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She then backed down the drive and into the road, throwing the vehicle into DRIVE and speeding to catch up to him.
She’d been afraid she’d given him too much time, but she caught him faster than expected. He was staying within the speed limit to wherever he was going, and she had to hang back once she had him in her sights. She didn’t want to tip him off.
He could talk all he wanted, but the bottom line was he was in love with someone else. He didn’t care about her. He never had.
Why had he brought up Amanda? Just to tell her about Carmen? To ease away from the fact that he was leaving her?
Or . . . was it something more? Was she wrong about his lover? Could it be Amanda? Maybe she was the one he’d wanted from afar . . .
No. Impossible.
Still, she stretched out her right hand and searched blindly through her purse for her cell. As soon as she grasped it, she placed it on top of her purse, then, darting glances at the glowing screen as she drove, she punched in Amanda’s number. When Amanda didn’t answer, Zora stayed on the line, letting it go to voice mail. Maybe Brian was right about one thing. Maybe it was time to bring it all out in the open. Tanner was gone, and Carmen, too, and if her death was Amanda’s fault, well hell. Zora didn’t feel like playing nice anymore.
You cheated with him, too.
She closed her mind to that. It had only been one night, and they hadn’t even gone all the way. Amanda was the one who’d done all the damage. And what did it matter now anyway? Brian was wrong. Delta maybe did kill Tanner. Okay, maybe not, but somebody did. Somebody took his life and Bailey’s and Penske’s . . . and maybe it wasn’t Amanda, but she sure as hell was responsible for something.
Amanda’s voice mail clicked on. “You’ve reached Amanda Forsythe. Leave a message . . .”
Beep.
“Hi. It’s Zora.” Instantly her anger started to collapse, like a balloon losing air. She had to work to hold on to it. “I just talked to Brian . . . Did you know he saw you with Tanner, what you were doing in the woods the night of the barbeque? He said Carmen saw, too. He said he doesn’t want to be unhappy anymore, like it could lead to something terrible, like what happened to her.” She paused, aware that Brian’s Mercedes had taken a turn and was heading a familiar route through West Knoll. “I’m not going to let him leave me. And nothing bad is going to happen to us. I just wanted you to know that.” She had so much more to say, but doubt was creeping in. Amanda had been the leader of the Five Firsts, one of her best friends.
Whatever. She couldn’t think about that now. She clicked off and concentrated on her driving.
* * *
McCrae told himself not to go to Delta’s and then all the way back to his own house. Don’t go see her. It’s a bad idea. Stay home.
But after he checked Fido’s water bowl, scratched the dog behind the ears, and grabbed an energy bar, he headed out, ignoring his conscience. It was going on 8:00, and he hadn’t had much besides a couple of beers since morning.
He arrived at Delta’s and pulled in the drive. When he walked to the front door, she was waiting for him. He wanted to sweep her into his arms and press her flesh to his. Less sexual, more just companionship. Okay. Maybe not less sexual, but he didn’t expect anything from her. Just wanted to touch her.
She, however, gave him none of the warm signals he thought he’d gotten on the phone, and when he entered and saw her son, Owen, in pajamas, sitting on a couch in front of the TV, he saw why.
“Hi,” he said to the boy.
“This is McCrae,” Delta said as she moved into the adjoining kitchen. Then, “Chris McCrae. This is my son, Owen.”
“Hi,” said Owen, cautiously.
Delta was at the refrigerator. “Would you like a drink?”
“Water would be great.”
“Okay . . .”
“It’s been a long day,” he said.
The boy moved from the couch to one of the counter bar stools, strategically placing himself between McCrae and his mom.
Delta handed him the glass of water, and he saw that she was drinking a glass of rosé. There was an awkward moment. “It’s about time for bed, isn’t it?” she said to Owen.
Owen ignored her. “Mommy didn’t kill Daddy,” he related soberly.
“Owen!” said Delta. She’d lifted the glass to her lips but set it back down without drinking.
McCrae answered the boy, “We are working to find out what happened.”
