Honeymoon for Three

School, could kill Emily, Alfred could certainly kill Penny. He hadn’t shown much gentleness so far, and he had already killed one person.
    Were all men secretly like this? Did Gary have a mean streak inside him, waiting to come out? Alfred was definitely unpredictable. The only constant was his obsession with her. He was taking her someplace. Perhaps back to Los Angeles. In his twisted world, he saw them as a couple. Well, maybe she could use that. But she couldn’t do a damn thing while she was tied up.
    She didn’t really believe Gary could act like this. She was worried about him. What did he do when he couldn’t find her? He must be frantic. He would contact the police, but what good would that do? She had vanished into thin air. The last thing she wanted was to make trouble for Gary, but she had been nothing but trouble for him all during their honeymoon. What if he decided she wasn’t worth it—that he was better off without her?
    She became angry at Alfred. The longer she lay there, the angrier she became. What right did he have to ruin her honeymoon—to ruin her life? If she got the opportunity, she would be hard pressed not to kill him—and she was not a violent person.
    Maybe she never should have left Connecticut. Connecticut was safe. Safe because it was home. Home was supposed to be safe. She certainly wouldn’t have been able to avoid Alfred if she’d stayed in Connecticut, but maybe it would have been easier to handle him there. Or was she deluding herself? Her best friend had been murdered just before her wedding. Did that sound like a safe place to live?
    In Fenwick, everybody nosed into everybody else’s business and made judgments. That was one reason she had left. People erected facades, and some things remained largely hidden. The alcoholism of her father, for example. Her mother lived with him and put up with him, but she should have divorced him long ago.
    There were a few people who didn’t bother to look respectable. One of them was Katharine Hepburn. She had a home in Fenwick. Kate would drive through town in a powder-blue Cadillac convertible with the top down, sitting beside her lover, Spencer Tracy, their scarves and hair flying in the wind, even though Spencer was married and would never divorce his wife. Flaunting their love for each other, flouting convention and respectability. Kate also did good deeds, such as buying a new fire engine for the town.
    Penny had been to Kate’s home once. Kate invited her because Penny was a founder of an organization composed of teenagers who helped others. They baby-sat during elections so that people could vote. One cold January they collected $1,200 worth of recyclable bottles, and presented the proceeds to the March of Dimes Polio Fund. Kate gave Penny a dozen autographs, and she never gave autographs.
    Penny had to learn to be more like Kate. To pursue her dreams without worrying what the world thought about her. First, she had to get out of this mess. She would do whatever it took to escape from Alfred, even if she had to do things the folks in Fenwick would frown on—things a good girl didn’t do.
    Penny rolled over onto her back with her arms underneath her. She knew she could sit up from that position, especially if she could get her legs over the side of the bed. To do that, she would have to rotate her whole body 180 degrees. She could scoot around, but Alfred would see her do it.
    Could she risk it? Would that make him mad because she would be more visible through the windows of the camper? What would he do to her? Would he tie her so thoroughly that she couldn’t move at all?
    How long had they been driving? It seemed like hours. Just when she couldn’t stand it anymore and was about to sit up, regardless of the consequences, Alfred slowed and pulled off the highway and stopped. He picked up a map from the seat beside him and looked at it.
    Penny hummed to attract his attention. She kept her mouth closed so he wouldn’t realize that she could open it. He turned around and looked at her.
    “How is my sweetheart doing?”
    I’ll sweetheart you, she thought. Take the damn tape off my mouth, and I’ll tell you how I’m doing.
    He got up and walked back to her. As if he had heard her thoughts, he peeled the tape quickly off her mouth. She pretended that it stung, although the actual pain was minimal.
    “Owww.”
    “Sorry. There’s blood on your pillow.”
    He actually sounded concerned.
    “I don’t know about that,