Page 103 of Think Twice

“Wait, let me guess.” She stroked her chin. “You’ll go to the ends of the earth to find me and make me pay. Please. Look at me, Myron. Do you think this is the first time I’ve done this? Do you really think I don’t have all the bases covered?”

Myron had never felt so helpless in his entire life. “So what do we do now?”

“We wait.”

“For?”

“For as long as it takes.”

“Don’t hurt him. Please. I’ll tell you—”

She put her index finger to her lip. “Shh.”

They sat there. Myron had never imagined time could move so slowly.

“This would have been easier if you’d just cooperated.”

“What does that mean? What’s going on right now?”

Her phone finally buzzed. She picked it up. “Hello?” She listened for a moment and then said, “Okay.” She hung up and put the phone back in her purse. Using both hands for leverage, the old woman pushed herself into a standing position.

“I’m leaving now.”

“What’s going on? Is my father okay?”

“If I don’t get down to my car in the next ten minutes, it will get worse for you. Much worse. Sit there. Don’t move. Don’t call anyone. Ten minutes.”

And then she was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Myron hit full panic mode.

He called his father’s phone. No answer. He called his mother’s. No answer.

He debated calling the lobby of the Lock-Horne Building and telling security to follow the old woman, get a license plate, something, but how would that help his father? It wouldn’t. It might bring justice later, but for now that whole idea was something his brain didn’t even want to entertain.

So what should he do?

Call the Florida police? Call someone who worked at his parents’ retirement village?

It all felt so futile. Myron felt helpless and scared and vulnerable, and man oh man, he didn’t like that.

He sprinted into the waiting area. Big Cyndi wasn’t there. He could feel the panic in him rise to yet another level.

From behind him, Big Cyndi said, “Mr. Bolitar?”

“Where were you?”

“In the little girl’s room,” she said. “It was only a number one.”

He was about to tell her what happened when his phone buzzed.

The caller ID read MOM.

He hit the answer button with the speed of a gunslinger in an old Western. “Hello?”

“Guess what klutz broke his nose playing pickleball?”