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“That’s the thing about memories, the rememberer gets to do the deciding on what he or she remembers about the remembered, not the other way around.”
Well put. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They parted ways. Finley unlocked and climbed into her Subaru. She tried to watch where Brewer went, but he disappeared into the darkness. She started the engine and ensured that the locks engaged before calling Houser to give him an update on her father.
Even as she waited for him to answer, thoughts of what her father could be hiding twisted inside her. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Maybe the planning commission really had sent him to speak with Ray Johnson. It wasn’t impossible, just one hell of a coincidence.
Finley did not like coincidences.
Not one little bit. And the coincidences in this case seemed to be mounting.
Houser’s voice mail kicked in.
This is Detective Eric Houser of the Metro Nashville PD, leave me a message.
“Hey, it’s O’Sullivan. Call me. We need ...”
Headlights flashed in her eyes, startling her. She blinked. “We need to ... talk.”Oh shit.
She ended the call.
The headlights bored straight into her vehicle, coming closer and closer until the car was nose to nose with hers.
Was that Brewer? Why would he—?
The other vehicle nudged her. Finley jumped. Foot on the brake, she instinctively shifted into reverse.
The headlights switched to bright.
She squinted. Looked away.
Something slammed against her window. She jerked her head around and stared out the driver’s side.
The dim lights of the dash glowed eerily against a face—black hoodie ... sunglasses pressed to the glass. Her heart banged against her sternum.
Without looking away, she let off the brake and hit the accelerator.
The Subaru rocketed backward. The man stumbled back. She shifted into drive and rammed the accelerator simultaneously, cutting the steering wheel to miss the curb ... and the man. She jetted away from the threat. Barreling forward, she dared a glance into her rearview mirror. He stood in the beam of his vehicle’s headlights, the glow casting him in shadow. But it was him ... she knew it was him.
Heart pounding hard enough to burst from her chest, she didn’t slow down until she made the left on McCrary Avenue. Even then she kept a close watch on her rearview mirror. He would know she was headed home. To give herself an advantage, she made a right and decided to take a long, jagged route toward home.
Her cell vibrated against her lap. She jumped. Shrieked.
Damn it. She took a breath. She had dropped her phone into her lap. This time the call connected with her car. She stabbed at the screen on the dash, hit Accept.
Before she could say anything, Houser demanded, “Finley, are you okay?” He was practically shouting.
“I’m okay.” She dragged in a shaky breath.
“What happened? You were leaving a message and you suddenly sayoh shit, and then the call ended.”
She hadn’t realized the line was still open when the words formed in her mind or that she’d even said them out loud. Drawing in another, steadier deep breath, she struggled to control the shakes quaking through her body.
“The guy—black hoodie and sunglasses—followed me to the cemetery. I didn’t notice him when I arrived, but when I was leaving it was dark and he came up to my car door. Beat against the glass and—”
“Where the hell are you now?”
“I’m ... I’m on Poplar Creek Road. I didn’t want to make it easy for him to follow me home, so I’m zigzagging my way there.”
