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wouldn’t require identification, not if she offered cash.
    But first …
    She continued her search, among the small graves. She finally found one that met her needs. Elizabeth Baker . It even had the day of birth and death. And a sentiment: Our Little Angel .
    Everything she needed. She felt like the worst of villains. An opportunist benefiting from a death.
    But then she looked at her son and knew she would do anything for him, anything to protect him.
    She wrote down the dates from the plaque, said a small prayer for the child, then took a city bus back to the small motel where they were staying.
    Once there, she settled Mikey down for a nap. “Why did we go there, Mommy?”
    â€œTo visit a friend,” she said, giving him a tight hug.
    â€œDo I know her?”
    â€œNo,” she said.
    â€œWas it a girl or a boy?”
    â€œA girl.”
    â€œIs she in heaven?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhy?”
    For once, she wished he wasn’t so precocious, so curious. “I don’t know, love. I think she was sick. Now I want you to go to sleep for me.”
    â€œI’m not sleepy.”
    â€œBut Henry is,” she said, putting his battered and much beloved stuffed dog next to him.
    â€œâ€™Kay,” he finally acquiesced.
    She waited until he was asleep, then started to call the sellers who’d listed cars in the classifieds. She explained that her own car had died on the road and the mechanic said it wasn’t worth saving. She needed a car. Would he be interested in bringing it to her?
    On the third call, the seller agreed to bring the vehicle to the motel. The car was dark and eight years old. But she drove it around the parking lot and, though not smooth like her Mercedes, it appeared to run well. The seller swore by its condition. New tires. Recent tune-up. The odometer said a little over eighty thousand miles. It was a lot, but it convinced her he hadn’t turned it back.
    Desperate people couldn’t be choosy. She couldn’t stay here.
    â€œYou said it was forty-five hundred. Will you take thirty-seven hundred in cash?”
    â€œIt’s worth every bit of my price,” the seller said.
    â€œI don’t have that much. And I compared that model to other advertised cars. I think my offer is fair.” Desperation was making her stronger.
    He eyed her speculatively. “Would you like to talk about it over supper?”
    â€œMy son is with me, and my husband is overseas in the army.”
    He looked down at her hand. No wedding ring. Damn .
    â€œI sold it to buy the car. I have to get home. My mother is ill.” She felt as if her nose was growing longer.
    He looked as if he saw it, too. She wondered if he saw, or felt, her desperation. Perhaps he did, for after a moment, he nodded. “You can have it,” he said simply.
    She smiled for the first time in three days. “I have the money with me. Do you have the bill of sale?”
    He looked at her curiously. “You don’t want a mechanic to check it out?”
    â€œDo I need to?” She opened her eyes wide.
    â€œNo, but most people—”
    â€œI really do have to get home,” she said. She was using every acting skill she had, even forcing—or perhaps not forcing—a tear.
    â€œAre you sure I can’t take you and your son to supper?”
    â€œWe’ll be leaving very early in the morning,” she said. “But thank you.”
    In minutes, she had the bill of sale and had given him half of her money. She felt both victorious and apprehensive. She had accomplished something on her own. But her money was very short. And once it was gone …
    She had a glimmer of satisfaction that Randolph paid for her escape. The sale of her rings had made it possible.
    If only the fear didn’t linger inside like some deadly snake ready to strike.

three
    B ISBEE , A RIZONA
    Holly and Mikey reached Bisbee three days after leaving Kansas City.
    She