My threat made no impact, so one evening, I waited outside the bar he frequented, and at closing, I tailed him, pulled him over, humiliated him with a Breathalyzer and a roadside sobriety test. I told him this was his second warning. That three was not going to be a charm. After that, I saw him taking his dog for walks with at least some regularity. Nobody wants to have to ride his bike around in the winter.
And all the other little things in my life, like the time I didn’t correct the automated teller at the grocery store when I accidentally punched in two nectarines instead of three, or the time I sneaked into a movie theater without paying when I was a teenager ...Ridiculousstuff.
So, I have to face it.Ifit’s my face in the sketch making the national rounds, it’s all about the big one.
Thething I’ve been trying not to think about, the one I constantly shove back into a dark closet: the incident with Coleman.
Someone grabs my arm. I startle again, as if I’m the most easily spooked person on the planet.
Am I?
It’s Jess. “Jesus,” I say. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I didn’t.”
“There’s your bag.”
She grabs her suitcase, and we step out into the eighty-degree weather. I take a deep breath of fresh air and look to the northeast to see the gateway to Glacier gleaming under the azure sky, two ranges bowing to each other, beckoning more and more tourists every year.
And is it possible ... a cold-blooded killer?
Chapter 11
We find Wallace outside. I give him a quick hug, and he holds it longer than I want. I pull away and notice he isn’t wearing his usual boyish grin. His face looks pinched with worry.
It’s the sketch.
“Smile,” I say. It’s a command I detest others giving me.
Wallace shows me his neat line of white teeth, and hugs Jess the way you’re supposed to hug a friend, grabs her bag, and throws it in the Jeep.
He pushes his sunglasses up into his wavy blond hair and fastens his startling eyes—the blue practically matching the summer sky—on mine, clearly winding up for a heart-to-heart.
I give him a slight headshake that says,Don’t. Don’t haul your worry out in front of Jess. Let’s not talk about it now.“I’m hungry,” I say even though I have zero appetite.
To his credit, Wallace shifts gears. Suggests getting breakfast, asks about the flight, accepts my blah answer with an amiable nod. I remove my jacket in the perfect weather and toss it and my carry-on onto the back seat.
When Wallace pulls onto the highway after we drop Jess off, he heads south instead of north, where both of us live—me halfway between the small towns of Columbia Falls and Whitefish, and Wallace right in Whitefish.
“We’re going to Kalispell?” I ask. It’s only about fifteen miles away, but why?
“Yep.”
“Where?”
“You want breakfast, right? Whitefish will be crawling with tourists.”
“’Kay,” I say, but I have a funny feeling. “What about C-Falls?”
Around the same distance . . .
“Well, this way ... we can stop at the police station, too.”
“No!” I smack the dashboard to underscore my reaction. “Not your choice.”
“You don’t think it’s you?”
“No.”
