Chapter Seventy-Four. Riley, Present Day
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
RILEY, PRESENT DAY
I know what Betty is thinking, and I need to nip this in the bud. “Look, I know you tried to send me a message to lead me to Alex, but I’ve never had a psychic experience in my life.”
Betty shakes her head. “I didn’t send you a message. I was trying to get a sense of where Alex was being held, you’re right about that. But I could only pick up that it was away from the house.”
I open my mouth to reply, but words fail me. I think about how I walked so surely toward the shed. A dozen yards in either direction and I would’ve passed it by.
“You did this all on your own, Riley,” Betty insists. “I told you that you had abilities.”
“I’m chalking it up to luck,” I say, but even I can tell my voice is less certain. “I was bound to stumble across the hut at some point, it just happened sooner rather than later.”
“Whatever it was, I’m glad. And I’m just as glad that you picked up on my plan to surprise Sandra.”
“I’d been thinking about using the coffee mug as a weapon even before you put it by my arm,” I tell her.
“Interesting,” Betty says. “What about the chair?”
“That, too. I figured if I could get free, I could smash Sandra over the head with it.”
“Just like I did.” Betty taps her finger against her lips. “Strange how we independently thought about using the same two objects.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I insist. “There weren’t any other potential weapons in the room!”
Betty frowns. “Of course there were. The lamp on the nightstand. The wall mirror. To name just two.”
I can’t think of anything to say to refute it.
The female police officer is approaching us again and I know what will happen next: They’ll separate me and Betty to get our statements.
Betty gets in the last word: “Lots of luck and coincidence around us tonight, it seems.” There’s a wink in her voice.
Yet another officer comes by with Hank on a leash. Hank wags his tail when he sees us.
“Where are you taking him?” I ask.
The office bends down and pats Hank on the head, as if to soften his words: “To the pound. It’s a no-kill shelter, so maybe someone will adopt him.”
Hank looks at me with cloudy, trusting eyes. He’s an old dog, and like Sandra said, they have a harder time getting chosen. This sweet boy could spend the rest of his life in the shelter.
Betty sighs, but she’s smiling. “Fine. We can take Hank home with us.”