A Crooked Waitress

Chapter 51

Jimmy ran down the slope, staggering, barely able to keep his balance. He reached the flat ground but couldn't slowdown in time and ran onto the road. Honking and billowing smoke, the truck was approaching him. He froze and stared into the eyes of death.

Christina couldn't get that image out of her mind, and it played itself over and over again. Kidnapping the boy was an impulse. When she took him, she was seizing an opportunity to level the playing field with Eric. It wasn't supposed to end like this. If only that kid wasn't so damn stubborn and did what she told him to do. If he just went into the trunk instead of bolting into the woods; everything was over by now. He'd be alive, and she and Toby were on their way out of town, rich and...

She sighed and picked up her phone. Yesterday Eric had sent her three messages, and she hadn't replied yet.

"Same time, same place. Today" She typed. A blinking little green arrow showed that the message was sent.

She still had to take Toby back, and how could Eric know that his son was dead anyway? Jimmy was a John Doe with no ID in a morgue somewhere. And his father wouldn't go to the police to look for him.

So she still had a chance.

***

Margery, the motel receptionist, yawned and scratched her face, wishing she could take a nap in this lazy afternoon. Instead, she poured herself another cup of black coffee.

Thank god for Brazil!

The coffee was cold. The way she liked it and waited for the caffeine to kick in and refresh her brain. But it made her more jittery. She had been through half a flask already.

The counter looked inviting; only if she could put her head on it, just for a couple of minutes...

The news came on, and she turned up the volume. She was following the case of a dead boy since it found its way on the air. In this dead-end job, she'd get all the excitement she could.

On the TV screen, the picture of the room 212 tenant sat next to the photos of two men. They were persons of interest in the case.

She immediately recognized her. Since Margery saw her without the wig and sunglasses, her face had etched in her mind. The tenant was good-looking—above average— and had brown eyes and black hair that fell on her shoulders. Why would a nice-looking girl take cover behind sunglasses and a cheap wig? When she had nothing to hide in this beauty-obsessed society?

And according to the TV, her real name was Christina Blake, not Jennifer Goodwood.

Person of interest in kidnapping and murder of a child; that's why she hid behind fake hair and shades. I'd hide too.

Toby Blake, her brother, and Eric Acevedo, the child's father, were the other two suspects.

The killer was upstairs now, and all Margery had to do was drop a dime on her. But she hesitated. Did she want to get involved in this? That woman was a murderer after all. Crossing her was dangerous.

On the other hand, did she want to let her slip through her fingers when she could bring a child killer to justice? If Margery trapped this criminal, every news channel in the country wanted to interview her. The things she could tell to the nation and help them improve themselves!

After a few minutes, she dialed the number.

"911. What is your emergency?" The cheerful operator sounded very young.

Margery muted the TV and whispered. "She's here."

"Who's there?"

"Christina Blake; the one who killed that kid. The boy who was kidnapped."