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Who attacked Tanner . . . with intent to kill? Who? How? Why?
She moaned aloud.
She’d lied about the knife. She’d touched the knife. And then she’d lied about it.
Tell the truth. It always comes out anyway.
Screwing up her courage, Delta phoned back the number, and when McCrae answered, “Hi, Delta,” she said quickly, “I can be there this afternoon about two.”
“I’ll be here.”
There was a hesitation on both their parts, and then he told her, “The press knows.” She nodded to herself, but before she could say anything else, he added, “Ellie called me.”
Who are you? Ellie? . . . You sound about as judgmental . . . McCrae’s words. From the night of the barbeque.
“If you would prefer me to pick you up and avoid—”
“No. I’ll be there,” she told him flatly. “I need to pick my son up at five, but I’ll be at your station at two.”
Chapter 15
Delta drove to the nearest ATM, took out five hundred dollars, and then went to the mall and into Macy’s. She used cash to buy a medium-grade set of knives that came with a wooden-block holder. She took it home and out of the packaging and set it on her counter. It looked so shiny and new that she filled the sink with water and submerged the wooden holder, adding dish detergent. All the while she told herself she was making a huge mistake. She was getting in deeper and deeper for no good reason.
But they’ll think it was me. They’ll think I tried to kill my husband!
Her heart lurched. Her e-book. Blood Dreams . . . Her main character had killed her husband with a knife . . .
But it’s an e-book . . . not in print . . . not a best seller . . . just a way to deal with Tanner’s cheating . . . it’s not real!
“Oh, my God . . . oh, my God . . .”
It was on Amazon and Apple and several other platforms, available for anyone to read, should they choose to. She received a little money for it each month, not much. She wanted to rip it off the platforms and ran upstairs to her computer to do so, then hesitated, afraid. Would it look worse for her if she took it down now? Undoubtedly. She left the book alone.
She walked back downstairs with heavy footsteps. Picked up the wooden knife block and dried it off. She put the knives back in it. When the holder dried, some of its glossy, oiled surface had bleached out and lost its luster, and there were spots darker than others, making it seem used, although it wasn’t completely dry, so the jury was still out on whether it would pass as older.
This is a mistake, she told herself, her fingers clasping the edge of the farmhouse sink while she leaned forward, drawing several long breaths, before standing erect once more.
She realized she’d splashed water on herself, so she changed into her third blouse, this one a deep ochre that worked with her darker complexion and hair. She wore her same blue jeans as she headed downstairs, and just about the time she was ready to leave, her doorbell rang. She nearly dropped her cell at the sudden pealing through the house.
Her pulse sped up, and she scurried back upstairs to look out Owen’s window, which had the best angle to the front door. Two people. A man and a woman. Her eyes scanned the streets, and down the way she saw a news van. Not Channel Seven. Not Ellie O’Brien. But a news van all the same.
The vultures were circling.
Wildly she wondered if she should have taken McCrae up on his offer for an escort. There was nowhere to hide.
The reporters gave up ringing her bell after a few minutes, but she watched them mosey down the street, talking to each other. Another man carrying a camera slid open the door of the news van and joined them.
Delta walked toward the stairway once more and sat down heavily on the top step. She had an instant image of Tanner on the floor—him bleeding, the knife, the bubbling stab wounds— and felt faint. She put her head between her knees and inhaled and exhaled several times.
A moment later, she ran to the bathroom and lost the little bit of blueberry muffin she’d managed to pick up from a Starbucks at the mall. Rinsing out her mouth, she took a look at herself through watery eyes. Her makeup was still in place, even if her skin had leached a few shades whiter. She realized abstractedly that she’d lost all that baby weight from having Owen and then some. Now she looked almost gaunt.
With shaking fingers, she called McCrae’s line. He picked up on the second ring.
“I need a ride,” she said.
“Be there in twenty,” he answered, and was gone.
* * *
