Finally I heard a trooper say, “Hello, Miss, how are you doing today?”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
“I’m just fine, Trooper Davis,” Flossie said, and Manny began to bark. “Please don’t get too close. He’s not friendly.”
“Attack Chihuahua, eh?”
“For real, yes.” Flossie snorted. Manny kept barking. I noticed she didn’t tell him to hush. I tried to listen.
“License and registration, please.”
“Here we go. What seems to be the problem?”
“This you? Flossie Bergstrom?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Here we go, Miss. You may take this back.”
“Thank you. So what’s going on?”
“We’re looking for a Caucasian male. He looks like this. Have you seen him?” I heard a paper rustle.
“Wow. Is he single?”
The trooper chuckled. “He was last seen driving a black Tahoe, 2020. You see a vehicle fitting that description?”
“Only about a hundred a day.” Flossie snorted. Manny barked louder.
“If you see one with this man driving or otherwise behaving in a suspicious manner, please call 911 or the tipline on this sheet.”
“Will do.”
“Do not approach him. He’s armed and dangerous.”
“Trooper Davis, please back up. He bites.”
“How many dogs you got?”
“Three.”
“I only see two.”
I gulped.
Flossie said quickly, “Third one’s in the back. He’s blind.”
“Quite an animal lover, eh?”
“They’re the only people worth knowing.”
“Thank you, Miss. Move along.”
* * *
—
“Jason, the coast is clear,” Flossie called back, and I took off the covers, brushed mud from the damp sheets, and climbed into the passenger seat with Jack. The little dog resettled into my lap, crossing his paws with their cute brown toenails.
“I can’t thank you enough.”
“It’s okay.”
“Sorry about your sheets.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Flossie handed me the flyer, her expression grave. “I gather this is the Before picture.”
I took the flyer, which read HOMICIDE SUSPECT at the top, above have you seen this man? Underneath was a photo of me from my website, as if from another life. I was beaming, with a full head of hair, proud and happy in my best gray suit and silk tie, standing in my gorgeous new conference room. The caption was my name and birth date. I didn’t have to remind myself who took the photo. Lucinda.
My gaze dropped to the text:
Delaware State police are seeking the public’s assistance in locating Jason Bennett, a Caucasian male, age 47, 6′3″， medium build, a resident of Chester County, Pennsylvania. Bennett is sought for questioning regarding the intentional murder of a man in Lenape, Delaware. The victim has not been identified, pending notification of next of kin.
Bennett is considered armed and dangerous. He is believed to be in the vicinity and has known connections in southeastern Pennsylvania. Anyone with information regarding Jason Bennett or this incident is asked to contact the Delaware State Police at our tipline. All calls will remain confidential. Anonymous tips can be sent by texting the word TIP to . . .
I felt stricken. I had gone from court reporter to Caucasian male.
Flossie said quietly, “They’re talking murder.”
“I swear I didn’t do it,” I said, sick at heart. The big truck rumbled at speed.
“I believe you. I’m a good judge of character. So’s Jack.” Flossie glanced over with a pained smile. “My husband John passed two years ago, throat cancer.”
“I’m sorry.” I thought again about telling her about Allison, but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.
“Thank you. He used to say, ‘I know the secret to a happy marriage. Die two years after your wedding.’？”
I laughed. “I’m sorry,” I said again. I could feel my chest tightening, thinking of Lucinda, then Allison. It was strange, driving down the road with a perfect stranger, who was as heartbroken as I was.
“I just keep goin’。” Flossie kept her eyes on the road. “I drive three hundred, four hundred miles a clip. I just go on. I have a good life, a heart full of memories. I was lucky, I got a good man. Third strike, but I got a good hit.” Flossie glanced over. “Jack was my husband’s dog.”
“Really.” I held the little dog, warm and sleeping on my lap, his tiny jawline resting on my index finger.
“He’s ten, my old man, and I don’t know how much longer he has. I’m happy every morning he wakes up.”
“I get that,” I said, but it sounded like pre-grief. I wanted to tell her that there was enough grief in the world, not to anticipate it, but she knew that already. “We have a little white mutt, but I’m worried he ran away when this all went down. My son named him Moonie. He’s crazy about that dog. It’s a small town, I’m hoping he couldn’t have gone far.”
Flossie looked over. “Where in Philly are you heading?”
“West Philly.”
“I can get you within striking distance.”
“Thank you, I’d really appreciate that,” I said, grateful. “Can I ask you another favor? Can I borrow your phone? I need to find the guy who’s with my wife and son. He’s protecting them.”
“Okay.” Flossie handed over an iPhone with a home screen photo of a gaunt man with a warm smile.
“John?”
“Yes.”
“He seems nice.”
Flossie smiled, nodding. “Genuine. That was him to a tee.”
I went online, plugged in check-cashing and Gibbons and Masterman, but got no results. I set my location as Gibbons and Masterman and searched check-cashing agencies near me. None appeared. I went to Street View and scanned the street corner in West Philly, but didn’t see a check-cashing agency.
I tried Tig Kingston in Philadelphia and got a slew of Kingston entries. I scrolled down but none had the first name Tig or anything that Tig could be a nickname for. If Tig was an uncle, it was possible he didn’t share the last name Kingston.
I thought of another tack. I had to bet Dom would tell his wife where he was. I scrolled to the White Pages and searched Dominic Kingston and Villanova, Pennsylvania. No listings came up.
Denise likes it better than undercover.
I searched under Denise Kingston, Villanova, but again, no luck. Then a listing at the bottom caught my eye: Denise Kingston, Rosemont College, Admissions Office. I pressed the link, then drilled down until I found the phone number and called.
“Admissions,” a woman answered.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to Denise Kingston. I’m a friend of Dom’s, I work with him in procurement. I’m on the road and supposed to meet him, but I misplaced my phone and I don’t remember his—”
“Denise isn’t in.”
“Did she leave for the day?”
“No, she had to go out of town. Her sister is ill.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Thank you.” I hung up, my mind racing. I realized Dom probably told Denise she was in danger, and asked her to get out of town with the kids.