Free In the Event of My Death by Carlene Thompson Page A

Wheeling Country Club when the other car hit her rear bumper. The impact threw her forward. What the hell is he doing ? she cried to herself. The car dropped back slightly as she regained her breath. Then it shot forward again, hitting her harder than before.
    Oh, God, Laurel thought. Was this just a drunk having some fun or did this have something to do with Angie’s murder and the photos she’d received? She’d thought they were a threat. Instead of being bludgeoned to death like Angie, was she to die in a car wreck?
    No, she wouldn’t . She was a good driver and it would take more than a couple of taps on her bumper to unnerve her to the point of running off the road. She focused on the highway, refusing to be distracted by continually looking in the rearview mirror.
    Two miles from home. Another, harder bump. Her breath quickened. Concentrate on the road, she commanded herself. She couldn’t let fear take over, although she knew that blow had been strong enough to damage her car. She’d heard metal crunching.
    Finally the car actually rammed her. She swerved, nearly running off the pavement as she desperately fought the wheel, managing to regain control of the car. But she couldn’t control the fear that gripped her. In spite of the cold she felt perspiration popping out along her hairline. One mile from home. What should she do? Make a couple of turns and reach her long, deserted driveway with this maniac right behind her? No way.
    As they reached the place where she should have made the first turn, she couldn’t help a quick glance into the rearview mirror. The other driver slowed slightly. He was expecting her to turn, she thought, appalled. That meant he wasn’t some drunk playing games with a random car. The driver knew exactly who she was and where she lived.
    Laurel sped past the turnoff, heading toward town. The other car picked up speed again and nosed close enough for another nudge. But that’s all it was—a nudge. Maybe she’d thrown him by not heading for home as he expected.
    Five minutes later she reached downtown Wheeling. The other car had dropped back. When she ran a yellow light, the car stopped. She made two unnecessary turns in case the driver was watching, then pulled up in front of Kurt Rider’s apartment building.
    Laurel jumped out of the car and ran up the walk and through the main door. Kurt’s apartment was on the second floor. The heels on her boots slammed against each step as she hurtled upward. No doubt Kurt’s cantankerous next-door neighbor, Mrs. Henshaw, would be complaining, but she didn’t care.
    She pounded on Kurt’s door, looking fearfully behind her. The stairs were empty but for how long? She pounded again. Dammit, where was he? She knew he didn’t go out much at night unless he was with her. He was too devoted to the weekly television lineup to hang out in bars and miss his shows. She pounded one more time before the door beside his was flung open.
    “Do you know what time it is? What’s all this racket about? You’ll wake up the whole buildin’!”
    Mrs. Henshaw—plump, red-faced, and sporting a head full of pink foam rollers—glared at her from small, mud-colored eyes.
    “I’m sorry, Mrs. Henshaw,” Laurel said, although it was only nine o’clock, not midnight. “I’m looking for Kurt.”
    “I figured that out for myself.” The woman wore a bulky quilted robe in a patchwork pattern and huge fuzzy slippers with bunny faces, whiskers, and large pointed ears. She looked ridiculous. “You two have a fight or somethin’?”
    “It’s none of your business,” Laurel started to snap, then caught herself. Kurt had enough problems with this harridan without her adding to them. “No, Mrs. Henshaw, we didn’t have a fight. I had a bad scare—someone following me—so I came here.”
    “Someone followin’ you?” she repeated. “Old boyfriend or somethin’?”
    “No, I’m certain it wasn’t. Just some crazy person, but I was frightened. Do you