Coming close, she whispered against my ear. “There are some men out in the road, on foot. We’ve got to hurry. I came back to get you out of here.”
“How?” I asked. “And why?”
“There’s no time for questions. Put on your coat and take down that clothesline, while I empty the ashtrays and get rid of the food cans. We can’t leave any trace of you here.”
I put on the coat, gathered up my wallet, stuffed the tie in my pocket, and put away the line. She swiftly put the place in order and picked up the blanket I’d used for a poncho. She motioned for me to follow her. We went out in the garage. The light was almost gone now, and I could scarcely see the outline of the car. She unlocked the trunk. I could just make out that the spare tire had been removed, and that there were some blankets in it, and a topcoat and hat.
She put her lips against my ear. “Get in. I fixed it so you’ll be able to breathe in there.”
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Sanport. That’s the safest place for you now. Hurry up. They’re going to start searching these cottages.”
I climbed in and curled up on the blankets. She lowered the cover slowly to gauge the clearance, and then pushed it down until the latch clicked. I was locked in. It occurred to me now that it was too late, that I was completely at her mercy. All she had to do was drive up to the nearest patrol car or police station and hand me over like an oyster on the half shell, if she wanted. She’d be sticking her neck out a mile by helping me, and yet I’d accepted her story without question. But still, if she’d wanted to turn me in, she would have done it yesterday. Wouldn’t she? I didn’t know. Nothing made any sense now.
I heard the tapping of her heels as she went back in the house. In two or three minutes she returned, put something in the car, and opened the garage doors. She backed the car out. I could hear rain drumming on the metal just above my face. She closed the garage, and was just getting back in the car when I heard another splashing through the puddles in the road behind us.
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