Before they reached the painted wooden front door, it creaked open and a woman with long, purplish-black hair appeared in the doorway. She wore red pajamas that clashed with her zebra-print slippers.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she said affectionately.
“There she is, my number one cutie-wootie.” Fisk wrapped her in his arms and they shared a lingering smooch that ended only when Maybelline snorted and stamped a hoof.
“Come here, you big, jealous jenny!” The woman kissed the donkey on the nose and then hugged Lucretia, Ruth, and Joannie.
“Rae, this is Cara,” Fisk said. “She needs to crash here tonight.”
“Cara,” Rae repeated with a nod.
Was Cara more surprised that Fisk really did have a woman in his life, or that he’d brought Cara home to meet her?
“Hi,” she said, meekly, wondering if Rae recognized her. Either way, Fisk’s boo seemed surprisingly unconcerned that he had appeared in the dead of the night with another woman in tow. Maybe Cara wasn’t the first stray he’d brought home.
“Well, come on in,” said Rae. “But you both smell worse than Maybel. Billy, take the girls to the barn and use the outdoor shower while I show Cara to the bathroom.”
Cara followedBillyFisk’s partner into her cramped living room. The small house was filled with gems, crystals, and decorative rocks hanging in windows, displayed on shelves, and in the case of several expensive-looking geodes, resting on decorative stands. Rocks were even arranged around the computer desk wedged into a corner.
“I used to own a rock shop,” Rae explained, patting the brown microfiber sectional that took up most of the living room floor. “There’s no guest bedroom, but the couch is comfy.”
“I appreciate it,” Cara said.
She tagged along as Rae went into a bedroom with a king-sized bed and matching oak nightstands. On the dresser, next to a bowl of multicolored polished stones, was a framed photo of Rae and Fisk holding hands. She looked radiant, with long, coal black hair, a beaming smile, and a multicolored sundress. Fisk’s hair was blond, and he was clean-shaven, revealing charming dimples.
“That was from when we were young, pretty, and thin,” said Rae, opening a drawer and looking through her clothes. “Billy’s still pretty slim. I’ve been saving these, thinking I might actually get on a diet and squeeze back into ’em at some point.”
The clothes she put in Cara’s hands were aFlorida Is for Loverstank top, a sports bra, and lavender leggings.
“Thank you.”
Rae pointed to a bathroom across the hall. “There are towels in the linen closet, and I’m sure there’s a new toothbrush in one of the drawers.”
In the brown-and-tan tiled bathroom, Cara dropped her filthy clothes on the curled linoleum floor and stepped into the shower stall. Hot water needled every cut, scrape, and bruise, and the Irish Spring bar soap added a sharp secondary sting. As a kid, Cara’s mother always kept the same brand on hand for Martin, the man who was going to be her stepdad but never quite left his actual wife. Cara had to shampoo and rinse three times to clean her hair and get the soap’s scent off her skin. When she looked down at her body, she was amazed to see that, despite her injuries, her muscles were more defined than they’d ever been. Scarily, being on the run was the best fitness plan she’d ever had.
Thank God, she was out of the wilderness.
When she emerged from the bathroom, she found a folded blanket and a pillow on the couch. Fisk—scrubbed clean and wearing a fresh T-shirt and shorts—was seated next to Rae at the dining-room table, attacking a plate of hot dogs and tater tots. A similar plate was waiting at an empty chair.
“Sit. Eat,” Fisk said, through a mouthful of hot dog.
“You must be hungry,” Rae added flatly.
Judging by her cooler expression and body language, Fisk had filled her in. If she hadn’t known Cara’s last name was Campbell, she did now.
Cara sat down. “Rae, I swear on my life—although I realize it’s not worth much right now—I’m innocent.”
“Billy says there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance.”
“More like sixty-forty,” he corrected, popping his last two tater tots into his mouth.
“I need to go back to LA. I haven’t figured out how, or exactly what I’ll do when I get there, but I have to find out who killed my husband and why.”
“Any idea how you’ll accomplish that?”
“At the end of the trial, a forensic accountant testified that Karl was having money problems.”
“Shouldn’t you have known? You’re the gold-digger lady.”
