Page 63 of Accidental Murder
“Kayla, please,” he begged.
Her mouth went dry.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I think someone murdered my sister as well as a couple of my clients.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed back a sob. “I think they’re after me.”
“Then let’s get out of here.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Kayla shrugged into her backpack,seized Peter’s laptop, and followed him to his Honda Civic. She needed a few personal items and suggested they drive to a nearby convenience store. Peter gamely navigated the roads while she explained as much as she could. About her clients. About Ashley being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
At the convenience store, after selecting a few essentials, she stood at the sales counter and glanced out the window. The neon lights of the store gleamed in the Civic’s windshield. In the driver’s seat, Peter looked like he might puke.
Kayla paid for her purchases, exited the store, and settled into the passenger seat. “I noticed an inexpensive motel with a vacancy sign on Geary near Park Presidio. It’s not the kind of place Ashley would deign to go and, with our combined cash budget, it’s all we can afford.”
“I have a credit card.”
“No.” She gave him the address.
Peter cranked the car into gear. Two miles down the road, he pulled into the motel parking lot. He swiveled in his seat and shot her a hard look. Kayla flinched. Was he weighing his options? Would he ditch her?
“The place has seen better days,” she said, “but I’ll bet the rooms are okay.”
“I’ll wager they aren’t.”
“There’s a diner next door.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Take his money, keep his laptop, and send him home, Kayla urged herself.
Peter pulled alongside the registration office and switched off the ignition. “Stay here. I’ll take care of this.” He rolled a kink from his neck and climbed out of the car.
When he disappeared inside, Kayla dialed Eve on the burner phone. No answer. Kayla ended the call and willed herself not to jump to conclusions. Eve was resilient. Capable. Maybe she’d gone to her sister’s house. Kayla left a message and said she would try to reach her again in the morning.
Inside the motel’s reception office, Peter chatted with the scrawny clerk in grunge attire. After a moment, he pivoted and gave Kayla a thumbs-up gesture. All was cool. She breathed a sigh of relief. They had someplace to stay, for better or for worse.
Peter slid into the driver’s seat. “For an extra five bucks, no ID was required.”
“Great.” A breeze carrying the aroma of bacon from the all-night coffee shop next door wafted through the driver’s window. Kayla craved a substantial meal—going without food for too long would sap her strength—but worried she’d heave if she ate one. She pulled a cheese stick from the convenience store bag. “Hungry?”
She offered it to Peter. He shook his head. She peeled away the plastic sleeve and downed the cheese in three bites.
Peter drove to the far end of the empty lot. After he parked, Kayla withdrew a tube of Whiteout from the convenience store bag, ran to the back of the car, and applied tiny droplets of paint to the left halves of the number three on the license plate,transforming it into an eight. She blew on her artwork to make sure it dried without dripping.
“Smart.” Peter passed her the backpack and led the way to their room.
Kayla’s optimism wilted as she stepped inside. A pair of tattered brown curtains hung in the smudged window. The ripe odor of mold hung in the air. Again the voice of reason ordered her to send Peter packing, but before she could form the words, he stepped in, locked the door, and tossed the keys on the chipped desk.
“Not bad.”
“Liar.”
Kayla switched on the table lamp with its torn shade and got a full view of the room. Portions were missing from the gold-flecked carpet. A sludge-brown bedspread lay over a queen-sized mattress. An ancient Panasonic television sat on a TV stand.
Peter perched on the lumpy bed, the springs screeching beneath his weight, and grimaced. “We can afford better than this.”
