| |
“ADAM, DARLIN’? WHAT’S the rush?”
Adam Sampson was driving far too quickly down the narrow, rain-pocked highway that led back to Sinful. Every time they hit a bump, Harriet could feel them getting momentarily airborne. When they came back down, Harriet could feel pain shoot through her leg, piercing the fog of painkillers.
Sampson didn’t answer her.
“I don’t believe it’s good for the suspension, going this fast on a road like this.”
“Don’t care,” Sampson said. “It ain’t my car.”
Harriet shivered and pulled the thin hospital-issued blanket up around her. It was warm outside, but the air conditioning was on full blast. He probably didn’t know how to turn it down.
His brusque manner worried her. He wasn’t acting like the friendly, slightly dim handyman she knew. He’d probably been shaken up by Deale’s murder, Harriet thought. Adam had always idolized Deale. He must be feeling like a dog who’s lost his master. Out of sorts and snarling at everyone.
“Adam, darlin’, I was so sorry to hear the news about Mr. Deale. How are you and your mama ‘n them doing?”
She could hear him suck in a breath. At length he said,
“It’s all very well to say you’re sorry and all. But it’s your fault he’s dead, Miss Harriet, and that’s a fact.”
“My fault!” she exclaimed.
“You told those vile lies about Mr. Deale and then hightailed it out of town! Why did you leave?”
“Now, Adam, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’ve not borne false witness about anyone. And while my decision to leave town that night certainly had consequences to me, as you can see, I don’t see how it has to do with Mr. Deale.”
“He came to see you, Miss Harriet,” Adam Sampson said quietly. “He was fixin’ to give you another chance. And you—”
Sampson cranked the steering wheel and slammed on the brakes so hard that it was only Harriet’s seat belt that kept her from being thrown to the front of the car. They had stopped in front of a bait shop/general store/gas station.
“You stay here,” Sampson ordered, and slammed the door behind him.
Harriet considered her situation. Her cell phone and wallet hadn’t come to the hospital with her. Presumably, they’d been lost in the wreck. She could try to follow Sampson inside the store and beg the cashier to call for help. But she would never make it that far with her cast, and the painkillers were making her lightheaded. There was one truck in the parking lot, with no one inside, and no other buildings around for miles, as far as she could tell. Only the thick foliage that crowded the narrow, rutted road.
Then, to her immense relief, she heard the crunch of tires behind her.