Seven Minutes in Heaven

25 EMMA PAXTON: MASTER OF DISGUISE

“Have a nice afternoon, miss.” A thin, white-bearded man wearing a flannel shirt and an apron handed Emma her bag of groceries and gave her a quizzical look.

Emma tugged self-consciously at her skirt. It was Wednesday, and she was incognito again, in Mrs. Landry’s blonde wig, a denim jumper embroidered with butterflies, and a red turtleneck sweater she’d gotten at Goodwill. Plastic dime-store glasses completed the look—she was a dead ringer for the Sunday school teacher she’d had during her few weeks with the Morgans, a particularly pious foster family back in Nevada. She couldn’t believe it had come to this to just buy milk; but the reporters—or Garrett—could be anywhere.

She exited the store and walked across the parking lot toward Ethan’s car, her shadow flickering across the asphalt at her feet. Next to the home improvement store was a Burger King, a line of cars stretching around the drive-through. Just as she dropped the groceries in the car, someone laid on his horn, impatient to make an order.

What she saw next made her stop in her tracks.

Travis had just stepped out of the Burger King, a thirty-two ounce soft drink in his hand. He paused in the doorway, pulling a pair of cheap aviators down over his eyes, before slouching up the street in the opposite direction.

Emma didn’t waste any time. Slamming the car door shut, she followed him on foot.

The area was a cheap commercial zone, lined with big-box stores and chain restaurants. A thin strip of weeds ran between the road and the sidewalk, dotted with overflowing trash cans. She walked slowly, letting Travis stay several feet ahead but keeping him in her line of sight. He wore a backward-facing baseball cap and saggy jeans hanging down almost off his butt. A wallet chain went from his belt loop to his back pocket. When he glanced behind him, she ducked into a crowd of people at a bus stop, trying to keep her face as bored as all the other commuters’ expressions. When she was sure he’d turned away, she followed again.

Travis passed an abandoned mechanics’ garage tagged with graffiti, then cut across the parking lot to a Days Inn Hotel. The pool shone behind the cast-iron gate, three small children in inflatable water wings squealing in the shallow end. Emma hung back and watched as Travis climbed the steps and let himself into one of the rooms.

She stood in the shade of a mesquite tree, uncertainty coiling inside her. Why was he still here? He didn’t know anything about the killer—did he?

But her head snapped up as Ethan’s words came drifting back to her. If we had access to Garrett’s texts or e-mail, we’d be able to see if he sent the link.

They didn’t have Garrett’s phone. But the message might still be somewhere on Travis’s.

With another glance around, she climbed the stairs to his door and knocked. For a moment nothing happened. She knocked again, louder. From the parking lot, a middle-aged couple in matching Hawaiian shirts paused as they climbed out of their station wagon, staring up at her. Emma swallowed, sweat gathering on the back of her neck. She lifted her hand to knock one more time, but before she could, the door jerked open.

Travis stood in the doorway, his hat off. He wore a white tank top snug across his meaty chest, and a thick gold chain dangled from his neck. His chin jutted belligerently at her. Behind him, Arnold Schwarzenegger filled the TV screen, roaring up the freeway on a motorcycle. “What do you want, lady?”

For a moment, she didn’t remember that she was in costume. She blinked, then pulled off her glasses. “It’s me. Emma.”

His jaw fell slack. He looked her slowly up and down, his piggy little eyes bulging. The smell of stale tobacco and sweat hung around him.

“I need your help,” she said, putting on the sweetest expression she could muster. “Everyone thinks I killed my sister.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, grinning. “That one cop, Quinlan or whatever? He’s been trying to get me to tell him all about you.”

She chewed on her thumbnail, knowing she had to play this just right. “What have you told him so far?”

Travis shrugged, bracing himself against the door frame so he loomed over her.

“So far just about your freaky little habit,” he said.

“You mean that video someone sent you?” she said, choosing her words carefully.

“Yup,” he said. “Man, I liked watching that. Such a bummer they took it down.”

Bingo. Garrett had sent him that link. Her heart swelled with excitement. If she could get her hands on his phone, she could prove it. She took a deep breath.

“I didn’t kill Sutton,” she said, a soft, pleading note entering her voice. “You believe me, don’t you?”

He smirked. “I don’t know, Emma. You were pretty violent with me. Always had a nasty temper.”

Emma tensed, fighting the angry retort that was rising in her chest. She’d kneed Travis in the groin once after he’d tried to cop a feel. That was what had led to his framing her for the theft of Clarice’s money.

Travis’s voice dropped conspiratorially. “Besides, Tucson’s a pretty nice place. The cops have me set up here all week—free HBO, room service. All for telling them anything I can about you.”

She looked up at him, blinking through her thick lashes, her eyes wide and vulnerable. I was impressed—back in the day, I’d been a master of the puppy-dog-in-the-rain look. If only she could make herself cry on command, Emma would give me a run for my money.

“Why are you doing this to me?” She gave her voice the slightest tremble, pretending to wipe at the corner of her eye.

Travis glanced left and right as if looking for eavesdroppers. Then he leaned forward, putting his mouth right by her ear as if to share a secret. His breath was rancid with sugar and pot. “The thing is, Emma, you’re a real bitch.”

It took all her willpower not to slap him in the face. But she had to play nice. Her lips slightly parted, she rested a hand on his bare bicep. Travis’s eyes flickered down to where she was touching him.

“I’m desperate,” she whispered, ignoring the surge of bile at the back of her throat. “I’ll do anything. You have to help me, Travis. You’re the only one who can.”

He stared at her blankly for a moment, his malice overcome by surprise. She ran her eyes appraisingly over his body, trying to look seductive, hunting for the telltale rectangular outline of his phone. There. It was in his front pocket, just against his hip.

A slow smile spread across his face. “Anything, huh?” He stepped back from the door, holding it open for her. As she stepped past him, he slapped her on the butt, and she jumped. Her stomach lurched. For a moment, she wondered if she was making a huge mistake. Travis was dangerous.

But Emma was tough, too. And she needed that phone.

She reached up to take the itchy wig off her head, but Travis grabbed her hand. “Leave it,” he murmured, his breath hot on her face. “I like it.”

Emma dropped her hands to Travis’s hips, leaving the blonde wig where it was. Slowly, she slid her hands into his pockets. His eyes closed, his breath coming quicker. Her fingers searched past stray coins and a baggie of something she was sure was pot before closing around the hard plastic form of his phone. As she wrenched it from his pocket, his eyes shot open.

“What—” But he didn’t get to finish his question. She brought her knee up as hard as she could between his legs. His eyes crossed, and he fell backward onto the bed, clutching at his groin.

She was out the door and slamming it behind her before he could even move, taking the stairs three at a time, adrenaline coursing through her veins. By the time he wrenched the door open, she was already at the bottom.

“You crazy bitch!” he screamed, limping after her. “I’ll kill you!”

“You’ll have to get in line!” Emma yelled over her shoulder as she took off running. She zigzagged around an acne-scarred man dressed in the polyester blazer of a hotel staffer, then sprinted across the parking lot, leaping over medians and dodging cars. The muscles blazed in her legs, but she barely noticed. For a moment, she felt like she could fly.

And I was flying right next to her, chanting her name like a cheer. Finally, my sister had gotten her hands on something that might be able to clear her name. And finally, she’d been able to hit Travis exactly where it hurt.