Thyme to Live: A We Sisters Three Mystery by Melissa F Miller

up and then go do that.”
    In his excitement he nearly shouted, which earned us a really nasty glare from the woman at the table. ‘Sorry,’ I mouthed.
    “The only other entry is a voicemail that came in about ten minutes before the first call from that number.” He leaned over my shoulder and pointed. “And look at the time. That’s the call she got when she was in Target.”
    Before I had a chance to respond he was dragging me toward the staircase and out of the library. As soon as we stepped out onto the wide marble stairs, he gestured to a sheltered spot behind a column.
    “Let me have the phone.”
    I handed it over. “What are you doing?”
    “I’m putting it on speaker so we can listen to her voicemail messages. We’ve got the bastard now.” He fumbled with the phone for a moment.
    I realized I was holding my breath and exhaled. The automated voice announced, “You have no new messages. You have no saved messages.”
    “She deleted it.” My voice sounded flat and heavy to my own ears. I couldn’t believe she deleted the message that had set off whatever events had followed.
    “She deleted it,” he echoed in an equally dull voice. His shoulders slumped toward the ground as if he were melting.
    I didn’t know what to say. I wrapped my arms around him in a gentle hug.

11
    W e walked to the car in silence. Victor pocketed the parking ticket tucked under the windshield wipers in silence. And we drove for several long blocks in silence. Our timing was apparently as bad as our luck, because we caught every red light on our route. It was like the reverse of riding an urban wave. It was a jerky, slow, no-fun urban lazy river.
    As we sat (in silence) at what must have been the forty-seventh traffic light, my stomach suddenly filled the conversational void with a horrible, deafening growl. It sounded like a pissed-off bobcat.
    He turned to me wide-eyed. “Was that you?”
    I swallowed a giggle and shrugged. “I guess I’m hungry.”
    “You guess? Hang in there. I know a good Cuban joint not too far from here—over in Hell’s Kitchen. I’ll buy you a sandwich so long as you promise not eat my arm on the way.”
    I put on my best serious face. “I make no promises. Especially if you’re going to take the scenic route.”
    “Careful what you wish for, Thyme.” And with that, he flashed a grin and peeled left, cutting off a Prius in the process. I closed my eyes and visualized a pork sandwich and a cold beer. Maybe I could distract myself from his reckless driving with thoughts of food. If not, at least I’d die happy when we crashed.
    I opened my eyes when we screeched to a stop in a city parking lot and I pitched forward. He extended his arm to prevent me from smashing into the dashboard.
    “You drive like a lunatic,” I mumbled as I unbuckled my seat belt and gathered up all the crap that had spilled out of my purse all over the floor during our joyride.
    “Here, let me help you.” He leaned across the front seat and reached for my wallet.
    “Thanks.”
    I took it and shoved it in my bag then started to sit up. Suddenly, he was pushing my head down, forcing me into a folded-over position.
    “Hey!” I yelped.
    He covered my back with his body, hunching over me.
    “Shhh.” His mouth was right beside my ear.
    I wriggled underneath him and tried to push him off. “What the hell?”
    “Be still. And be quiet, would you? Those two guys from Helena’s apartment are walking through the lot, headed toward us.”
    I stopped moving. “Are you sure it’s them?” I hissed in a whisper.
    “Pretty sure. The taller one has his hand in his jacket pocket, like he has a weapon maybe.”
    “A gun?”
    “I don’t know. And I don’t intend to find out.”
    I turned my head to try to face him. “What are you going to do?”
    “Drive like a lunatic. Can you get down on the floor all the way?”
    “Sure.”
    He eased his weight off me and fumbled with the keys. I slid down to the passenger side floor