An easy shrug rolled off Selma’s shoulders. “Not on purpose. Besides, this gives me an excuse to get out onto the coast. It’ll be nice to spend a day out of the city.”
“And like I said,” Lucas continued. “If you want to stay here every now and again, we’ve got the room. I’ve got an air mattress. You can sleep in the master, I’ll sleep on that.”
She lifted a hand as if to tell him not to consider it. “If I do stay, the blow-up would be fine. I’m no princess. I just like Mark to think that I’m one.” She winked. “Anyway, you should get going. Isn’t it, like, a two-hour drive?”
Lucas glanced at his watch and nodded. “In-processing is between eleven thirty and noon, so I should be fine.” He patted down his pockets, making sure he had his wallet and phone. “You’ll call me if you need anything . . .”
“I still think it’s crazy, you interacting with this guy,” Selma said. “Doesn’t it freak you out?”
“Why would it freak me out? He’s locked up.”
“Yeah, but . . .” She scrunched up her nose at a thought. “He’s just, you know . . .”
“I know. But that’s why people read this stuff. You get all the details from the safety of your own home.” He grabbed his keys off the counter only to stare at the plastic U-Haul emblem attached to them. Oh, shit! The Maxima was sitting somewhere in Seattle. He had meant to pick it up last night while returning the rental truck, but then the thing happened with Jeanie. And then he ended up on the phone with the prison and spent the rest of the day frantically putting together interview questions. The car had completely slipped his mind. “I am such a fucking idiot,” he muttered to himself. An extra day with the truck would cost him. An extra few hundred miles on the odometer would cost him even more.
Selma held her keys aloft, dangling them from a well-manicured set of nails.
“No.” Lucas shook his head. It was his oversight. He’d pay the extra fee if he had to. But Selma made a face at him, the kind Caroline used to show when he was turning something small into a big deal. “Just go. It’s rude to be late, even if your date is sitting in a supermax.”
He hesitated, still considering a refusal. But if he didn’t make it to Lambert on time, he’d miss his appointment, and that would be a hell of a lot worse than a few rental truck fees. He grimaced, squinted, and finally grabbed the keys from her hand.
“I’ll fill her up,” he promised.
“You better,” she said with a grin. “Have fun in prison.”
Lucas flashed her a goofy smile and bounded out of the house.
15
* * *
THE SUPERMAX PRISON was tucked into the far corner of a town called Lambert, a small place with a main drag, a handful of stoplights, and—Lucas guessed—a population that was either employed by Walmart, McDonald’s, or Washington State’s Department of Corrections. He sat in Selma’s Camry with the window rolled down, her double-cherry air freshener having spurred on a mild headache just behind his eyes. Studying the notes and questions he’d scribbled onto a yellow legal pad, he felt more nervous than he thought possible. Might have to visit the bathroom before the interview, he thought. Or puke up my breakfast to be able to think straight.
He had felt the same way when Jeff Halcomb’s letter had arrived in his mailbox, forwarded by his former publisher to his home address. He hadn’t heard from St. Martin’s Press in years. When he spotted their emblem on the corner of an envelope among a pile of bills, he had done a double take. His mind reeled at the possibility; did they want him back? Had they realized, after so many years of separation, that they had made a mistake by letting him go? Wouldn’t they have called if that were the case? He’d shoved the rest of the mail back in the box before tearing into the envelope, but rather than his old editor apologizing for not renewing Lucas’s contract, there was a smaller envelope inside marked “PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL” in block letters. This one sported a prison mailroom return address.
Receiving a handwritten letter from Jeffrey Halcomb had been one of the most surreal experiences of Lucas’s life. He had read it, then read it again, then ran inside to show Caroline only to stop short of the front door. It was the demand that Lucas move into the house on Montlake Road that made him hesitate. If Caroline was privy to that particular ultimatum, the project would be over before it ever had a chance to begin. Moving into the Montlake house was both a weird command and a crazy idea. But just holding that letter in his hands gave him such a pang of inspired hope for the future that it seemed just as insane to refuse Halcomb’s request as it did to oblige it.
Now drawing that letter out from his bag, Lucas pulled in a breath as he reread the correspondence he had put to memory weeks before. I just don’t know, John had said. In all my years in the business, I haven’t ever had a client receive an offer like this. It feels off, Lou. It feels strange. Bullshit, it felt lucky. It felt like Lucas Graham had just won the true-crime lottery. All he needed to do was collect.