Page 143 of Blood Moon

He turned his head and looked at her. “Dent? I don’t have a dent.”

She smiled over that, waited a moment, then looked down into her lap. “John, this is my deadline, not Derby’s, not yours. You’ve got time to finagle Wallace. You don’t have to be under pressure to do so tonight.”

“What was it you said to me earlier?” He reached across and raised her chin with his fingertip. “Don’t be stupid.”

She whispered, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then she said, “I broke your concentration. What were you thinking so hard about?”

“I was thinking that maybe Carla Mellin would be willing to have a face-to-face with Wallace, and that if she did, it would rattle him.”

He gauged Beth’s reaction and saw that she favored it. “She told us to stay away from her unless we’d caught the person who took Crissy from her. Of course, we don’t know with absolute certainty, but—”

“It feels right. And the way he’s—as you said—flirting with us about it? These guys, these sociopaths, never want to get caught, but deep down they want to boast.” Suddenly energized, he looked at his watch. “Seven-forty. Carla’s new shift, she’ll be off at eight.”

“Locally, the show airs in an hour and twenty minutes.”

“Maybe we can talk her into leaving twenty minutes early.” He had Carla’s cell number in his contacts and made the call. It went straight to voice mail.

“Do you have the number of the clinic?” Beth asked.

Within seconds, he did. A man answered. John asked to speak with Carla.

“Today’s her day off.”

“Thanks.” He disconnected.

Beth said, “We’ll try her at home.”

“It’ll be harder than launching a beach assault,” he said, but he started the car.

John broke every speed limit getting to Carla’s house, which looked even more forlorn beneath a sky that wasapproaching full darkness. The full moon had risen, but wispy clouds threatened to keep it from being the vivid, spectacular blood moon that had been predicted.

They walked to her front door. Yellowish light filtered through window shades in a corner room, which John assumed was a bedroom. TV light flickered in the living room where they’d talked with Carla on their previous meeting. He pressed the doorbell, and as footsteps approached, he muttered, “Here goes nothing.”

The porch light came on above them. As before, Carla opened the door only a crack and peered out at them. “Didn’t your mamas teach you any manners? Like showing up at somebody’s house without an invitation.”

Beth said, “You did invite us, Carla. On the condition we had the person who took Crissy in custody. We believe we do. He’s being questioned as we speak.”

That took her by surprise. Mistrustfully, her eyes sawed back and forth between them.

“There’s a lot to tell, Carla, and we’re very, very short on time,” Beth continued. “In little more than an hour from now the episode on Crissy is going to air. I’m still trying to halt it. I came to ask for your help.”

“Help how? And why would I help at all? I told you I don’t give a damn about your professional reputation or that of your TV show. Who is this person anyway?”

“His name is Victor Wallace. Last night, he abducted John’s daughter, Molly.”

Carla shifted her hostile gaze to John, who said, “We rescued Molly and captured him before he did more than terrify her and give her a concussion, but he had some grislyactivities planned for her tonight that would have resulted in her death. I’m taking it real personally.

“We’ve got him for kidnapping Molly. I’d love to attach him to Crissy’s abduction, too. As to why you would help? If we can nail Wallace for it, Billy Oliver would be vindicated.”

She screwed her mouth up into a frown of indecision. “I’ll think about it.” She tried to close the door, but John planted his foot in the narrow opening to prevent it.

Beth said, “Once that program airs, Billy will be regarded as the deviant monster next door who, when caught, took the easy way out rather than receive the punishment he deserved. Is that the legacy you wish for him?”

“It could be retracted.”