Vicious - By Kevin O'Brien Page 0,53

same night. You wouldn’t believe how many detectives and policemen and special investigators were through here asking me questions. And all I could tell them was the same thing, over and over again. She drove up, came in alone, bought some stuff, left alone, and then she drove away.” She gave Susan a sidelong glance. “You sure I can’t get you anything, honey?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, you might be able to help me,” Susan replied, lowering her voice so Mattie couldn’t hear. “Did a good-looking man with silver-black hair come in here a little over an hour ago?”

Rosie squinted at her. “Nice dresser, about thirty-five?”

Susan nodded. “Yes, that’s him, that’s Allen. He’s my fiancé.”

“Well, well, congratulations, honey. He’s a looker.”

“So—he was here?”

Rosie nodded again. “Yes, ma’am, he stopped in at around—eleven forty-five. He bought some sunblock lotion….”

“And that’s it?” Susan asked. “Did he ask for anything else? I mean, something you might not have had, something he’d need to go into town for?”

“Nope,” Rosie replied, shaking her head.

Susan sighed. “I’m sorry to be asking all these dumb questions, but the thing of it is, he never came home.”

“Oh, dear,” Rosie murmured. “And then this business with the hunter. No wonder you’re on edge, you poor thing.”

“Did he say anything to you about where he was headed—anything at all?”

Rosie fingered the glasses on a chain around her neck. “Hmm, just that he needed the sunblock because he was going sailing this afternoon.”

“Was there anyone else in the store who might have talked to him?”

“Yes, there was another customer, Jordy Prewitt, a nice young man from Seattle. His folks have a cabin on Cedar Crest Way, not too far from where you are—”

“Was he in the store yesterday—with some friends?” Susan asked. “I spoke with a tall, handsome, dark-haired boy….”

“Yes, that’s Jordy. He was here again today, when your fiancé dropped by. But I don’t think they talked at all. Jordy was feeling sick, and he left rather quickly.”

“So there was no one else in the store when Allen left? No one who might have talked to him or seen which way he was headed?”

Rosie shrugged. “I’m sorry, honey. I wish I could be more help. He just drove up, came in alone, bought some sunblock—”

“He left alone, and then he drove away,” Susan finished for her. She winced at the thought of him vanishing like that.

Rosie reached over the counter and patted her hand. “Oh, honey, I’m sure he’s fine.” She glanced back at Mattie, oblivious, playing with one of the toys. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “Your fiancé looked like a man who can take care of himself. He probably decided to go into town for something at the last minute and got sidetracked….”

Susan tried to smile at her. “Thanks,” she said. “Maybe that’s what happened.”

She wished she could believe it. She wished right now that Allen’s black BMW would pull in front of the store. And she’d see him step out of the car.

But right now, she didn’t see any other cars in the lot but her own. And all she heard was the distant wail of a police siren.

As he hit the first rough patch on the dirt road, Jordan heard more knocking and kicking from inside the cramped trunk of his car. No doubt, the son of a bitch was getting quite a pounding back there over the rear tires.

Meeker had been out cold during their last trek on this bumpy trail. In a way, Jordan had done the guy a favor knocking him unconscious earlier, because he hadn’t been awake to feel every jolt of the bouncy, nausea-inducing ride.

Jordan watched the road ahead, resisting the temptation to torture his indisposed passenger and steer toward the rough patches.

Jordan remembered: “A rough patch” was how his mother had described the divorce. Jordan had been eight years old at the time.

“This is going to be a rough patch for you,” she’d told him when she was getting ready to move away from their house in Bellingham to her own apartment ninety minutes away in Bellevue. “I really wish you could stay with me, but the people who decide these things think you’re better off with your dad—for now, at least. But don’t you sweat it, kiddo, because we’ll get to spend weekends and holidays together. It’ll be a lot of fun, you’ll see….”

A beautiful, curvaceous blonde, his mother looked like a movie star. All of his friends thought he had the coolest mom. She came

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