Chapter 10
Thursday afternoon, the closer Tori got to Logan Point, the more her stomach churned no matter how many times she told herself this was going to be a fast visit, in and out.
She’d already decided not to jump-start the Livingston investigation.
No, she’d drive to Erin’s house, talk to Drew—she was convinced it wouldn’t take long to get him to tell what he knew—and then return home to Knoxville. Wherever home was going to be.
The insurance adjuster had arrived promptly at nine and had given her a rude awaking.
Evidently there was wiggle room for the company not to pay for the repairs since the fire was caused by arson.
She’d spent the last five hours fretting over whether to use her savings for the repairs based on the contractor’s estimated costs.
The adjuster said the insurance company would get back to her in a week or so.
Then there was the problem of when the contractor could get to the remodel.
Insurance or no insurance, the repairs had to be made.
He’d assured her that he would start in three weeks, but she’d dealt with his assurances before when she’d converted the downstairs garage into a recording studio.
And that meant she’d probably take Amy up on her offer to move in with her until her apartment was livable again. She blew out a breath. No probably to it . . . at this point, insurance living expenses coverage was not looking good.
At the turnoff to Logan Point, she left I-40 and drove away from the sun beaming directly into her windshield.
It was almost five when she hit the Bradford County line.
Erin had texted that she’d had to run errands and Drew was with her and wouldn’t be home before six.
Tori’s mood lightened. She had plenty of time to make a stop at the lake.
She hesitated as the crossroads approached. Should she just go on to Erin’s and get settled? No. Tori turned right—she needed the calming influence of the lake before walking into the turmoil at her sister’s. The circuitous route took her over the bridge that spanned the dam over Little Wolf River.
A quick look in the rearview mirror brought a frown.
A gray pickup had made the same turn to the lake that she had.
And it wasn’t the first time she’d noticed the Dodge Ram behind her.
She’d seen it, or another one just like it, when she pulled off I-40 to fill up.
And then again when they slowed for road construction.
She eased off the gas to see if the vehicle passed her. When it sped up to pass her, heat crept up her neck to her face at her reaction. The fire on Tuesday night had her paranoid.
Tori glanced to her left. Didn’t Mississippi pass a law against tint that dark? She couldn’t tell who or how many were in the vehicle.
Once it passed, she released a shaky laugh. What had she expected? That the driver would try to run her off the road? She really needed to get a grip.
Half a mile farther, the road curved upward to the bridge.
As she crossed the river, Tori glanced to her left again, and memories of being at the lake with her family hit her.
Back then, they’d been the perfect family, and she’d had an idyllic childhood.
No major traumas . . . she hadn’t even known her dad was a recovering alcoholic.
How she wished they could go back to that time.
A text dinged on her phone, and she glanced at it in the cup holder. A text from her sister.
Thought I’d better tell you. Dad’s here.
No. Tori clenched her jaw. She should’ve known her sister would force the issue of their father. Or maybe it was her dad who was doing the forcing.
Tori took a breath. Two days. That was all the time she was spending in Logan Point. She could do this—her mom always said a person could endure just about anything if they knew the starting and ending date of the problem.
The side road that led to the lake approached.
She really needed the calming effect of the lake now, for sure.
Tori flipped on her blinker and whipped her Toyota GR86 off the main road onto the narrow two-lane road.
She wound around to the picnic and beach area and parked a few yards from a pickup.
Another Ram? At least it was an older model and dark red, so it couldn’t be the one that passed her.
After texting Erin that she would see her a little around six, she walked down to the water’s edge to a huge oak tree, where a light breeze cooled her face.
To her right was the Point where they’d picnicked and swum, and a little farther down, where they’d fished.
She shaded her eyes with her hand. Looked like someone was there now, and the way he was throwing his arm, it appeared he was fly fishing. Not a threat.
The man glanced her way, then went back to casting and not very well. He must be new to fly fishing, especially since he didn’t know it was the wrong time of day to catch fish.
She shrugged. To each his own. She turned her attention back to the lake. It was amazing how blue the water was—how had she forgotten that? As she looked toward the horizon, the lake seemed to touch the sky.
“God’s beautiful creation.” Another of Mom’s stock phrases, one she used every time they came to the lake. “He loves us so much he created this for us to enjoy.”
Tori crossed her arms over her chest. If he loved them so much, then why did he let Michael get murdered? Or let her dad drink and then drive her mother to the doctor with a hangover so bad he couldn’t keep the car on the road?
The crunch of tires pulling into the parking area caught her attention. She flicked her gaze toward the vehicle and froze.
The gray Dodge pickup.
Move. She couldn’t—it was like her feet were anchored to the ground. Her mind whirled with possibilities. Possibilities like Calvin Russell or whoever set fire to her studio had come to finish what he started Tuesday night . . . or someone else her investigation had put away.
The truck idled in the parking lot. She took a deep breath, telling herself it was a coincidence. The lake was free for anyone to enjoy, and there were a lot of gray trucks around, especially in Mississippi. It didn’t have to be the one that passed her earlier.
Slowly the driver’s dark window lowered. The barrel of a rifle pointed toward her. Tori scrambled to hide behind the oak tree just as a bullet plowed into the tree trunk, the report echoing in her ears.
What if the shooter came after her? She had no place to run. Tori had a concealed carry permit, but her Glock was in the gun safe in her car. Another bullet knocked the bark off the tree right by her head.
A gun report from the Point ratcheted her heart even more. Tori looked over her shoulder. The fisherman?
Maybe she wouldn’t die . . . She jerked her head toward the pickup as the driver fired again. If the fisherman had been aiming at the shooter, he’d missed.
What if she got an innocent person killed?