Killing Me Softly (#Wattys2016)

FIFTY-SEVEN

FIFTY-SEVEN

"How long do you think before he finds Phillip?"

Sondra sipped her coffee and shrugged. "Depends on if he's drunk or not. He tends to work better smashed from what I've been told."

Sondra and Cicely were having lunch before Sondra left for the airport to head back to New York.

"Sounds like you've found the right guy for the job. And the police haven't tracked him down?"

"Not that I know of. Well, I should say I called the detective on the case and she said they were still trying to find him. Honestly? I don't think they care."

"Oh, trust me, they care. Especially when it gets out."

"I appreciate you keeping this quiet. I know you can't forever, but, I just-"

Cicely broke in. "One of the investigative reporters at the station got a whiff of what's going on."

Sondra looked up at the ceiling and let out a rumbling sigh. "What happened?"

Cicely gulped her iced tea. "He came sniffing around my desk last night. Said he'd heard some whispers about Tracy's disappearance while hanging around a diner that the cops frequent. I played dumb, but he's asking a lot of questions and it won't be long before he starts piecing things together and this whole thing blows wide open."

Sondra started to nibble on her forefinger, breaking the all-too-familiar seal, salty blood seeping into her mouth. "Fuck," she mumbled. "Phillip could see it and he could run and then we'll never find him. Or I'll find him and he'll change his story. Whatever the hell it is."

"I'm so sorry. Sorry about all of this."

Sondra smiled, clasped Cicely's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I appreciate everything you've done for me." She leaned back and sighed. "I guess all I do now is wait for the shit to hit the fan."