Page 59 of Little Twisted Things

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Los Angeles,” I lied. It was really none of her business.

“Have fun. I’ll keep an eye on the house while you’re gone.” She smiled.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

I climbed into the car and drove out of Key West. I stopped at a café in a place called Marathon.

“What can I get you, sweetie?” An older woman with gray hair pulled back into a bun asked.

“Coffee and oatmeal, please.”

“Coming right up.”

After I ate, I climbed back into the car and started my journey, following the GPS. Along the way, I saw a hair salon. Pulling into the lot, I climbed out and walked inside.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m hoping a stylist is available for a color.” I smiled.

“Let me check. Yes, Miranda is available. Have a seat, and she’ll be with you in a few.”

A couple of hours later, my hair was back to its original brown color, and I felt like myself again. Except for all the time I’d lost here in the outside world.

It wouldn’t be long before the police started looking for Dahlia, if they hadn’t already. I needed to get rid of her car. So, I got off the expressway and found a car rental place. As I pulled down the road, I took off the license plate and tossed it into a nearby dumpster. I went to the car rental place and rented a car with MY driver’s license. Thank God, Dahlia had the sense to keep it in a safe place while I was gone.

I headed back on the road, following the way out of Florida and to New York City. The highway stretched endlessly ahead of me. Mile after mile. State after state. I’d been on the road for sixteen hours already and had another nine hours before I reached New York City. I pulled into the parking lot of a Motel 6 in Petersburg, Virginia. It wouldn’t have been my first choice, but it was the type of place where I could rent a room, pay cash, and give a fake name.

I entered the office. A bald, oversized man, wearing a dirty white tank, smoking a cigar, sat behind the glass.

“How many nights?” he asked without looking up.

“Just one,” I replied.

“Sign the register.” He pointed. “I take cash and no questions. If you pay by credit card, there’s a three percent fee, and I ask questions.”

“Cash,” I said as I signed the register with a fake name.

I handed him the cash for a one-night stay, and he handed me the key to room 210.

“Out the door, second level, on the end,” he said.

“Thank you.”

I opened the door and stepped inside. It wasn’t too bad. I threw my keys on the table and set my purse down. This would be the last day of my freedom. Come tomorrow, after a nine-hour drive to New York City, I’d become a prisoner of the State of New York. I’d tell Detective Walker everything. Would she believe me? Probably not. But turning myself in had to count for something. This was the only way to put an end to Dahlia for good.

34

Detective Paige Walker

I was buried in paperwork as I sat at my desk, my partner sitting across from me, eating an apple.

“Do you mind?” I looked up at him.

“What?”

“I’m trying to get this paperwork cleared out, and you’re distracting me with that damn apple.”