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Who am I kidding? Beaumont would wash his hands of me once he gets my testimony. Besides, I meant what I said to Rourke. I’d rather die than perjure myself.
When Conrad gets in the car, he asks, “What’s all this stuff doing here, Mommy? Are we going somewhere?”
I wait until we drive away from the church before answering. “I’m not sure, sweetheart. I’m considering our options. How was school?” I ask in the rearview mirror.
His chin quivers. “Caroline cried all day. Everyone is being mean to her and making fun of her daddy. Is Mister Will a bad guy? Did he kill Caroline’s mommy?”
I grip the steering wheel. “No, sweetheart. He’s not. But sometimes good people do bad things. This is all confusing grownup stuff, son. Nothing for you to worry about.”
Conrad kicks the seat in front of him. “But I am worried. Caroline is so sad.”
“I’m sure she is, sweetheart. She needs your friendship now, more than ever.”
In my heart, I know Will is not a bad guy. He has some problems. Don’t we all? But did he kill his wife in a fit of anger? I’m not sure.
Back at the cottage, I retrieve the key from under the flowerpot and remove our belongings from the car, including the cooler with our food from the refrigerator. I make Conrad a PB&J for lunch and go to my room to unpack. Turning on the television, I click on the app and replay the local noon news.
From in front of the municipal building, a journalist reports on the morning’s breaking developments in the Will Darby case. A patrol car pulls up, and with the help of two police officers, Will emerges from the back seat. He looks awful, unshaven with dark circles under his eyes, wrinkled clothes, and the knuckles on both hands bandaged in gauze.
The camera pans back to the reporter. “Will Darby has just arrived for his arraignment in the aggravated assault case involving news correspondent Ethan Striker.”
In the next segment, the same reporter is standing with a crowd in front of the police station. “We’re awaiting a statement from Will Darby’s attorney. According to our sources, charges against Will in the aggravated assault have been dropped.”
Subsequent footage shows Will with his attorney. Instead of making a statement, the attorney replies no comment to the barrage of questions the reporters call out to her as they make their way down the steps. Will and the attorney are approaching a silver Volvo when Rourke appears. “Will Darby? I’m Detective Max Rourke, and you’re under arrest for the murder of your wife, Tracy Darby.”
I watch in horror as Detective Rourke handcuffs Will and takes him back inside the police station. Based on the time stamp at the bottom of the screen, the arrest happened prior to my encounter with Rourke on Beach Drive.
The camera pans to the reporter one last time. “At eleven o’clock this morning, Will Darby has pleaded not guilty to the murder charges and has been released on bail.”
I turn off the television and lower myself to the edge of the bed. Rourke is framing Will for murder. Is he working for Beaumont? Probably. They are banking on my testimony to convict Will. Escaping is my only way out. It’s only a matter of time before Rourke comes for me. I don’t have the luxury of waiting another day.
I pull up the Greyhound Bus schedule on my phone. There’s one leaving tonight at nine thirty. After transferring a half dozen times, we’ll arrive in Minneapolis. I thought I wanted a warmer climate. But the option to either hide under fluffy scarves and stocking hats when outside, or to spend the long winter months inside, has its own appeal.
I return to the living room to find Conrad asleep on the sofa, and I try not to disturb him while I gather our belongings. He’ll need to be well-rested for the long trip ahead. I stuff clothes, an extra pair of shoes, and a few toys into his backpack, making certain it’s light enough for him to carry.
I organize my things on the bed before placing them in my backpack. I choose two changes of clothes and several pairs of underwear. My toothbrush makes the cut but not my makeup bag. I pack my handgun, two boxes of ammo, our identification documents, and the envelope of emergency cash I withdrew from the bank last week.
When Conrad finally wakes up late afternoon, he’s alarmed to see our backpacks waiting beside the back door.
I sit down on the sofa and pull him onto my lap. “As much as I love our cottage, I don’t think it’s safe for us to continue living in Water’s Edge. My friendship with Caroline’s daddy has dragged me into his troubles. My picture has been all over the news, and I’m worried the boogeymen will find us.”
“Where will we go?” Conrad asks, his brown eyes wide.
“I’m not sure yet. We’ll head north and see where we land. Think of it as another adventure.”
A single tear rolls down his cheek. “Can I say goodbye to Caroline?”
“I’m sorry, son. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He buries his face in my chest and cries. I feel my son’s pain. I’m leaving behind a piece of my heart with Will.
We eat a hearty dinner of vegetable soup, salad, and homemade buttermilk biscuits. I pack four extra biscuits to take with us on our journey.
I schedule an Uber to pick us up from the Sandy Island Club at eight thirty. At eight o’clock, leaving a few interior lamps on but turning off the outdoor spotlights, we sneak out the back of the cottage. Crouching down until we’ve cleared the dunes, we walk hand in hand in silence down the beach towards the southern tip of the island.
Our Uber is waiting at the club’s entrance, and the ride to the bus station is uneventful. As I planned, we arrive with only moments to spare before our departure. We’re waiting in line to board our bus when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn slowly around, and my heart sinks at the sight of Detective Rourke.
“I thought I made myself clear earlier. Escaping is not an option, Julia. The sooner you accept your fate, the better for you and your son.”
