Page 49 of Chasing Creed

“No, there’s a message.”

With the sun behind clouds and on its way down, there was barely enough light, but she could see she was right. Inked on the back was a list of some sort. She couldn’t make out the words.

“Maybe someone knew we were here for Iris’ hearing,” she said.

“No secret there. I told you, I stand out like a flamingo in a flock of pigeons.”

Maggie glanced at him. The phrase made her smile. “Flamingo?”

But Pakula was already twisting in his seat, searching and scanning the street as if he could pinpoint the person who’d left it. While she fumbled her phone out of her jacket pocket, her eyes caught a single word on the page. It stopped her cold. Her pulse ticked up.

“What is it?” Pakula noticed. “I can turn the overhead light on.”

“No. Don’t. I already have a flamingo in the car. No need to draw more attention.” But her tone was tense, despite the attempt at humor.

Instead of turning on her phone’s flashlight, she used the screen’s light. There were three columns scratched out. No lines. Only their placement to indicate the author’s intent. Numbers lined up down the left side, but it was the top word of that column of numbers that hit a nerve.

“It’s a list of numbers,” she told Pakula.

This time, she looked up and scanned the people on the sidewalks, those pumping gas at the convenience store, and the diners coming in and out of the café. Was it possible that the person had waited and was watching them?

He started the engine. Turned on the heater. All the while, his eyes were checking the rearview and side mirrors. “They want to be anonymous. Let them be anonymous.”

He pulled out of the parking space and headed for the outskirts of town. Despite the alarm building inside Maggie, Pakula was as calm as ever.

“I know a great Mexican restaurant in Elkhorn,” he told her. “We can get a corner table and don’t need to worry about anyone looking over our shoulder.”

“Okay.” The numbers down the column were not consecutive. Maybe there was a sequence. Maybe they were random.

“Maggie.”

It took her a minute to realize he was waiting to get her attention.

The sudden darkness of the countryside surrounded them. Snow-covered pastures and distant headlights skimmed the horizon. In the blue dash light, Pakula’s shaved head made him look like a character from Star Trek.

She put the paper down on her lap. Set her phone on top of it and kept her hands from fidgeting.

“We can figure it out at the restaurant,” she said.

“Sure. Okay. But you have to tell me now why a bunch of numbers has you spooked.”

“I am not spooked.”

“Okay,” but the look he shot her said he didn’t believe her.

“At the top of one of the columns is the word, Charlotte.”

He was quiet for a long time. “Could be a prankster. Someone trying to yank our chain.”

“Could be.” She didn’t believe that at all. No one in this community wanted to talk about Iris Malone, let alone prank about her. “Or it could be someone brave,” Maggie said. “Like a survivor.”

33

Mississippi

Creed carted Grace in the sling, tucked under his arm all the way to the meadow. When the trees got thicker and the path narrowed, he slid the dog against his chest so they could pass through the woods.

He glanced back a couple of times to make sure Norwich was okay. Instead of going to Kyle’s SUV, Creed stopped about thirty feet away. Crime scene tape flapped in the breeze. Footprints and several sets of tire tracks trampled down the tall grass. Unlike yesterday, the area would now be filled with all kinds of new scents. Ones that Grace would need to sift through. Ones that had nothing to do with Kyle Lawrence.