Marion Laird - No Place To Run

“She admitted to me she shot Carl.”

Frank nodded. “When you read the file, you’ll find all the extenuating circumstances that brought back the justifiable homicide ruling. I’m glad you’re being thorough.” After a moment’s hesitation, Frank motioned for Matt to take a seat.

“You’ve already printed the note.”

Matt nodded.

“Let’s see it.”

It was in the file he was carrying, so Matt passed the note, securely sealed in an evidence bag, to his boss.

“Plain and to the point. This is bound to be driving her nuts.” Frank’s expression was grave.

“She did seem frightened. I thought when I first showed it to her that she might faint, but she held up.”

“If she’s anything like her dad, she’ll be made of strong stuff. Looks as if that’s going to be needed.” Frank stood. “Keep an eye on her, Matt. I have an uncomfortable feeling this may be just the beginning.”

* * *

All Lorie wanted to do was forget the hateful note, but thoughts of it plagued her on the drive home from Daingerville. Before she hit the curves on Highway 21, she switched on the radio. Dainger County’s own KDNJ sent a bouncy bluegrass tune into the updated classic Mustang. Lorie would have preferred silence, but her brain was too active for comfort.

After-work traffic made the drive home a challenge. The narrow two-lane highway was long overdue for major work, but Dainger County was low on the Arkansas Highway Department’s upkeep list.

Thanks to all the traffic crowding her, Lorie was nearly to Buffalo Crossing before she noticed the car sticking close to her bumper. The heavily tinted windows of the Chevy Camaro looked out of place. She’d seen them often in San Diego, but seldom since returning to Arkansas. She tried to see if the black car had a front plate that might indicate if it were from out of state, but the driver stuck too close for that.

Tailgaters. It’d serve him right if I jammed on my brakes.

She’d never do that on purpose. She loved her car too much.

Maybe the driver just liked muscle cars, or was crowding in on her because he resented the traffic and poor road conditions slowing him down. Maybe. Or maybe not.

Lord, please, if he means any harm, stop him.

Heart racing, Lorie jabbed at the radio and shut it off. Light and shadow filtering through the branches made the road flicker like an old movie. Ordinarily, the wavering light didn’t bother her, but her tailgater was making the drive extra nerve-wracking.

The Camaro edged closer as some of the traffic turned onto Highway 48 to Steeleytown. Lorie glanced in the rearview mirrors again. The car looked mean.

Don’t let me panic. Lorie swallowed hard, fighting the rapid breathing that came with the adrenaline rush.

She couldn’t let this clown follow her home. Not after the second note. Senses on high alert, billions of nerve-endings prickled her skin as the black car stuck to her bumper.

As she started down Rattlesnake Hill, the car edged over the double yellow line.

No, he can’t pass me. Not here!

A booming blast from an approaching semi’s air horn forced the car behind her again. Lorie’s heart raced. One more trick like that and he’d shove her off the hill.

Not taking any chances, hands clutching the wheel, Lorie concentrated on getting back onto mostly flat ground. If she could just make it to Cartwright, she could pull into the bank’s parking lot and let this road hog have the whole highway. Unless he wasn’t just a road hog...

Show me what to do, Lord.

Slowing as she wound around the hill bordering the eastern end of Cartwright Valley, Lorie drove into the small village, pleased to note that the car behind her eased off the gas, falling back.

Lorie turned into the bank’s parking lot. As the car started to follow her, the town’s lone black-and-white pulled to a stop at First Street. Lorie’s heart pounded as the Camaro’s driver headed on down the highway. She checked the license plate, but it was covered in an uncharacteristic amount of mud. No way to tell whether it was an Arkansas plate or not.

As the black-and-white settled in to watch for speeders, Lorie waited to let all the after-work traffic pass. After twenty cars and trucks had come down the hill, slowing noticeably as they spotted the police car, Lorie turned back into traffic.

Exhaustion tugged at her. She wasn’t far from the turnoff to Wolf Hollow. Only a few more miles, and she’d be home.

For the rest of the drive, she scrutinized the traffic ahead of her, fearful of spotting her tailgater. When she reached AR Highway 14, she turned onto it without signaling. The small highway was practically empty.

She’d escaped.

Lorie slowly let out her breath. Most likely the driver had just been impatient, and glad to get out from behind her. That must be it. No connection between the tailgater and the missing library note.

If she could manage to convince herself of that, she’d sleep a lot better tonight.

After feeding her menagerie, Lorie debated whether or not she was too shaken to attend prayer meeting at Wolf Hollow Community Church. Everyone would understand if she didn’t show up, knowing how exhausting her job could be. Still, she hated to miss it. Physically, she was well enough to attend, and spiritually, she needed all the help she could get.

Deciding she needed the fellowship more than rest, if she even could relax after being nearly run off the road, Lorie locked the dog and cats securely in the house and headed for the small town she called home.

Few people attended prayer meeting these days, but the ones who did were solid. Of the half dozen couples in attendance, one was her cousins the Tubbys, Tammy and her locksmith husband, Ike, whom Lorie hadn’t been able to reach on the phone the previous day. Tammy pulled out a chair at the table in the fellowship hall. Lorie headed toward them, a human homing pigeon.

Tammy reached over and gave her a hug. “You look like you’ve been through the mill. Rough day at work?”

“Doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Lorie laid her worn Bible on the table and slung her purse onto the back of the chair. She launched into a brief description of the notes, the phone call, the broken window and the unlocked office door that they had firmly locked.

Ike frowned. “That doesn’t sound good, but I can’t say I’m surprised the locks didn’t hold up. Those old locks should have been changed decades ago. Windows, too. A kid with a bobby pin could unlock them. You want me to come by tomorrow and have a look?”

“I was hoping you’d offer.” Lorie leaned back in the uncomfortable blue plastic chair as Pastor Enoch headed for the wireless microphone. Maybe she could relax, after all.

* * *

The next morning, Lorie arrived at work earlier than usual to meet her cousin-by-marriage. She showed him the damage outside then took him inside to the office.

Ike scrutinized the door handle. “It doesn’t look like it was tampered with. Unlike the window, which I got to replace.” His slow drawl sounded like home. The home where she’d forgotten she belonged.

“So how many keys are you gonna want for the office?”

“One.”

“You should at least have two, so you’ll have a spare. What if you lost it?”

“I’d call you.”

Ike grinned. “The lock comes with two keys, anyway.”

“Okay. I guess I can live with that.”

“You know, if you really want security, you should get a different type of door. One without a window in it.” Ike tapped the gold-painted OFFICE with a tan index finger. “Good blow with a hammer on this plain glass and they’d be right in there.”

Lorie shrugged. “Technically it isn’t my door. I’ll have enough explaining to do to the county library board when they find out I authorized the changes.”