Page 76 of What They'll Say About Us

"Okay. I'm sorry you had to deal with all that on your own."

"Well, I did get a little panicked," Morgan admitted. "But I knew what needed to be done. I picked up a prepaid phone, got some cash out of an ATM, as well as some food, and now, I'm back in a new room in a big hotel where I feel wonderfully anonymous. The clerk barely looked at me when I checked in. I also paid cash for one night, so I didn't use a credit card."

"I'm impressed."

"It spooked me that someone had found us. I was worried that they were tracking our location through our phones, so I turned mine off before I got to the new hotel. You should do the same before you come here."

"I will. Did you see who the driver was? Did you get a license plate?"

"I didn't see the driver. All I saw was a baseball cap. I couldn't even tell you if it was a man or a woman. But I did get the plate. Maybe you can have Barclay run it." She rattled off a list of numbers, and I grabbed a pen and a piece of paper from my bag and jotted it down.

"What hotel are you at?" I asked.

"It's a big chain hotel, but I think you were right, Tessa. We should stay apart. You should go somewhere else."

"Okay. I'll find a place after I talk to Barclay."

"Now, tell me what happened with Liam."

"He gave me some information on Ray, Paige's brother." I gave Morgan a short recap, then said, "I think we need to move Ray up the suspect list."

"The debts fit with Ray dropping out of school and the family falling on hard financial times. Maybe his family ended up helping him out after Paige died."

"Must have been a large debt."

"Maybe it was. Ray's problems might also explain why the mom fell apart. Her oldest daughter was dead. Her son was in trouble. She had to move. She probably felt too mentally unstable to go back to work. Alina was also probably left on her own a lot," I added. "She wants to know now not only why Paige died but why her whole world fell apart."

"Agreed," Morgan said. "Did Liam say anything else?"

"No. He was a little kinder this time than he was the last time, but we didn't talk about anything except Paige and Ray."

"I'm glad it was helpful, and he didn't turn out to be dangerous."

"Me, too. Barclay said he'd be home around five, and it's almost that now so I'll probably go straight there to drop off his Jeep. I'll have him check the license plate. Maybe he can also look at traffic cams in the area or any cameras from the hotel. This car could be a huge clue."

"That would be good. What do you want to do about the podcast since we're not together at the moment?"

"I don't know. Let's figure that out later. Call me if anything else happens."

"I will. You do the same."

As I put down the phone, I looked around the crowded parking lot, which was filled with cars and strangers. Had someone been following me around? I should have been paying closer attention. That was going to change now.

Colton Barclay lived in a two-story apartment building in Rogers Park which bordered Evanston, giving him an easy commute to work but a slightly more urban neighborhood. He lived on the second floor of an older U-shaped building with a courtyard in the middle, and apartment doors leading off exterior hallways.

It was almost five-thirty when I arrived, and I gave his door a sharp tap, looking over my shoulder as I'd been doing every minute of the twenty minutes it had taken me to drive from the retail center to here.

When Colton opened the door, he looked very different than he had earlier in the day, wearing dark jeans and a T-shirt with a Cubs logo. He looked younger, approachable, and even a little more attractive, but I wasn't going to think about that.

I held out his keys. "You're finally getting your car back."

"Thanks." He took the keys and waved me inside.

His apartment looked very sports-oriented with a basketball on the brown leather couch, and a baseball bat in the corner alongside a very well-used mitt. He had a big-screen TV that dominated most of the space in the living room, with a small kitchen and dining area, and a hallway presumably leading to a bedroom.

As he tossed his keys onto the coffee table, I paused by a weathered hall table holding some framed family photographs and one taken at Wrigley Field, which was home to the Cubs. "Is this you?" I asked, pointing to the boy holding a baseball next to one of the players.

"That's me. I was in the outfield bleachers, and I caught a game-winning home run ball."