CHAPTER SEVEN
Her hometown of Milton was on the northern end of Connecticut, just past Vernon, and was just about a three-hour drive from Brooklyn.
Ricki wanted to speed. She wanted to get there that badly.
But she couldn’t afford to get stopped by cops.
That would not only slow her down even more, but that ticket would cost her more than she had to spare.
A practical girl where it mattered, she didn’t take unnecessary chances.
But as she drove, she couldn’t stop thinking about her baby sister.
Erica was only nineteen. There was a ten-year age gap between her and her sister.
And that sister of hers was a handful. She’d been that way her entire life.
But to be accused of what she was accused of?
And the victim was Dr. Proctor of all people?
That made no sense. Nobody was ever going to tell her that somehow, someway that made any kind of sense at all.
Erica couldn’t do that. She would not do that.
She wanted to phone her parents, but she knew they wouldn’t take her call. And especially not at a time like this. They’d be too busy blaming her somehow. She left Milton as soon as she graduated high school at eighteen, but somehow they would blame her.
But just as she was a little over an hour into her journey, she could feel her car began to struggle. First it was as if it was beginning to sputter. Like it couldn’t get enough gas. Then it started slowing, instead of speeding up, even after she floored it.
“Lord Jesus,” she said nervously as she began pulling over to the side of the road, “please don’t let me break down on this highway. Please!”
An exit was coming up in half a mile and the sign showed a truck stop café, so she decided to keep driving on the road side and pray she made it to that exit. Her car was still sputtering and moving slower and slower as if it could give out at any moment, but praise God she made it to that exit.
But she really needed to get to that truck stop café where the people were. So she kept on praying. And kept on moving. She knew her Mustang was already on its last legs, but she never dreamed it would fail her this soon. And especially not at a time like this!
She was pleased when she saw that the café was the first turn-in just off the exit, and it was adjourning what looked like a big rig gas station and one of those Bates motel kind of get up further back.
She barely made it into the parking lot, just past its entrance, before her car completely died.
It stopped and wouldn’t go an inch further.
She was grateful to God it went that far.
She looked at her watch. She was pleased that she was off of that highway, but she was still worried. She had to be in Milton before that bond hearing no matter what. She had to see for herself that her sister was okay even though she knew she couldn’t be okay with the charge they slapped on her.
She got out of her car and popped her hood. It wasn’t overheating, which would have been an easy fix: water. And there didn’t appear to be any distress under the hood. Although, in truth, she knew nothing about what distress under a car’s hood would look like.
She was wasting time.
She put the hood back down and got back into her car. When she tried to get it to start up again, it wouldn’t turn over. She tried and tried and got nothing. Before she had a dead battery on her hands to deal with too, she gave up.
She looked around. There was nobody at the self-serve gas station, at least nobody she could see, but big rigs were parked there.
Which meant truckers were around somewhere.
The kind of men that would know something about cars she would imagine.
But what if they did? She still had to buy whatever parts might be needed.
And pay them for their trouble too probably.
She grabbed her purse and checked her cash.
If she counted the quarters, she had nine dollars to her name.
Nine dollars after emptying her bank account to save JoJo’s dumb ass from certain death.
And he had the nerve to be ducking and dodging and wasn’t going to pay her back she could feel it. But that was her own damn fault.
She pulled out her phone to give Geraldine a call. She was the only somebody she knew in her orbit who wasn’t broke all the time, and didn’t have to live paycheck to paycheck.
But when she went to turn on her phone, she realized it only had four minutes of battery time left before it became as dead as her car. And that was when she remembered she didn’t charge it last night. Damn! Of all the times to be forgetful!
She called Geraldine. No answer on her personal phone. So she quickly phoned the salon. After several rings, Laquesha answered. “Quesh, put Geraldine on the phone. I only have a couple minutes of battery time left.”
“Geraldine gone.”
“What you mean she’s gone?”
“She left. What you think it mean, Ricki? I got to go. I got a client. Call her on her cell dang,” she said, and ended the call.
“I tried to call,” Ricki began saying before she realized her fellow beautician had hung up in her face.
Since her phone only had a few minutes remaining, she turned it off until she could get it charged.
Now she knew she had to get into that café and hope somebody there would let her use the phone.
Or at least give her a charge since her own charger was at home on her nightstand, naturally, still waiting for her to use it.
She tossed her phone back in her purse, grabbed her keys, and hurried across the parking lot.
She saw a fancy Bentley in the parking lot. Who on earth would be driving a car that rich, she thought, as she went inside.