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No extra gas, just different time. Truck likely not full when picked up in morning explains early stop.
Lucy read the text again.
And then typed, Had to turn in gas receipts.
Yes.
Receipt with time stamp could be used as alibi.
Yes. So maybe not dead end.
Agreed, she typed.
Question.
Go.
You ever consider trusting a guy when he’s not working?
Lucy started to sweat. ???
Personally, not professionally.
He wasn’t suggesting… He couldn’t be asking…
Could he?
Depends. She had no idea what to do.
On what?
Was he flirting with her? Did she really want him to? She’d clearly been afflicted with a desire to jump his bones, but beyond that…
The guy.
Oh.
She stared at her phone. That was it? He was going to leave it like that?
She reread their string. Which had started with him asking her if she’d had a hot date. Her stomach had butterflies. Like the salad she’d shared with her mother for dinner wasn’t sitting well with her, although she couldn’t imagine what, in a grilled chicken salad, would upset her stomach.
Her phone remained still. No messages popping in. Was he going to throw something like that out there and then just go without even saying good-night?
Why did you ask? she typed carefully and sent.
Wondered. The reply shot right back. Had he been waiting for her to say something?
Lucy shook her head. This is all too confusing. Did you have a guy in mind?
She wasn’t breathing properly. And wanted to drop her phone when the reply came back. A good detective knew when she was in over her head.
Knowing was the difference between living and dying.
Yeah.
Who?
Her screen flashed. He’d answered. Lucy got up and went to the bathroom. Down the hall from her mother’s room, not the one in her mother’s room. She did her business. Finished. Sat on the side of the tub, biting her lower lip.
