Chapter 2

She saw the sign first: “Welcome to Millbrook. Population 2,487. Really.”

Really. The town put “Really” on its sign. That was either charming or a warning sign, and Elizabeth didn’t care which. She needed food, a phone, and maybe a nice cold glass of justice.

Millbrook’s main street was one block of brick buildings with a diner, a hardware store, and a Laundromat that also sold bait. The diner was called “The Greasy Spoon,” which at least was honest advertising. Elizabeth pushed open the door, and a bell jangled. The air smelled like burnt coffee and old grease, which was oddly comforting.

She slid into a booth with red vinyl seats that crackled when she moved. A waitress with a name tag that said “Doris” and an expression that said “I’ve seen it all” appeared. “What can I get you, hon?”

“Grilled cheese and a water, please. Large water.” Elizabeth’s voice cracked.

Doris wrote it down and shuffled away. Elizabeth pulled out her phone. One bar of signal, maybe two if she held it near the window. She scrolled through her contacts. Who could she call? Her mom wouldn’t answer—she was on a cruise in Alaska and had no service. Her best friend Brenda would probably say “I told you so” and then offer to wire money, but that would take days. She tried Gene’s aunt, the one he suspected had called the cops. The phone rang three times, then a woman’s voice, clipped and professional: “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Mrs. Thompson? I’m Elizabeth, Gene’s—well, I’m his girlfriend. I need to talk to you about—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” the woman said. “And you should stay away from my nephew. He’s trouble, and so are you.” Click.

Elizabeth stared at the phone. The dial tone buzzed. “Well, that was productive,” she muttered.

She tried a lawyer from an ad she’d seen on a bus stop bench. The office number connected to a recording that said the lawyer was “currently unavailable for new cases involving romantic entanglements or out-of-state warrants.” She hung up before the message finished.

Doris returned with the grilled cheese and a glass of water. Elizabeth took a bite. It was perfect—crispy bread, melted cheese, a little salty. She almost cried. Then Doris put the check on the table. $4.50.

Elizabeth had two dollars in her pocket.

“I, uh…” She fumbled in the duffel bag, pretending to look for money. “I think I left my wallet at the last place. Can I wash dishes? Please?”

Doris’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes narrowed. “Honey, I’ve heard that one before. You got anything of value you can leave as collateral?”

Elizabeth looked at her belongings. The bag contained a change of clothes, a romance novel, and a half-eaten granola bar. “Uh… I have a really good romance novel. It’s got a duke and a secret baby.”

“I have a Kindle. No deal.”

A man in a suit walked into the diner. He was out of place here—a gray three-piece suit, polished shoes, and a briefcase. He looked around, spotted Elizabeth, and walked straight to her booth. “Elizabeth?”

“Who’s asking?”

He sat down across from her without invitation. “My name is Mr. Pemberton. I represent the Community Betterment Group. We’re, shall we say, interested in your situation.”

“My situation?”

“Your relationship with Mr. Thompson. We’d like to offer you a solution.” He slid a business card across the table. It had a phone number and nothing else. “A one-way bus ticket to anywhere in the continental United States, plus a cash payment of five hundred dollars, in exchange for your promise never to contact Gene Thompson again.”

Elizabeth stopped chewing. “You’re kidding.”

“I assure you, I never kid about community betterment.”

“What if I say no?”

Mr. Pemberton smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Then things may become… more complicated. We have resources, Elizabeth. More than you can imagine. A zoning board is just the beginning.”

She stared at him. “So it was you? The police at his apartment? The warrant?”

“We facilitated certain circumstances. Gene has unresolved issues. We simply made them visible.” He leaned forward. “Take the offer. Start over. You’re young. You’ll find someone else.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“No. I’m not leaving him. So you can take your five hundred dollars and your community betterment and shove them where the zoning board doesn’t reach.”

Mr. Pemberton’s smile faded. He picked up the card, smoothed it back into his pocket. “Very well. Do enjoy your grilled cheese.” He stood, adjusted his tie, and walked out.

Doris returned, arms crossed. “Friend of yours?”

“Some guy trying to bribe me to break up with my boyfriend.”

“Sounds like a creep. You still need to pay for that sandwich.”

“I know. I’m working on it.”

Before she could offer to wash dishes again, the diner door swung open and a police officer walked in. He was young, with an earnest face and a mustache that looked like an afterthought. He scanned the room, then pointed at Elizabeth. “You. Come with me.”

“What? Why?”

“You match the description of a shoplifter from the hardware store. Green jacket, brown hair, bag.”

“This bag is a duffel bag. And I haven’t been to any hardware store. I just walked into town.”

“You can explain at the station.” He put his hand on his belt, near his baton. “Let’s go.”

Elizabeth looked at Doris. Doris shrugged. “Small town, hon. They get bored.”

She stood up, grabbed her bag, and followed the officer. She was fairly sure this was illegal, but arguing with a man with a baton seemed like a bad idea. The station was a one-story building two blocks away. Inside, it smelled like stale coffee and filing cabinets. A desk sergeant looked up from a crossword puzzle.

“New one, Billy?”

“Possible shoplifter from the hardware store,” Officer Billy said.

“That store hasn’t had a shoplifter in three years.”

“Well, now it has.”

Elizabeth was fingerprinted, photographed, and put in a holding cell. The cell had a bench, a toilet with no seat, and a drunk woman who was humming show tunes.

“You here for feeding the pigeons too?” the woman asked.

“No. I’m here for being in love.”

“That’ll get you every time.”

A public defender showed up an hour later. She was young, frazzled, and kept losing her glasses. “Okay, so the shoplifting charge is flimsy, but they want to hold you overnight for questioning. They say you’re a person of interest in a string of—wait, I lost my notes.” She patted her pockets. “Never mind. You’ll be arraigned tomorrow morning. Do you have anyone to post bail?”

“I can’t even pay for my grilled cheese.”

“Okay. I’ll try to get you a low bail.” She left.

Elizabeth spent the night lying on the bench, listening to the humming woman cover every song from Annie. She thought about Gene. Where was he? Had he been transferred? Was he cold? Hungry? Missing her?

Morning came with a tray of rubbery eggs and a cup of what they called coffee. Elizabeth forced herself to eat. She needed strength.

At ten, the public defender returned, looking even more frazzled. “Good news! Someone posted bail for you. Anonymous. It’s already processed. You’re free to go.”

“Who?”

“It was an anonymous cash payment. No note. No name. Probably a friend.”

Elizabeth didn’t have friends with that kind of money. She walked out of the station into the bright sun. Her phone had been returned, and she checked it. A text from an unknown number: “Check under the bench outside the diner.”

She walked back to the diner. Under the bench outside was a folded piece of paper. She opened it. Scrawled in familiar handwriting: “I’m at the county lockup in Milltown. They’re trying to transfer me interstate. Hurry. —G”

Milltown was two counties over. She had no money, no ride, and no plan. But she had hope.

She looked up. A black sedan sat across the street, engine running. Through the tinted window, she could just make out the silhouette of a man in a suit. Mr. Pemberton.

The car didn’t move. It just watched.

Elizabeth folded the note, put it in her pocket, and started walking. She had a long way to go. And whoever was after them wasn’t done yet.