She eased into the corner of the backseat and rested her head against the window, her eyelids weighing heavy and Mrs. Blakely’s chatter mingling with the noises of the highway.
Maggie dialed the bogus number and crossed her fingers that it was invalid.
Chapter Nine
P sssttt! You need to wake up back there.”
Maggie started at the gentle hand patting her knee.
“We’re coming into Columbus.” Corinne Blakely finger-combed her graying bangs in the visor mirror. “You need to tell us how to get to your friends’ house.”
A wave of trepidation cut through the fog of sleep. Maggie had rehearsed several scenarios before she drifted off, but now none seemed the least bit plausible. Besides, a new idea had started to nag at her. These people were going all the way to Missouri. She didn’t know a soul in Ohio, but it was still considered “the East.” If she could go on to Missouri with these people, find a place to start over in the Midwest, she would never have to worry about Kevin Bryson again.
She cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter in the seat. It was beginning to get light outside the car windows. “I was wondering . . . would you mind if I rode on farther with you?”
Mrs. Blakely’s eyebrows shot up. “But what about your friends?”
“They didn’t know I was coming. And I’m kind of . . . I’m having second thoughts.”
“But where would you go then?”
“I have some other friends . . . in Missouri,” she said.
A shadow of suspicion flitted across the woman’s face. “But they wouldn’t know you were coming either.”
“Oh, they wouldn’t care,” Maggie said, injecting what she hoped was credible energy into her voice. “They’ve been trying to get me to come out and see them for ages. Would you mind too much?”
Mrs. Blakely glanced at her husband. Maggie caught the slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Well, I guess that would be fine with us,” Mrs. Blakely said. “But . . . maybe you’d like to call your friends first?” She unplugged the cell phone from the cigarette lighter and handed it back to Maggie. “Do you know the number?”
“No, but I can call information. If you don’t mind me using your minutes.”
The woman waved off the idea. “Don’t worry about it. Take your time.”
“Thanks.” Maggie took the phone. She studied the faceplate before she dialed 411. What if the Blakelys could hear the voices on the other end? She faded as far back into the seat as possible and waited for the operator to answer.
“What city?”
She smiled at Mrs. Blakely, who was hanging over the backseat watching her with an expectant smile on her tanned face.
“Kansas City, please.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’d like the number for Jennifer Anderson.” Her sister’s maiden name had rolled convincingly from her lips, but she immediately regretted using it. What if the Blakelys got suspicious, checked out her guise, and it somehow led them to Jenn in Baltimore?
“There are several listings,” the operator said. “Do you have an address?”
“No—” She sneaked a quick look at Mrs. Blakely. “This would be . . . Fred. Fred and Jennifer.”
Good grief. Where had that come from? She didn’t even know anyone named Fred.
Mrs. Blakely was digging in her bag. She unearthed a pen and a scrap of paper and handed them to Maggie just as the operator said, “I’m sorry. Nothing listed for Fred Anderson in Kansas City.”
“Thank you.” Maggie took the paper and pen Mrs. Blakely thrust at her.
The line went dead, but Maggie nodded and pretended to be listening intently. Avoiding the older woman’s gaze, she jotted “Jenny and Fred” at the top of the page. She wrote down Jennifer’s area code but made up the rest of the phone number.
“Got it,” she said, punching the phone off.
“Hopefully they can give us instructions on how to get there,” Mr. Blakely said, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.
Maggie dialed the bogus number
Maggie dialed the bogus number and crossed her fingers that it was invalid.
Chapter Nine
P sssttt! You need to wake up back there.”
Maggie started at the gentle hand patting her knee.
“We’re coming into Columbus.” Corinne Blakely finger-combed her graying bangs in the visor mirror. “You need to tell us how to get to your friends’ house.”
A wave of trepidation cut through the fog of sleep. Maggie had rehearsed several scenarios before she drifted off, but now none seemed the least bit plausible. Besides, a new idea had started to nag at her. These people were going all the way to Missouri. She didn’t know a soul in Ohio, but it was still considered “the East.” If she could go on to Missouri with these people, find a place to start over in the Midwest, she would never have to worry about Kevin Bryson again.
She cleared her throat and sat up a bit straighter in the seat. It was beginning to get light outside the car windows. “I was wondering . . . would you mind if I rode on farther with you?”
Mrs. Blakely’s eyebrows shot up. “But what about your friends?”
“They didn’t know I was coming. And I’m kind of . . . I’m having second thoughts.”
“But where would you go then?”
“I have some other friends . . . in Missouri,” she said.
A shadow of suspicion flitted across the woman’s face. “But they wouldn’t know you were coming either.”
“Oh, they wouldn’t care,” Maggie said, injecting what she hoped was credible energy into her voice. “They’ve been trying to get me to come out and see them for ages. Would you mind too much?”
Mrs. Blakely glanced at her husband. Maggie caught the slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Well, I guess that would be fine with us,” Mrs. Blakely said. “But . . . maybe you’d like to call your friends first?” She unplugged the cell phone from the cigarette lighter and handed it back to Maggie. “Do you know the number?”
“No, but I can call information. If you don’t mind me using your minutes.”
The woman waved off the idea. “Don’t worry about it. Take your time.”
“Thanks.” Maggie took the phone. She studied the faceplate before she dialed 411. What if the Blakelys could hear the voices on the other end? She faded as far back into the seat as possible and waited for the operator to answer.
“What city?”
She smiled at Mrs. Blakely, who was hanging over the backseat watching her with an expectant smile on her tanned face.
“Kansas City, please.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’d like the number for Jennifer Anderson.” Her sister’s maiden name had rolled convincingly from her lips, but she immediately regretted using it. What if the Blakelys got suspicious, checked out her guise, and it somehow led them to Jenn in Baltimore?
“There are several listings,” the operator said. “Do you have an address?”
“No—” She sneaked a quick look at Mrs. Blakely. “This would be . . . Fred. Fred and Jennifer.”
Good grief. Where had that come from? She didn’t even know anyone named Fred.
Mrs. Blakely was digging in her bag. She unearthed a pen and a scrap of paper and handed them to Maggie just as the operator said, “I’m sorry. Nothing listed for Fred Anderson in Kansas City.”
“Thank you.” Maggie took the paper and pen Mrs. Blakely thrust at her.
The line went dead, but Maggie nodded and pretended to be listening intently. Avoiding the older woman’s gaze, she jotted “Jenny and Fred” at the top of the page. She wrote down Jennifer’s area code but made up the rest of the phone number.
“Got it,” she said, punching the phone off.
“Hopefully they can give us instructions on how to get there,” Mr. Blakely said, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.
Maggie dialed the bogus number
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