Page 29 of Wham Line (The Last Picks #10)

Somehow, I got out of the house. Somehow, I got into the Malibu.

And then I sat there, shaking, my hands locked around the steering wheel.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed before I was myself again, inside myself again.

I came back by degrees: the ache in my hands from gripping the wheel; the tightness in my neck; the hard, compacted mass in my gut.

Then the sound of the wind scraping along the Malibu’s frame.

The day was a sheet of iron flattened overhead.

Lower clouds made seams and wrinkles—darker smears of gray that scudded along against the stationary mass of gray.

The shadows were thick, but it was still early afternoon.

My gaze moved to Hemlock House.

No Bobby.

No sign of Bobby.

He hadn’t come after me.

The thought was a dizzying mixture—relief, disappointment, hurt, worry. My eyes were hot. I squeezed them shut and counted in my head until the prickling faded.

Fox and Indira. I had to find them before they did something stupid.

My phone was on the seat next to me, where I must have dropped it when I got back in the car.

No missed calls. No messages. I tried calling Fox first. And then I tried calling Indira.

I messaged Keme and Millie. Nothing from anybody.

It reminded me of those high school fears, the suspicion that everyone was hanging out without me.

Only this time, my friends weren’t hanging out without me; they were aiding and abetting a wanted felon without me.

Which, maybe, was the adult version of hanging out.

I pressed one hand to my cheek, which still felt flushed, and tried to think.

Fox had called.

The sheriff was going to arrest Indira.

They had decided to run.

Now that I had a few seconds to think about it, that didn’t seem like Indira.

On the other hand, that did seem like Fox—Fox was exactly the kind of person I would suspect of making a dramatic phone call to tell me they were on the run from the law.

But why? What was the end goal? Were they going to flee the country?

The whole thing was insane. And Indira wasn’t insane. She also wasn’t a killer, which made the whole thing even more maddening. I knew she hadn’t killed Mal. So, why was she running?

Because she had a reason to run.

That wasn’t what the Brits would call smashingly helpful (do Brits say that?), but it did feel like a step in the right direction.

Indira would only have gone along with Fox’s plan if she had a good reason.

A reason to keep herself out of the sheriff’s hands.

Avoiding prison wasn’t enough; Indira was very much of the be-a-good-citizen-and-pick-up-that-gum-wrapper-even-though-it’s-not-yours school of thought (yes, that was a real example, and yes, I washed my hands for like two minutes after).

Normally, I would have said that Indira would have let herself be arrested.

She would have stood trial. And, if she’d been convicted, she would have gone to prison and begun the process of appealing.

The only reason Indira would do something this foolish—

The only reason would be if she were protecting someone.

Keme?

That was my first, automatic thought. But, of course, Keme hadn’t killed Mal. He’d been at the table with us when Mal had gotten shot.

The next thought was the one that should have been obvious: Nalini.

But why would Nalini have killed Mal? Because he got handsy? Or had it gone beyond that? Or was this some elaborate plot to get revenge on the man who had ruined her aunt’s life?

And in any case, wouldn’t Indira have turned herself in anyway? How could she help anyone by running?

I didn’t know, but I knew I needed to talk to her.

I tried her phone again, and this time, I left a message: “I know what you’re doing. And I know who you’re protecting. And I’m going to tell the sheriff everything if you don’t call me back and tell me where you are.”

I called Fox’s phone and asked them to relay the same message.

I texted the same content to Keme and Millie.

And wouldn’t you know it? About three minutes later, Keme called me back.

“She wants to talk to you,” he said.

“Okay,” I said.

Indira’s voice came on the phone a moment later. “Dashiell, I know you think you’re doing the right thing—”

“Just Dash.”

Silence.

Then she gave a watery little laugh. “Do you know, you haven’t said that to me in a long time?”

“I give you extra wiggle room because I love you. Now tell me where you are; I want to talk to you.”

“It’s too late—”

“Indira.”

Her breathing roughened. And then, voice thick, she said, “Please don’t tell the sheriff.”

“Where are you?”

Seconds trickled past. “Fox’s friend has a cabin.”

“Have them send me the directions; I’m on my way.”