Identity Crisis (Sam McRae Mystery 1)

“I’ve got it.”

“You’re going to pay the bondsman?”

“I have the money.”

“That’s nice,” I said, for lack of anything better. The lawsuit against the bank was in the back of my mind. The case was already about as crazy as a quacking cow. Now a codefendant in a related case was bailing out my client.

As if she’d read my mind, Donna said, “I assume you know the bank’s been sued.”

“Yes, we know.”

“We’re both on unpaid leave until things are worked out. We could lose our jobs.” She heaved a sigh. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think Melanie was involved. How’s she doing, by the way?”

“Not bad, all things considered. How soon can you get here?” I wanted to get Melanie out as quickly as possible. There were too many cops and complications to waste time.

“I can leave right now.”

“I appreciate what you’re doing. I’m sure Melanie will, too.”

“Believe me, Sam, I want to do this,” she said. Her voice sounded strained. “I don’t want her to be hurt.”

I didn’t say anything. I wondered if hurt might be unavoidable.

f f f

Donna hung around until Melanie’s release. The two hugged.

“I was thinking,” Donna said to Melanie, “You’ll need a place to stay.”

“Your apartment is a mess,” I said.

Melanie nodded. “I’m scared to go there anyway.”

“I realize it might not be ... a good idea to stay with me,” Donna said. “I was thinking I could

pay for a motel, for a couple of days, until you can arrange something.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Melanie said, her eyes downcast.

“It’s not a burden, really.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“I don’t mind—”

“No,” Melanie said. “I’ll do it.”

“OK.” Donna tried to catch Melanie’s eye. Melanie kept looking at the floor. “Will you tell your parents?”

Melanie shrugged.

“Well,” Donna said. “I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Greyhound still has your clothes,” I said to Melanie. “I can give you a ride.”

“Thanks.”

After a round of awkward good byes, I drove Melanie to the Silver Spring Greyhound bus depot to pick up her bag. It was a coin toss, as far as whether my office or apartment was safer. I chose my apartment, only because I wouldn’t have to answer Sheila’s well-intentioned, but probing, questions.