“Marisa, wait,” he said. “We need to talk.”

I didn’t turn back but hurried across the street. “Jo-Jo, if I’m not there in ten minutes, call the cops.”

“What’s going on? Are you really with David?”

“Yes. I got batteries for Clare’s camera. I’m certain one picture is of a younger David.”

“David? That doesn’t make sense.”

“I’ll explain it all when I see you.” I fumbled in my purse for car keys, my fingers skimming over sunglasses, tissues, gum, change, and wallet until they brushed the metal remote. I opened the door with a click. Heart pulsing, I slid behind the wheel, locked the door, and started the engine.

“Does Richards know you’re there?” Jo-Jo asked.

“I’m calling him now.”

“Be careful.”

“Right.” As I put the car in gear, David hurried across the street toward me. He held up his hand, reached for the door handle, but I shoved my foot on the accelerator and raced down the street.

The roar of the engine combined with adrenaline as I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw David staring after me. He was hurrying to his car. It all felt like a replay.

I drove down Broad Street quickly, but this time I was clearheaded as the sun’s red light glowed over parked cars, a handful of pedestrians, and then the side street I’d turned recklessly down months ago.

Through the city center, I turned left and crossed the Mayo Bridge into the Manchester district. I drove past J.J.’s Pub and then straight toward my apartment. As I parked, I fumbled for my phone and dialed. “Richards. Just saw David. I have hair and a pill sample. They need to be tested. Call me.”

I punched the security keypad, and the door clicked. I opened it; ran into my building and up the stairwell, keys in hand; and opened my front door. Closing it quickly behind me, I locked the door and slid the chain into place.

As I turned, I closed my eyes, willing my heartbeat to slow. I’m home. Safe.

When I opened my eyes and moved toward the kitchen, I saw two shot glasses sitting on the counter. Beside them was a bottle of tequila. I didn’t own shot glasses, and I sure as hell didn’t keep tequila in the house.

50 MARISA

50

MARISA

Sunday, March 20, 2022

6:30 p.m.

The apartment was quiet. But it felt wrong, off, just as it had been when I’d found the door ajar. My hand in my purse, I fished for my cell, which had found its way into a corner. My fingers slid over the bag’s contents until it glossed over the phone’s smooth surface. “Is anyone here?”