Part 3 (2/2)

”But Henry is,” she said, putting his battered and much beloved stuffed dog next to him.

” 'Kay,” he finally acquiesced.

She waited until he was asleep, then started to call the sellers who'd listed cars in the cla.s.sifieds. She explained that her own car had died on the road and the mechanic said it wasn't worth saving. She needed a car. Would he be interested in bringing it to her?

On the third call, the seller agreed to bring the vehicle to the motel. The car was dark and eight years old. But she drove it around the parking lot and, though not smooth like her Mercedes, it appeared to run well. The seller swore by its condition. New tires. Recent tune-up. The odometer said a little over eighty thousand miles. It was a lot, but it convinced her he hadn't turned it back.

Desperate people couldn't be choosy. She couldn't stay here.

”You said it was forty-five hundred. Will you take thirty-seven hundred in cash?”

”It's worth every bit of my price,” the seller said.

”I don't have that much. And I compared that model to other advertised cars. I think my offer is fair.” Desperation was making her stronger.

He eyed her speculatively. ”Would you like to talk about it over supper?”

”My son is with me, and my husband is overseas in the army.”

He looked down at her hand. No wedding ring. 'd.a.m.n'.

”I sold it to buy the car. I have to get home. My mother is ill.” She felt as if her nose was growing longer.

He looked as if he saw it, too. She wondered if he saw, or felt, her desperation. Perhaps he did, for after a moment, he nodded. ”You can have it,” he said simply.

She smiled for the first time in three days. ”I have the money with me. Do you have the bill of sale?”

He looked at her curiously. ”You don't want a mechanic to check it out?”

”Do I need to?” She opened her eyes wide.

”No, but most people--”

”I really do have to get home,” she said. She was using every acting skill she had, even forcing--or perhaps not forcing--a tear.

”Are you sure I can't take you and your son to supper?”

”We'll be leaving very early in the morning,” she said. ”But thank you.”

In minutes, she had the bill of sale and had given him half of her money. She felt both victorious and apprehensive. She had accomplished something on her own. But her money was very short. And once it was gone ...

She had a glimmer of satisfaction that Randolph paid for her escape. The sale of her rings had made it possible.

If only the fear didn't linger inside like some deadly snake ready to strike.

*Chapter Three*

'BISBEE, ARIZONA'.

Holly and Mikey reached Bisbee three days after leaving Kansas City.

She found a cheap but clean motel where she paid cash. She explained that she was a new widow and had not yet had time to get her own credit cards.

This time she was prepared. She'd bought a ring at a discount store along the way. A ring was protection. A ring verified her story of being a bereaved widow.

Bisbee was everything she'd expected, and more. She and Mikey walked through the old town and Brewery Gulch, a once blue-light district now filled with funky restaurants and craft shops, the kind that might carry the type of work she hoped to sell.

Mikey was obviously bewildered and delighted by the odd town, where houses perched on hills and tiny lanes meandered among them. ”Mommy, look at that funny house,” he kept repeating.

She stopped in a small cafe where he happily ordered tacos and she started to order a salad. Then she changed her mind. Her husband had always noticed when she gained a pound and let her know about it. She had lived on salads and skinless chicken.

”Three tacos,” she said. She felt like a kid playing hooky, but this was a moment's indulgence that she could, and would, enjoy.

After they finished, she wandered into a real estate office. Bisbee, she already knew, was where she wanted to stay.

The agent on duty was a loquacious middle-aged man dressed casually in blue jeans. She soon learned he was a California banker who'd migrated to a simpler life in Bisbee.

She quickly caught his enthusiasm for the area. ”Bisbee is a way of life,” he explained. ”Once you've been here awhile, you'll never want to leave.” He rattled on. ”Bisbee was a thriving mining town--billed as the largest town between St. Louis and San Francisco. It all but became a ghost town when the mines closed in the fifties.”

Then what he termed ”the aging counter-culturalists”-- hippies, she thought with a smile--discovered it and quickly moved into homes they bought for a song. ”Now it's attracting craft people and retirees, along with us Californians looking for something more relaxed and inexpensive.

”Unfortunately,” he added as he showed her some listings of rental properties, ”it's not as inexpensive as it was even two years ago. Newcomers are moving in, transforming old homes into bed-and-breakfasts and deserted buildings into art galleries.”

Still, compared to most places, Bisbee offered cheap housing. The real estate agent showed her a tiny furnished frame house for four hundred fifty dollars a month. Best of all, it had a fenced yard and the landlord allowed pets.

Worst of all, it was little more than a slum. Even her son looked dubious as they were shown the two small bedrooms, the small bathroom, the small living room and the even smaller kitchen. The furniture was cheap modern.

But it was the only property within her budget that allowed pets. And that was one promise she'd made to her son. ”Can I paint it?” she asked.

The agent grinned at her. ”I'm sure the owner will be delighted at any improvements.”

”He lives here?”

”She,” he corrected. ”Marty Miller. She owns Special Things, a gallery off Main Street. She'll probably come over to see if you need anything.”

Holly paid two months rent in advance. She did not want any credit checks.

She used the name from the cemetery--Elizabeth Baker--on the application. She'd used another alias when she'd purchased the car. She'd also asked Mikey to pick a name he liked. A game they were playing, she told him. What was his favorite name in the world? After long deliberation, he'd decided on Harry, from Harry Potter. Harry went on adventures, too.

An adventure. She had been able to convince him thus far that this was a grand adventure. But eventually he would start asking about his father. He would want his toys and his preschool and his friends.

She tucked that thought away as she checked out of the motel, purchased some groceries and moved them both into the tiny house. Then, following the agent's directions, she took her son--now Harry--to the animal shelter. That, she knew, would both distract and cheer him.

There were twenty dogs. Harry went from one cage to another, enchanted by all of the mostly nondescript mongrels who eyed him longingly. ”I want them all,” he said.

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