Read Online The Real Mrs. Price by J. D. Mason - Free Book Online Page A

Escape. Direction? Destination. If he were smart, he’d have figured all this out before he decided to come here. Did he have time to plan? Or was all this one big-ass random feat? Had he planned on killing the dude, or had it been spontaneous? Questions. Too many. Stick to what’s relevant.
    Climb out of the car. Pull the body from the backseat or the trunk. Put him behind the wheel.
    Did he fit? Were the pedals close enough or far enough away? Was the seat adjusted for his size?
    Stop.
    Focus.
    Pour the accelerant. On the body. Inside the car. Outside the car. On the ground surrounding the car. Poof! Up in flames.
    Step back. Wait. Watch. Breathe.
    â€œCould anybody see?”
    Plato imagined Price frantically turning in circles, looking for signs that anyone could see the flames, the smoke, and if anyone was headed in his direction.
    â€œGo!” Price would run.
    Run! But where? Back out to that road? Too risky. Someone might see him walking down that road and eventually tie him to this scene. Plato turned to the forest. Where did it lead? What was on the other side? Then he turned to the wide-open nothing. Eventually, all that nothing would turn to something. And it might not be nothing for long. But would Price know that? He wasn’t stupid. If he was alive, then he’d been hiding for the last month and had the whole world thinking he was dead. This spot wasn’t random. He knew where he was going. He knew what he was doing, and someplace around here was his escape route.
    Scenario two. He smiled. “I’m Marlowe, and I’m going to kill my husband.” The only way she could’ve gotten that man behind the wheel of the car by herself is if she forced him to drive here at gunpoint or if she had help. He let that thought linger. Images flashed in his mind of Marlowe sitting in the passenger seat next to Price. Of course, Price could’ve been a dead man in the backseat or trunk. Marlowe driving with Ed on the passenger side. If she was alone, and she forced him to drive here, would she risk sitting next to him? Or would she be smart and sit in the backseat, behind him, with the gun pointed at his head?
    No scenario that he played in his head with Marlowe as the killer made sense. So she got him here. He was shot. Burned. It didn’t work, unless she had an accomplice. Who? Ed? Why? Ed Price could be alive, and if that were the case, then it was someone else’s body burned to a crisp in that car. Money. Money made the world go round, made wives and husbands shoot dudes and set them on fire. Then he was a cad for leaving her behind. They’d have had to have planned for him to disappear. But plan for her to take the rap for his murder? He frowned. That part they hadn’t planned. At least, she hadn’t planned it. “He could’ve planned it,” he said aloud. “Set her up.”
    They’d have to get out of here together. Unless! Did she drive and follow him here? Did she wait for him to burn that car and then drive off with him in her car?
    â€œThings that make you go…”
    She’d tell, though. Of course she would. If he’d been her accomplice, did that mean she knew about the money? Did she know about the missing account numbers and PINs? Would he trust her with that information?
    In most states, wives can’t be forced to testify against their husbands if they choose not to. He’d heard that once in a movie. Plato sighed. She would have needed help to get a man here. Her husband was one option. But then another thought occurred. Lucy.
    No one could say with certainty that these two women didn’t know each other before Ed Price disappeared. Lucy Price was on her way to Dallas and, likely, on her way to Blink. She reported her husband missing six months ago, and the Internet barely hiccupped. Her missing persons story was a local news story at best, until Marlowe’s name came up along with evidence of the missing