Murder Deja Vu

appointment?”
    Harris emptied his water glass. “More than likely.”
    “What does Minette have on you?”
    Harris cut another piece of meat and gnawed on it until it probably could have passed through a straw. “What makes you think he does?”
    “Wild guess.”
    Pushing his half-eaten steak away, Harris leaned back in his chair and stifled a belch. “Gotta go home.” He stood, steadying himself. “You did well tonight, Clarence. You wheedled more out of me than I did from you. I knew what you were doing, but I didn’t give a shit.”

Chapter Twenty-Four
Reece’s Protector

    U nburdening the ugly chapter of his first week in prison helped clear Reece’s mind and sharpen his senses. As he drove through the magnificent mountain scenery of North Carolina and Virginia, the sky appeared bluer, the air fresher.
    They decided to share the driving so they could make the long trip without stopping at a motel. Why multiply their chances of being noticed. Dana dozed, but every so often she reached over and touched Reece’s arm or neck or the top of his thigh. They were gentle touches, and he knew she understood.
    He pulled into a rest stop. “I’ll call Frank. See if there’s a problem if we come.”
    “Does he live alone?”
    “No, he has a woman. We’ve talked on the phone but never met.” Holding hands, they sauntered inside to the lobby. Reece, always guarded, drew on some distant memory to act nonchalant. He nodded at those who caught his eye, something he wouldn’t ordinarily do, but it seemed more natural and what normal people did. He smiled inwardly, wondering if he thought of himself as abnormal. Dana squeezed his hand as she took off for the restroom, he for the phone.
    Had the sheriff in Harold County found out about the old truck? Was his picture flashing on TV? Dana’s? Would he be on the front page of every paper in the country tomorrow? Well, tomorrow was tomorrow.
    He dropped in the coin, dialed Frank’s number, and listened for the amount, which he slid into the slots. Frank answered. “You know who this is?”
    “You on the road?”
    “Yes.”
    “Be careful. They’ll be watching.”
    “It’ll be late.”
    “I’ll be up.”
    Reece hung up and headed for the men’s room. He had planned to visit Frank a couple of years ago and found the directions to his place on the Internet. He’d kept them, even though the original trip had been cancelled due, Frank said, to a bug he caught. Reece found out later that his illness turned out to be more than a bug. He’d wanted to visit, but Frank always put him off. All he had to do was say the word, and Reece would be there.
    He found Dana waiting, and they got back in the pickup. Dana drove for a few hours. After a blink through West Virginia and Maryland, he closed his eyes and woke somewhere in Pennsylvania. He took over behind the wheel, stopped for a bite at a drive-thru, pulled in at rest stops when nature called, then rolled into New York, Connecticut, and finally crossed the state line into Massachusetts.
    At midnight, they arrived in Lynn, a working-class city whose main feature was its boundary with the Atlantic Ocean. Though dark, they could still make out the landmarks.
    “Frank told me Lynn was the shoe capital of the world in its day.” The big buildings Reece assumed were once factories had been converted to a community college and senior apartments. The downtown area looked like it hadn’t changed in fifty years.
    “I remember the directions said to go around the traffic circle. The ocean should be on our right, and an inner street with apartment buildings will be on the left.”
    Dana searched for the road. “There. See the buildings? That must be it.” She pointed to an inside passage off the main road with a series of three and four-story apartment buildings.
    “Difficult to see with the oncoming headlights, but I see it.” Reece swung a U-turn off the main drag and entered the tiny street.
    “There it is. The number 200 is lighted above the entrance.”
    “I’m going to drive down the street. Watch for anything suspicious.”
    “I don’t see anyone in parked cars, but that doesn’t mean a cop isn’t waiting.”
    “We’ll find out in a few minutes.” He found a parking space near the door.
    “How long since you’ve seen Frank?”
    “Four years. I met him the day he was released. He came south, and we spent a few days celebrating his freedom. I’d finished the house enough to live in it, and we had a