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Delta was struck silent.
“Don’t trust anyone but me,” Amanda said tautly. “And . . . stop by the house later. I have something to show you.”
“What?”
“Come by after dinner . . . around eight? I’ve got some things to do, but I think I might have some answers to some old questions then.”
“I’ll have to get a sitter.”
“Do it,” Amanda said and hung up.
Well, great. Just after telling her that Zora had been angling for Owen . . . seriously? What had she planned to do if Delta had left Owen in her care?
She shivered. The idea of finding a sitter tonight . . . if her mother couldn’t do it. She wasn’t going to go.
“Mom,” she said, greeting her mother a few moments later as she pulled out of Danny O’s lot. “Could you babysit tonight? I need to meet with Amanda.”
“Well, sure.”
“Thank you,” she said gratefully. “Gotta go. I’m driving, and I don’t want a ticket.”
“Okay, honey.”
She clicked off and headed back toward Woody’s Auto Body. After several miles, she noticed a big, black SUV changing lanes along with her. She changed lanes again, and the black SUV followed.
Her heart lurched.
She drove on to Woody’s, one eye on the black SUV. The auto body shop was on the outskirts of Laurelton, about a half-hour drive from West Knoll. As she turned at a light, she expected the SUV to follow, but it cruised through the light and went on. She thought there was a man at the wheel. Brad Sumpter, maybe?
Unnerved, she drove back to the auto body parking lot. The note was still on the door, but through its window panel, she could see someone inside. She walked up to the door and tried the knob. The door opened, and she was inside a small room with a counter and two metal chairs. There were pictures of cars along the walls and a number of items for sale to improve the appearance of a car—chrome cleaner, chamois cloths, leather upholstery wipes, bottles and sprays of all colors and scents, scented trees in cellophane that nevertheless permeated the room with flavors that nearly obliterated the sharp scent of oil and paint.
Woody was behind the counter. His hair was still long, pulled up into a man bun and streaked with gray. He wore a wife-beater T-shirt, and she could see a portion of the landing eagle tattoo that spread across his left shoulder. Her dislike of tattoos had faded over the years, and Woody’s made her feel warm, almost happy, like meeting an old friend and recognizing they hadn’t really changed. His face was, as ever, more comical than handsome and was covered with a short, but raggedy beard. But it was a familiar face, and when he smiled at her, Delta’s resistance fled. “Woody,” she greeted him, a catch in her voice.
“Mrs. Stahd,” he drawled.
She was horrified to feel tears building. She touched her finger to the corners of her eyes, seeking to hold them back. “Sorry. Tanner and then now Zora . . .”
“Hard to believe there’s not some evil purpose behind it all, right?”
She nodded.
He shrugged, as if purposely setting that aside. “Whatever are you doing in a place like mine?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Looking for some answers, maybe.”
“Here?” His brows drew together.
She shook her head. Didn’t know quite how to proceed, now that she was facing Woody, so she backtracked. “Crystal sent me an e-mail. I hadn’t seen her since the reunion.”
“She sent you an e-mail?”
“She warned me to not let the police bully me. She still a preschool teacher?”
“Nah . . . She’s, uh . . . you know we’re divorced.”
“I guess I heard that.” Delta nodded.
“She’s in the marijuana business,” he said.
