She sighed. “I don’t know how long before they show up here. Somebody’s bound to find out I’m your closest family member and come around asking questions.”
I began rinsing the dishes, my movements automatic. “I know.”
We should leave right now. But where would we go? In a car everyone was looking for. Besides, I hadn’t the energy.
“Here, let me do that.” My aunt nudged me aside and took over. I stood by helplessly, my mind unable to hold a logical thought.
“You need to rest, and I don’t want no for an answer,” Aunt Margie said. “Carol says you’ve been up all night.”
“How can I? What if they knock on your door?”
“I don’t have to let anyone in.”
“They’re police.”
“Good for them.”
“I’m tired.” Mom pushed back from the table. The animation on her face just a moment ago had faded, replaced by blank helplessness.
“Little wonder.” My aunt dried her hands on a dishtowel. “Come on, let me take you to the guestroom, where you can lie down.”
“Thank you so much, Aunt Margie,” I said. “For taking care of us.”
“Yes, well. You should sleep too.” With gentle hands she helped my mother up and led her across the kitchen.
RAWLY. I stared at the whiteness of the sink. “Aunt Margie. Do you have a computer?”
“Yes. At the little desk in my bedroom. Be my guest; it’s already on. But I still think you should rest.”
I followed her and Mom down the hall. Aunt Margie veered Mom into the room where I’d talked to Emily. “It’s on down at the end,” she said to me.
My aunt’s room was pink and gray. Roses and steel. The bed called to me. A block of exhaustion sat in my chest.
I passed the bed and sat down at the computer. For a moment my brain wouldn’t process what to do next. Amazing that twenty-four hours ago Mom and I had been eating breakfast at the Ritz Carlton. Watching the ocean. Leading normal lives.
Just hours later I would be lying to a sheriff’s deputy. And that night I would try to kill a man. I may have succeeded.
That wave of grief and guilt crashed over me again. Chilled me to the bone. My head sank to my chest. I gripped the desk and closed my eyes. “Dear God, I just don’t understand what’s happening to me. Please . . . help.”
For some time I stayed in that pose, frozen by the cold weight of my emotions. Yet—shouldn’t I be feeling even more? My exhaustion cloaked even my regret. Someday, if I survived all this, I would have to deal—really deal—with what I had done. What I’d become. Had I so little trust in God that I would lie to a deputy rather than rely on Him to get me through the consequences of telling the truth? So what if my mother had melted into a screaming fit?
As for shooting Samuelson, I’d had to do that. It was either him or us. But why had God allowed me to be in such a horrible position in the first place?
Oh, to be like my mother. Even in her simple-mindedness, she clung to God’s promises.
Help me be more like her, Lord.
My eyes scratched open. Time to move onward. I had work to do.
I raised my head and tried to focus on the computer screen. A desktop saver ball slow-bounced. My fingers felt like lead as I placed them on the keyboard.
At the Internet I searched for “Ashley Eddington” + Nathan. Multiple news stories about Nathan’s and Morton Leringer’s deaths came up. I clicked on the one for ABC local news. It told me what I needed to know. Leringer’s security company, StarrCom, was in Menlo Park, as the news had said. Ashley Eddington and her late husband, Nathan, were residents of San Carlos.
San Carlos. I slumped in the chair. My home town, the one I’d just fled. No way could I go back there.
But why should I even try? This Rawly was a stuffed dog, for goodness’ sake. The name had to be nothing but coincidence.
I stared at the monitor, trying to focus. It took awhile for my mind to register the name of Leringer’s daughter—Cheryl Stein of Menlo Park, California.
Maybe she could help. On TV she’d appeared at least a little more reasonable than Ashley Eddington. If I could just talk to her, tell her everything her father said before he died . . .
But why should she listen, when she believed everything Wade had told her? And how could I get to her anyway?
I put my head in my hands and tried to think. To reason. There had to be a plan that would fix this. But my thoughts would not gel. They sloshed, then seeped away, pale liquid.
My body longed for sleep. If I didn’t get it, I would be good for nothing. I had to have the strength to watch out for Emily and take care of Mom.
In defeat I pushed back from the computer. Stumbled to Aunt Margie’s bed and fell upon it.