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Whoever it was didn’t seem to be making any effort to disguise his presence. Perhaps they hadn’t yet realized the house wasn’t empty.
She eased her phone out of her pocket and called the emergency services, then tiptoed into the bathroom and
locked the door.
“Hello?” she whispered, terrified that any moment now the door would be smashed down. “There’s an intruder in the house. Help me.”
11
MARTHA
ST. LOUIS~DEVIL’S ELBOW~SPRINGFIELD
“Are you sure you feel up to traveling today? You’re quiet.” Martha loaded their bags into the trunk of the car. She’d learned that they had to be loaded in the exact same order or they didn’t fit. For someone whose underwear drawer was usually a tangled mess, she was proud of her achievement. The neatly packed trunk seemed to represent something, although she wasn’t sure what. Order?
“I can confirm my wish to travel.” Kathleen clutched the small bag that she kept with her in the car at all times. “We’re on a road trip and after those delicious pancakes for breakfast I’m full of energy.”
“You mentioned that you didn’t sleep well. Probably all that talk of scoundrels.” Martha still couldn’t believe that something similar had happened to Kathleen when she was young. Kathleen’s experience had been worse, in some ways. Hearing about it had made Martha feel a little less bad about herself. If it could happen to someone like Kathleen, it could happen to anyone.
Not that she knew many of the details. All Kathleen had told her was that she’d been engaged to a man who had then had an affair with her friend. Having revealed that, she’d then cleverly deflected all follow-up questions and instead encouraged Martha to talk about herself.
She’d done so willingly. There was plenty Martha didn’t know, as her mother was always quick to point out, but she knew when someone didn’t want to talk about something.
Kathleen handed her the last of the bags. “It’s true that I didn’t sleep well, but that’s a common occurrence and nothing that should alarm you.”
Martha squashed the bag into the remaining space, closed the trunk and glanced at Kathleen. There were no outward signs that her companion was flagging. She was wearing her usual floaty, elegant layers and had taken the time to apply lipstick.
Martha felt a rush of admiration and an even bigger rush of affection. She’d known Kathleen for only a few days, but she hadn’t felt this comfortable with someone since she’d lost her grandmother. Kathleen was so easy to talk to. Warm, hilarious and delightfully frank. But she was also supportive and greeted all Martha’s tentative suggestions with so much enthusiasm that Martha found herself becoming less tentative. It made her realize she’d been living her life in defense mode, constantly on edge and ready to defend herself against her mother, her sister and Steven. Not beginning each day braced for combat was a good feeling. The knot in her stomach had eased.
And if a small part of her warned that she should have been more cautious about being so open with a stranger, she ignored it.
Was that why Kathleen had suddenly backed off?
“Are you wishing you’d never told me that personal stuff?” Martha held the car door open for Kathleen. “Because you don’t need to worry. I’m chatty, but I’m not a gossip. There’s a difference.”
“I’m aware of the distinction. And I have no regrets.”
“I know you only did it because you were trying to make me feel better. And it did.” Martha closed the door, sprinted round the car and slid into the driver’s seat.
“I’m nowhere near as kindly and unselfish as you seem to believe.” Kathleen secured her seat belt. Her hands were still elegant, even though the skin was wrinkled and darkened in places from overexposure to the sun. “I don’t fully understand why I shared my own experience. It was an impulse.”
Martha adjusted her mirror. “That’s what you said when you ordered the bacon.”
“Generally I find food impulses to have fewer immediate consequences than those of an emotional type. I do hope you’ll heed my advice and not let your lamentable experience with Scoundrel Steven influence the choices you make for the rest of your life.”
Martha hesitated. “Like you did?”
“We have done enough talking about me.” Kathleen slid her sunglasses onto her nose. “Shall we drive? That way we might stand a chance of arriving in California before I reach my hundredth decade.”
Martha snorted with laughter. “You’re so funny.”
“Your entertainment is high on my priority list, so I count that as excellent news. Drive, Martha!”
Martha discovered that the driver’s seat felt a more comfortable place than previously. She no longer felt as if it might eject her as an imposter at any moment. She was in charge, not the car. “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”
“I’ve already given an extensive account of my travels.”
“That, yes.” Martha checked the traffic and pulled onto the road. “But I mean emotional stuff. You don’t like talking about emotional stuff. I can tell. It’s hard for you.”
