over that phase, I told myself.
“A public place, like a restaurant.”
“Yes,” I said, getting into the rhythm. The man who’d been having trouble staying conscious lately was helping me calm down. “But her message came just before ten o’clock. Too early for lunch, so a coffee shop. In fact her message said they were going for coffee. Why didn’t I think of that sooner?”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. What would be her favorite coffee shop, where she’d feel comfortable? Someplace you would know also, so she wouldn’t have to give you directions or anything like that.”
“You mean if she remembered to tell me where.”
“Right.”
In my mind I ran up and down the streets of Revere looking for a coffee shop. Then it came to me. “Tomasso’s Coffee Annex. We had coffee there last week. It’s not that far from where I am.”
“Stay where you are, Gloria.” I’d never heard his voice so firm. “I’m hanging up. If you want to do anything, try Berger’s cell phone while I track the nearest cruiser.”
I sat in my Cadillac and looked ahead of me. My eyes soared over the roofs of the cars in the parking lot, toward the roof of Tomasso’s Coffee Annex, about a mile away, through city streets. I tasted blood from where I’d been chewing my lips.
The connection was broken, but I heard Matt’s voice again. Stay where you are.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
MC chose a large arrangement of asters, mums, and some tiny purple stems only her mother and a florist would be able to name. She wrote out a thank-you message to Gloria and Matt on a small card and filled out forms to have the basket delivered to Fernwood Avenue.
The whole process took longer than MC thought it would—it must have been the pimply young clerk’s first day, the way he kept going to the back of the shop for answers to questions. MC bounced from one foot to the other.
Not that she was eager to see Wayne Gallen, just anxious to get it over with.
She was, in fact, having second thoughts about the whole idea. What if she just didn’t show up? Any normal guy would take it as a lost cause and head home, but Wayne wasn’t your normal guy. She wouldn’t put it past him to tear up his ticket until he had his last look at her. She pulled at her hair, wishing she hadn’t washed it after her run. Maybe if she looked scraggly he’d bug off.
The kid clerk was in the back, probably getting a lesson in addition. MC was the only customer in the tiny shop, which smelled just like the parlors she passed every day on her way to and from her apartment. A light rainfall had started up again outside, perfect for her dreary meeting.
She rolled her shoulders back. Okay, this was a good time to practice the mind/body breathing technique Rick at the health club had taught her. She stood still, focused on her stomach, and imagined a small balloon in that space. She breathed in, inflating the balloon, counting off ten seconds. She heard Rick’s voice. Hold for ten seconds. Now gently deflate the balloon, exhaling through your mouth.
Good thing there’s no one else in here, she thought. This could look weird.
MC left the store and got in her Nissan, silently cursing Wayne Gallen as she turned the key in the ignition. She looked at the empty cup holder and wished she could look forward to the upcoming espresso at Tomasso’s. She felt like calling Matt, finding out if you could have people deported to their home states.
There I go, relying on someone else to solve my problems, she thought.
A little girl in lavender pants and pink sneakers crossed in front of her while MC was stopped at a light. A woman old enough to be the girl’s mother held her hand until they reached the opposite sidewalk. Tears came to MC’s eyes, matching the light mist on her windshield. What’s this all about? Don’t tell me I wish I had a kid? Or that I were six years old again?