The lights in the diner flash, startling me. I notice we’re the only customers still here, and the remaining staff must be signaling that it’s time for us to wrap up. I push the bills back toward Morgan.
“Let me pay,” I tell her. “I appreciate you coming all this way tonight.”
As I quickly take care of the bill, I feel my heart sinking. I’ve been praying Morgan held a piece of the puzzle, but she doesn’t. Though I mightsensethat Riley’s lie led to her death and that it’s related somehow to Mel’s murder, I have no proof whatsoever.
Chapter 31
Once we’re outside, Morgan and I follow the short concrete sidewalk to the edge of the parking lot, which runs adjacent to the diner. She stops to dig a key fob from her jeans pocket and then continues ahead, the wind tousling her short black hair.
“I’ll say goodbye here,” I call out from behind her. “A taxi’s picking me up in a few minutes.”
That’s not exactly true, though. I’m going to have to shiver by myself in the parking lot for a while, along with my anguished thoughts.
“Oh,” she says, turning back to me. “Uh, why don’t you wait in my car?”
I’m touched by the offer, but I need to let her go. She’s had enough of me to last a lifetime.
“That’s very thoughtful, Morgan, but I’ll be fine.”
Behind us, the diner lights switch off, one section at a time, and then, all at once, those in the parking lot do, too, except for a single security light. I take a second to glance around. The stores on either side of the diner—as well as those across the road—seem to be locked up tight for the night, and there’s very little traffic right now. It’s not going to be any fun waiting here alone.
“Sure?” Morgan asks. “I don’t mind hanging around a bit longer.”
“Well, if you reallydon’tmind, I think I’ll take you up on your offer. But just so you know, the taxi actually isn’t due for fifteen minutes.”
“Not a problem.”
I follow her halfway down the darkened lot to a shiny black SUV. A plastic bag skitters across the tarmac, chased by the wind, and then stops dead. There was a fleeing bag like that in the state police parking lot when Logan and I went to meet Riley. Was that only on Wednesday? Because it seems like decades ago.
We reach the car and Morgan unlocks the doors. From the back of the diner comes the sound of a metal door slamming shut, followed by the murmur of voices, the click of car doors opening and shutting, and the sudden purr of an engine. Seconds later, just as I’m opening the door, a sedan with two people appears from behind the restaurant and exits the lot. The last two staffers obviously sharing a ride.
The SUV is spotless inside, and it still has a slight new-car smell. To my surprise, Morgan suddenly fires up the engine.
“Wait,” I exclaim. “What—”
“Just turning the car around so we can see the cab when it gets here.”
She does just that, backing up the SUV and then pointing it nose forward. She keeps the motor running, I guess so we have light from the dashboard.
“This is very thoughtful of you, Morgan,” I say. “You must have work to do tonight, papers to grade.”
“Fortunately, I’m done with that for the day. I always save the later part of the evening for my own creative work.”
“Writing poems?” At our first meeting, she mentioned she’d studied poetry as part of her MFA program.
“Not anymore, no,” she says, glancing over. “I write book reviews for some online sites. And I dabble a little in painting—just watercolors, really.”
“What a nice hobby.”
“As some wise man once said, it’s silent poetry. So maybe I haven’t completely abandoned my former passion.”
Before I’m even conscious of a thought, I feel my face wrinkle in confusion.
“I heard someone else say that recently,” I tell her. “It’s part of a longer quote, right?”
My mind flickers for a couple of moments until the person who made the comment materializes in her black velveteen dress:Alison. We’d been discussing how she used to sit in on some of her husband’s backyard classes and share her thoughts on the similarities between art and poetry.
Did Morgan hear Alison quote Plutarch when she was helping Handler? She mainly worked remotely, she’d said, but perhaps the two women met in passing. Or even became friendly with each other.
