he wanted to know.”
Tears welled in Ginny’s eyes, spilled down her cheeks, but her voice was flat. She was detached, huddled somewhere far away. Morgan felt crushed listening to the young girl. She must’ve thought the world her giant playground when they buried Annie in the orchard. Maybe she didn’t think of Annie as a person then, only an elaborate prop in the big-budget movie of her life. Now Ginny’s relationship with the world had dramatically changed. Her life was no longer a bright plaything. It was hard and real and had knocked the light of youth from her face. Maybe she’d never get it back.
Now she would only be scared all the time. Like him.
“Did he… did he make you…” The words eluded him. No will to speak them.
“He tried to,” she said. “He couldn’t get hard. He already had his belt in his hand, so he used it to whip me. When he bent down I kicked him in the… down there.”
Morgan felt a ghost pang in his balls, winced.
“I got away and locked myself in the bathroom,” she said. “He tried to get in, but I kept screaming. He must’ve worried about the noise and the neighbors and went away.”
Morgan couldn’t look at her, couldn’t stand it. He wished he’d never come to Oklahoma, wished he hadn’t been a teacher, that he didn’t have to see this young girl have the love of life beat out of her. He taught poetry. What the hell was that? What the fuck good did poetry do anybody?
He said, “I’ll take you home. You can stay with me for a while.”
“No.”
He opened his mouth to object, shut it again.
“I had the nurse call my parents,” Ginny said. “They’ll be here soon. Don’t worry. I won’t tell them anything.”
“Oh, I didn’t think- Okay.”
“You’ve got to be careful.”
He blinked. Did she mean about her parents?
She said, “It’s not me he’s after, Professor. He wants you. I just happened to be there.”
He nodded, bit his lower lip. Of course. He hadn’t thought beyond what to do with Ginny. The guy had something to do with Annie and drugs. It was all too much. Morgan didn’t want to go back to his house. Didn’t want to wait there for the guy to return.
“Professor, I think I need to sleep now.”
“Do you want me to wait until-”
“My parents will be here soon.”
“Okay.” Morgan swallowed a lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, Ginny. This shouldn’t have happened.”
But she was already asleep.
twenty-eight
Morgan left the hospital numb and scared. He drove his car, automatically heading back to his little house. Halfway there he thought,
He turned the car around, headed for the Best Western at the edge of town. Halfway to the motel he turned around again. He hadn’t any luggage, not even a toothbrush. He’d have to risk his house for twenty minutes, long enough to grab some clothes and his toilet kit.
His thoughts tumbled, wouldn’t line up straight. He couldn’t hide out at the Best Western the rest of the semester. Another thought. If the guy knew where he lived, he’d probably be able to track Morgan to his campus office. A night at a motel wouldn’t solve anything.
Fuck it.
One night at a time. That was all he could manage.
He parked in front of his house and ran up to the porch. The front door still stood open. He looked in, crept around the house, searching for intruders. Empty.
He ran to the bedroom, yanked a gym bag out of the closet. Two shirts, three pairs of boxer shorts, a fistful of socks. Into the bathroom next. He couldn’t find his leather toilet bag, so he swept his toothbrush and razor off the sink and into the gym bag. He already wore his coat. What else? He always forgot something.
“Professor Morgan?”
Morgan froze. The voice was male and deep, came from the front porch.
“Hello? Professor Morgan?”
Morgan made himself calm down. A killer wouldn’t call out. He’d just barge in. Still…
“It’s Sergeant Hightower from the police, Professor Morgan.”
Morgan realized he was holding his breath. He let it out. He walked slowly into the living room, clutching the gym bag to his chest. “Yes?”
Sergeant Hightower wore his straw hat back on his head. Big country-boy smile. Heavy brown jacket over a khaki uniform. Gun slung low. “Morgan, right?”
“Yes.”
Hightower still stood on the porch, leaned into the living room without actually stepping over the threshold. “I just came from the hospital.”
“Yes?”
Hightower pulled a pen and notepad from his jacket pocket. He flipped open the notepad. “I just need to ask a few questions.” He gestured into the house. “Uh… you mind?”
“Please come in.”
Hightower eased into the living room. He looked infuriatingly comfortable with himself. He looked the place over, took off his hat, and dropped it on the sofa. His pen hovered over the notepad. “How do you know Miss Conrad, sir?”
“She’s a student.”
He nodded. “So you have her in a class then.”
“No. She is a student in the department, but not actually in one of my classes.”
Hightower raised an eyebrow. “Oh.” He wrote in his little notebook.
“Were you tutoring her?” asked Hightower.
“No.”
Hightower smiled again, wide and self-satisfied. “This isn’t like
“We were friends. She was interested in writing.”
“Uh-huh.” He scribbled in the notebook again.
Hightower scratched his chin with his thumb, squinted at Morgan. “Taking a trip, Professor?”
“No.” He looked down at the gym bag. “I mean yes. But not until tomorrow. I was just packing.”
“Where you going?”
Good question. “I’m going to Houston. There’s a conference. I’m attending with another professor.”
“Right.” The information went into Hightower’s notebook. “Do you know anyone who might want to hurt Miss Conrad?”
“Of course not.”
“Anyone gunning for you?” Hightower asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Hightower shrugged. “Something don’t jibe. Nothing stolen, not a burglary. If it’s a rapist, he didn’t rape.”
“I talked to Ginny,” Morgan said. “She told me she kicked him in the balls and locked herself in the bathroom.”
