Magic Hour

“I know the risks, Max, and the symptoms. I’m sure I don’t have a concussion, but I’ll be careful.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to lie down for a while.”

She saw the way he smiled when he said lie down, and it hardly surprised her. No doubt he was the type of man who could find a sexual innuendo in every conversation. “That little girl is counting on me, Max. I need to go to the police station and then to the library, but I’ll take it easy.”

“Why do I think you don’t know how to take it easy?”

She frowned. That did surprise her. She wouldn’t have pegged him as the kind of man who really understood women. Loved them, yes. Used them, certainly. But understood them, no. Philip had never been very intuitive. “Am I that transparent?”

“As glass. How are you getting to the station?”

“I’ll call Ellie. She’ll—”

“I could give you a ride.”

She slid off the table. This time when she stood, she felt a little steadier. She was about to say That’s not necessary when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.

“Wow.” She moved closer. Four angry, seeping claw marks slashed across her left cheek. Already the skin was swelling, and it looked like she was going to wake up tomorrow morning with a black eye. “She really got me.”

He handed her a tube of antibiotic ointment. “Keep—”

“I know. Thanks.” She took it from him and slipped it in her pocket.

“Come on. I’ll take you to the station.”

Instead of arguing, she fell into step beside him.

But not too close.

SIX

ARE YOU SURE THIS IS HOW IT’S DONE?” PEANUT ASKED FOR AT least the tenth time in as many minutes.

“Do I look like Diane Sawyer?” Ellie responded sharply. Whenever she got nervous, she got snippy, and this was her first press conference. She needed to do everything right or she’d come off looking like an idiot. And if there was one thing Ellie hated, it was looking and feeling stupid. That was why she’d left college; it was better to quit than to fail.

“Ellie? Are you having a meltdown?”

“I’m fine.”

The police station had been transformed into a makeshift press room. They’d pushed their desks to the perimeter of the room.

Ten chairs had been set up in two rows of five each in the middle. A podium—dragged from the Rotary Club storeroom—had been placed in front of them.

Cal sat at his desk, answering the phones. Peanut stood in the hallway, surveying the setup. For some bizarre reason, she was certain she knew how to manage this.

As if.

Ellie at least had some media experience. Her Uncle Joe had held a press conference once, back when she was a new recruit. Her ex, Alvin, had sworn he’d seen Bigfoot. A few local papers and one tabloid

had shown up. So had Alvin—drunk as a parolee.

Ellie checked the chairs again. On each metal seat was a flyer held in place by a small stone. She was rereading the statement she’d prepared when Earl walked into the station. He was in full dress uniform, with his few remaining strands of hair shellacked in place. He seemed taller.

Lifts in his shoes.

The realization made her smile. Not that she could tease him much. She’d applied a pretty healthy amount of makeup herself. It was her first time on television, and she wanted to look good. “Hey, Earl. You ready for the hoopla?”

He nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his thin throat. “Myra pressed my uniform. She said a man on television needed knife pleats on his pants.”