Free Doubleback: A Novel by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page B

started to carry it back to the house.
    Luke prattled on in Spanish. The three men started to nod. He spun around and called out, “Ellie, go inside and get them ten bucks a piece.”
    “Why? They were stealing—”
    “Just do it.”
    I recognized an order and meekly went inside. I came out a minute later with my wallet, peeled off a twenty and a ten, and handed them over to Luke.
    “Sorry for the misunderstanding,” Luke said. “ Discúlpa la equivocacion.”
    The man who’d been holding the umbrella grinned. He was missing a couple of teeth. The men saluted Luke and piled back into the pickup. They smiled at me, then took off.
    I planted my hands on my hips. “What did you tell them? Why did they salute you?”
    He came over and put his arm around me. “You’re something else. Getting territorial over a patio umbrella?”
    “It was practically brand new.”
    “It’s not like you couldn’t afford a new one.”
    “Easy for you to say.” Luke comes from old Wasp money. Lots of it.
    “Don’t you think they needed it more than you?”
    “Well, yes, but —”
    “Next time, let them have it. I’ll buy you a new one.”
    I was loath to admit it, but Luke was right. In the vast scheme of things, fighting over a patio umbrella was not one of my finer moments. My cheeks got hot, and I went to pick up the newspaper, hoping to come up with some pithy response to justify my behavior. But when I saw what was on the front page, any urge to be clever flew out of my mind.

chapter 10
    I met Georgia at the village diner an hour later. Tucked away on a side street just off the expressway, the restaurant is the twenty-first century version of the general store, a place where everybody congregates for sustenance, gossip, and a good cup of coffee. During the week the groundswell of traffic outside, plus the machines at the dry cleaners’ next door, can make it impossible to hear. But on a Saturday morning, you can actually have a normal conversation.
    Georgia was in a booth in the back. I slid in across from her. The naugahyde upholstery felt cool against my legs.
    “How long have you known?” I asked as a Hispanic bus boy filled her cup with coffee.
    Georgia picked up the cup, took a sip, let it clatter as she put it back on the saucer. “I was out for dinner last night. Saw it on the news.”
    I shook my head as the guy tilted the coffee pot toward me. I didn’t think I could swallow. “Poor Molly... first the kidnapping. Now her mother dies. On the Fourth of July, no less.”
    Georgia winced.
    A waitress tried to hand us menus, but I waved her off. “Have you talked to O’Malley?”
    “No.”
    “The paper says it was a car accident. On the Sheridan Road ravines.”
    A string of bluffs hugs the shoreline of Lake Michigan from Winnetka to Lake Bluff. Between them are steep ravines that can be treacherous if you’re driving too fast. Or if your brakes aren’t working.
    Georgia stared at her coffee as if the hot liquid could reveal the truth.
    “Shouldn’t we tell the cops up here about her boss’s accident? Make sure they connect the dots?”
    “Go ahead.”
    I frowned. “Will you come with me?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “They’re already on it. You know that. Molly was abducted up here, don’t forget. Now that her mother’s dead, they’d be cretins not to look for a connection.”
    “So why not help them out?”
    “Like I said, you go ahead. It’s not my job. I’m not officially working this case.”
    “But if you were?”
    “I’d be all over it. Although I’m guessing there won’t be much evidence. If someone is good enough to make a murder look like an accident, they know what they’re doing.” Georgia leaned forward. “Whoever’s behind this knows how to operate in that— netherworld between fact and fog,” she added. “That means they’re not someone you want to tangle with.”
    “I wasn’t thinking about me.”
    Georgia’s eyes narrowed.
    “I’m going to call Molly’s