Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77389 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Glare at my ex-wife.
Five minutes ago, we were perfectly comfortable inside a blue Ford Fiesta.
Now, here we are on the side of the road. Again.
“Explain to me again,” I say. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Not wrong with me,” Katherine says. “The car was the problem. And the driver.”
“Yes, but he was driving us to the airport.”
She tilts her head and stares at me. “Why are you so grumpy? It’s Christmas Eve, I got us a way to get you home by lunch, and the storm’s rolled out. Shouldn’t you be, like, caroling or something?”
I don’t feel like caroling. I feel like sleeping. Something I did not do much of last night because I had to set my alarm to go off every hour on the hour to make sure Katherine wasn’t dead. And every hour, on the hour, I was almost punched in the balls.
At 5:00 a.m., when one of her punches actually landed, I wanted to kill her myself.
“I was acting in your best interest too,” Katherine says as she pulls her phone out of her purse. “Getting us out of that car.”
“How the hell do you figure that?” I ask, incredulous.
“Tom, I say this without an ounce of hyperbole. That driver was a serial killer.”
I tilt my head to the sky. “Just smite me now. Actually, better yet—smite her and her delusions.”
“I am a lot of things, but delusional is not one of them. Did you notice that when we got into the car, he didn’t say a single word? I said, ‘Hi, are you Ed?’ Him: nothing. Also, the car was suspiciously clean.”
“I’ve gotta tell you, Kates. After that motel room, clean looked pretty darn good to me.”
She refuses to be persuaded. Of course. “Yes, but did you notice the smell? That antiseptic bleachy smell? Straight-up alarming, Thomas. And what kind of car has no seat belts? Hmm? Explain that to me.”
I rub my forehead. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the reason I had to wake you up every hour last night a concussion you got while not wearing a seat belt?”
She sniffs and touches the healing bump on her head. “Yes. Which is why I’m especially qualified to discuss this.”
“Is this . . . humility I’m witnessing?” I lay a hand over my chest. “But now I’m confused. Are we standing out here because he’s a serial killer? Or because he didn’t have seat belts? Wouldn’t the no-seat-belt thing make it easier for his victims to escape?”
I don’t know why I’m even having this conversation. I definitely don’t know why I’m borderline enjoying it. But. Here we are.
Katherine has to think about this one. “Maybe he doesn’t want his victims to use the seat belt against him. You know, loop it around his neck.”
She mimes the action, and I stare at her. “Maybe you’re the serial killer.”
“And. Another thing!” She lifts her finger. “He turned on the child lock so we couldn’t get out. He only released it after I threatened to call the Feds.”
“Yeah, about that. Why Feds? Not threaten the generic cops, like normal people would?”
“Because the FBI handles serial killers. Honestly, Tom.” She shakes her head, disappointed in me. “I thought you would know this.”
“Why on earth would I know this?”
She flips her wrist at me. “Settle down. You’re getting all riled up.”
“Oh, am I? Why do you think that might be?”
She waves her hand at our general surroundings. “Just be quiet and enjoy the Norman Rockwell winter wonderland vibes of our current setting while I get us a new car with seat belts.”
I point at the nearby, apparently long-deserted construction site. “I didn’t see that in a Norman Rockwell painting.”
“The barn, Tom. Look at the barn.”
Reluctantly I look in the direction she’s pointing. I’m mollified slightly. A shiny red barn, complete with an enormous wreath, is covered in perfect white fluffy snow. It’s so perfectly December Hallmark movie that I wouldn’t be surprised if a reindeer ambled by.
As far as our adventures go—the last of our adventures—it’s not bad.
I frown then because, puzzlingly, the thought of all this ending doesn’t fill me with the relief it should.
My phone buzzes.
“Lolo?” Katherine asks without looking up.
I glance at it. “Yup.”
“You can answer it if you want.”
“Oh, can I? I don’t need your permission to take a call from my girlfriend, thank you very much.”
I slide my phone back into my pocket without answering, and Katherine glances up at me.
“You should really get that,” she says.
“Romantic advice? From you, really? Besides. I texted Lo this morning. Let her know we got held up.”
There’s a lot I didn’t let her know, though. Like the fact that Katherine and I shared a hotel room. And a bathroom. And that the towels were very small. And that her underwear are somewhere between light taupe and mocha. And ugly.