Chapter 18: Showroom Floor

The dealership sat on a long strip of Blue Ridge Boulevard, under a row of plastic flags.

I walked in at ten on Monday morning with my arm out of its sling and Hank at my shoulder.

Boone stayed at the glass door with his arms folded.

The showroom held two families, a salesman with a coffee and a general manager in a pale suit.

Trent was at his desk in the back, in the pressed polo.

Winona sat beside him, with her cardigan on and her eyes swollen.

Trent saw me, and his whole body went still.

"Laney," he said. "You can't be here."

"You texted me," I said. "The night Carl's friends took me. You said you'd tell me everything."

"I did not."

"You said they'd kill you, too."

A man looking at a minivan turned his head.

The general manager stepped out from behind his desk.

"Is there a problem?" he asked.

"No problem," I said, pleasantly. "I'm Mr. Mallory's ex. I'd like to talk to him in front of you."

"Laney, don't," Winona whispered.

"Hi, Winona."

She looked at the floor.

I turned to the general manager.

"This man moved thirty-eight thousand dollars out of my savings without my permission," I said.

Nobody in the showroom moved.

"He told a lawyer I'd texted him a gift. I never did, and the text was forged."

"Laney," Trent hissed.

"He did it for a man named Carl Lund, who owed money to a motorcycle gang. The gang tried to kill someone outside a bar."

"That's a lie," Trent said. "That's a, that's a crazy story."

"Is it?" I asked.