Marty turned onto one of the main roads and then took the entrance ramp to I-95. I didn’t want to question his every move; he was already so far over the edge that I even wondered if he might pull the gun and use it on himself or maybe even on me. If we got stopped by a cop now, it would all be over. There was no way he’d be able to look calm with the way he was acting.

“Speed up and get into the center lane. You’re drawing attention,” I snapped when I looked at the speedometer and saw that he was only going forty-eight miles an hour. Cars whizzed past us like we were parked.

Marty mumbled something as he got into the flow of traffic. He was still staring straight ahead, and I tried to figure out how to get the gun from him. That would be a good first step. Eliminate the possibility of more murders or a suicide.

I leaned over and patted him on the shoulder and rubbed his neck for a minute. He didn’t respond. The guy was a wreck. Then I let my hand drift down between the seat and his back until I felt the grip of the pistol tucked into his belt on the right side of his back.

I didn’t say anything; I just pulled out the small semiautomatic pistol and slipped it into the console.

Marty saw where I put the gun but didn’t say anything. I felt like I might have relieved some of the pressure he was feeling by taking the gun from him.

I said, “Marty, we’re going to have to come up with a decent alibi to get through this.”

“I know, I know. I still can’t believe what just happened.”

“The last place anyone can prove we visited was Gulfstream Park. I think I have one of the betting slips in my purse.”

“I have a whole bunch crammed in my pocket.”

“Good, good. We just say we stayed at the park until later in the afternoon, then took I-95 back to Palm Beach. We’ll make sure someone sees us as soon as we get into town. We can go to the Palm Beach Grill and have a drink. If we hurry, we can be there by five thirty and it will match up with leaving the racetrack about four.” I waited for some kind of response from my semicomatose boyfriend. Then I said, “We’re going to have a drink and gather ourselves. We won’t mingle with anyone unless we have to, but we at least want the bartenders to see us.”

He took his eyes off the road and stared at me for a moment but didn’t say anything. I had to gasp and point at the slow Mazda in front of us to get him to look back at the highway and swerve into the right lane.

“Trust me, babe, this is the only thing we can do.”

He took the exit at Jupiter before I could say anything. He said, “I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s a better idea to drive down to US 1 here and then south to Palm Beach. Maybe it’s an instinct. Does that sound right to you?”