Just one more traffic light, and Greg and Cynthia would be out of Coreyville. He glanced over at her. She looked years younger in disguise. The freckles and baseball cap really did the trick.

Something in his rear view mirror caught his eye. It was a police car turning onto Main Street behind him. He checked his speed. He was doing 35 mph—the speed limit.

Be careful—don’t run the light. It turned yellow, and he stopped. After the light had been red for what seemed like five minutes, it changed and he drove forward.

Before the police car even started moving, its lights were flashing. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Did the cop some­how recognize Cynthia? They had been so close to getting away.

“Sir, I need you to step out of the vehicle.” Greg got out of the car as the cop took a long look at Cynthia. She stared straight ahead. Greg walked to the rear of the car with the cop.

“I need to see your license, Sir. Please remove it from your billfold.”

Greg handed it to the officer, and glanced around to see who might be looking on.

“Who’s your passenger?” he asked, while he began to study the license.

How much jail time could Greg get for lying to a police officer? He should have thought about this ahead of time. If he told the truth, Cynthia would be arrested. How much did he really care about her? How badly did he want to protect her?

“It’s my niece, Cindy. I’m taking her down to Kilgore College for an audition. She’s going to be a music major in the fall.”

“I see.”

Was the cop about to reach for his cuffs? He could picture it all. His beloved car being mishandled by some uncaring, greasy-handed, tow truck driver. Would Bonnie be perma­nently scarred by such cruel treatment? Greg and Cynthia rid­ing in the back of the police cruiser, handcuffed. He could just punch the cop and run. No, stupid—just stay calm.

“Better advise the young lady to major in something else. You can’t make any decent money with a music degree.”

Greg laughed nervously. “That’s for sure.”

The officer handed Greg his license. “Your inspection sticker has expired.”

“What? How did you see it? You were behind me.”

“I checked your license plate on the computer while we were sitting at the light. That’s how I found out. We do it all the time.”

Wow, Greg was impressed. The Coreyville police depart­ment was more high-tech than he had realized.

“You’ve got a five-day grace period, but you’re on the last day. So, you’d better get it taken care of today.”

“Yes, Sir, officer, I will.” He was so relieved that he wanted to hug the cop.

Greg drove away cautiously, afraid of jinxing his good for­tune. Once the police car had disappeared from his mirror, he began to breathe again. “That was a close one.”

“What happened?”

“My state inspection sticker expired. But I nearly lost it when he asked who you were.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you’re my niece, and that I’m taking you to Kilgore College for an audition. You didn’t know you were going back to school as a music major, did you?”

“And he believed you?”

“Apparently—which makes me a little sad.”

“Why? We got away.”

“Do I look old enough to be your uncle? Wait—don’t answer that.”

“You worry too much about looks.”

“Well, of course you would say that. You don’t have to worry about your looks because you’re beautiful.”

“Gee, thanks, Uncle Greg.”

For a split second, Greg was hurt. But the cute smile on Cynthia’s face made him forget his silly thoughts and smile back at her. She was disarmingly irresistible.

“You haven’t told me where we’re going.”

Cynthia was running away with him to an unknown desti­nation. She really trusted him, he thought.

“We’re going to Dallas, to visit the infamous Buford Bel­lo­win.”

“Isn’t he that big-time trial lawyer who wants to be gover­nor?”

“That’s the guy. He grew up in Coreyville.”

“Really? But what does he have to do with the murders?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was on the phone with Dorothy Spokane when she was killed and—”

“—you’re kidding.”

“No. She called me and said Buford was behind all of the killings. But she didn’t give a last name. So, I googled the name ‘Buford’ along with ‘Coreyville’ and came up with ‘Buford Bello­win.’ There was a puff piece written about him in the Coreyville Courier. It mentioned that Buford had worked for Sam Spokane when he was a teenager. So, I’m thinking that must be the con­nection.”

“But, why would Buford Bellowin want to have people mur­dered just because he worked for Sam Spokane years ago?”

“I haven’t figured out that part yet.”

“It’s quite a stretch.”

“I know. But there’s got to be some reason. Maybe some deep, dark secret about Mr. Bellowin. Maybe he did something illegal to get one of his murder clients off.”

“But what would that have to do with Dorothy Spokane or Troy?”

“I don’t know. We just need to brainstorm. We’ll think of something. If not, we’ll just try to shock him with some outra­geous accusations and see how he reacts. At least then maybe we’ll know if he’s involved.”

“Yeah, but we might find ourselves on the wrong end of one of his lawsuits.”

**********

The big red convertible had traveled down FM-2208 to Loop 281. They would soon hit Interstate 20.

Cynthia thought it was about time to confess. “Greg, I need to tell you something. And I hope you won’t hate me.”

Was she about to confess to killing Troy? Perhaps Greg had misjudged her. He was already falling for Cynthia. Not that he was certain she had any feelings for him. But could he really allow himself to be drawn in? If she was a killer, how could he live with that? “What is it, Cynthia?” He braced himself.

“On Monday when I came to see you I was trying to seduce you.”

And you were doing a great job of it, he thought. It had been all he could do to contain himself.

“I was threatened by some man on the phone that morning. He told me that I must do whatever he said, or my mother would have a terrible accident. He sounded mean. I believed him.”

“What?”

“He told me that you would be selected as a juror on the murder trial—I don’t know how he knew that. But he said to flirt with you to get your attention and then influence you to fight for the defendant. He told me if Kantrell Jamison was found guilty, my mother would die.” Tears were welling up in her eyes.

Now it made sense. She was not flirting with him because he was a good-looking, sexy guy. It was because somebody was forcing her to do it.

“Now, don’t get me wrong. I really like you—even more as I’m getting to know you. But on Monday I was acting.”

How could he have been such a fool? “What about when you called me Monday night saying Troy was beating you up—was that fake too?”

“No—it was real. He was drunk and he was hitting me, so I decided to use the situation to get your sympathy. I’m sorry.”

“But then Troy called me. He sounded like a madman. What if he had come over to my house and blown my head off?”

“I know—I’m sorry. I had to try to protect my mom. I didn’t know what else to do. But I knew Troy would forget everything by morning. He always forgot what happened while he was drunk.”

Greg calmed down as he reflected on the state of his rela­tionship with this woman. “I guess it worked. I fought Troy and the other jurors long and hard. I was determined to return a ‘Not Guilty.’ I can’t believe I was being manipulated.”

“I am so sorry. And now I still don’t know if my mother’s safe. When I talked to her yesterday, she said she was going to stay with a friend for a while. I think she was talking about her high school friend who lives in Texarkana. I sure hope he can’t find her there.”

“So, maybe this man who called you is the one who killed Troy and Dorothy Spokane. And maybe even Arabeth Albert­son.”

“I thought that was an accident. Didn’t she fall down the stairs?”

“I’m not sure I believe that story anymore. Someone might have tripped her. I don’t know if that would leave any evi­dence.”

They rode for several miles without speaking. The redhead sitting next to Greg looked different now. She was still beauti­ful. And he wanted to believe her story about the mysterious caller. But how could he know what to believe? And what if she had killed Troy? Did he even know if the abuse was real? He wanted to trust her, but doubts were racing through his mind.