“The Bad People. Remember?”
“Oh.” She looked around. “Why are they bad?”
“Mom. They tried to kill us.”
She blinked at that. “Where are we going?”
“You remember Margie, Dad’s brother’s wife?”
“She smells like roses.”
I almost smiled. “That’s the one.”
Two exits up I spotted a sign for a McDonalds. A fast-food place would be less likely to have a television. I craned my neck toward the restaurant. How many cars in the parking lot?
Maybe five. No police.
“Mom, I’m going to stop for you in just a minute. But you’ll have to move fast, can you do that? It’s dangerous.”
“Because of the Bad People?”
“Yes.”
She pressed her lips together, her head wagging. “I can move fast when I have to.”
We pulled into a parking spot toward the back of the restaurant. I hustled Mom inside and back out in under five minutes. Had to be some kind of record.
A short time later we turned off I-5 onto Highway 152. A much smaller road with fewer cars. My lungs expanded a little.
Mom rubbed her belly. “I want another donut.”
“They’re in the backseat. Can you reach them?”
“No.” She sounded petulant. “I need water.”
“In the backseat too.” Why in the world hadn’t I left them up front?
She turned to look at me. Her face looked so worn. “I need them now.”
Tears of frustration bit my eyes. I stopped on the side of the road and pulled the donuts and water from the backseat. Crackers and cheese too. “Here.” I placed it all at Mom’s feet. “Sorry the water won’t be real cold.”
Mom sighed. “I never got my tea.”
“Maybe Aunt Margie will have some for you.” Please, God, let the woman be home.
“That would be nice.” Mom seemed to perk up at the thought. She took a drink from a water bottle. “I had a friend named Margie when I was young. She had bright red hair and three brothers. We used to play jacks.”
Amazing, how Mom could remember things from the distant past. “Really? Who won?”
“She did. All the time. That girl had the nimblest fingers you ever saw.”
A dark car was gaining behind us. My eyes flicked back and forth from the road to the rearview mirror. Was it a cop?
“Once she won thirteen games in a row. I remember that because it was such an unlucky number. For me, anyway.”
The car drew closer. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
“Very sad thing. Margie died when we were twelve.”
My heart bounced around in my chest. Was it a cop? “How terrible. What happened?”
Mom sniffed. “Her pet rat killed her.”
“What?”
The car loomed closer. I could see lights on top. My pulse hitched.
Oh, God, please . . .
“She took his cage outside to give him some sun. Somehow he escaped. He skedaddled right across the lawn and into the street. Margie chased after him.”
The cop stayed behind us. I slowed. He could have passed me. But he stayed.
Any minute now he’d pull us over. I’d be done. What would happen to us once we were taken back to the San Mateo County Sheriff’s Department? Would one of the Bad People somehow get to my jail cell and kill me? What if they turned me over to the “FBI”? What would happen to Mom?
“Are you listening, Hannah?”
“Yes. Listening.” My voice sounded distant to my own ears. The police car behind me may as well have been a fire-breathing monster.
“What did I say?”
Was the cop talking into his radio?
“Hannah!”
I swallowed hard. “Margie. Rat. Ran into the road.”
“Yes, he did. And she ran after him. Didn’t look for cars. She was hit.” Mom sighed deeply. “I lost my good friend.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words came automatically. My arms shook.
“Me too.”
The police car lights flicked on. He was pulling us over.
Chapter 20
Dave focused on his keyboard. Emily stood beside him, all nerves. “Okay,” he said. “First we’ll enhance the picture and slow everything down.”
He brought up a different program on his computer and moved the video into it. Played it again.
“There!” Emily pointed. “I saw something.”
“Yeah. But it’s still too fast.” Dave slowed the video more. And still more. The fourth time, the flash stayed longer, but they couldn’t make out what it was.
“Time for the Superman enhance.” He hit some keys, and they watched again. When the flash came up, he stopped the frame. Both of them leaned closer to the screen, frowning. “Let’s throw in Batman.” Dave punched keys, and the flash cleared some more. He leaned right up to the screen, trying to see. Then pulled back, shaking his head. “Maybe your eyes are better than mine.”