The Night in Question. Kelsey Roberts

hand and unfortunately the withdrawal slip required her signature. If they asked for ID, she was toast. If she had to guess, her identification was somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic. The best she could muster was an old expired driver’s license she’d found in her panty drawer.

      A thin sheen of perspiration covered her as she waited in the orderly line, created by burgundy velvet ropes. The entire time, she prayed silently. Prayed that she had enough money. Prayed that she wouldn’t get snagged by lack of identification.

      A year later—okay, it just felt that long—Kresley stepped up to the available teller. “Hi, I’m—”

      “Kresley! What happened to your hand?” the young brunette woman with the cheery smile asked.

      “Um, accident with a knife,” she said as she slid the withdrawal slip across the veneered counter.

      “You should be more careful….”

      Kresley tuned her out, not to be rude but because she was relieved at not being interrogated. She’d been so terrified of not being able to answer questions, she’d actually written her address and birth date on the palm of her good hand.

      “Here you go,” the teller said with a wave and a broad grin. “One money order, a receipt and a hundred dollars.” The teller set them out as if dealing a hand of cards.

      “Thank you,” Kresley said, sticking it all inside her empty purse and stepping away from the window.

      Her next stop was the phone store where she bought a cell phone. Then, as the sun was setting, she walked the short distance back to her apartment complex, in search of her landlady. She knocked on the door and the landlady yelled to come in. She’d supplemented her central air conditioning with a large window unit that made a strained rattling sound. Her apartment was the same floor plan as Kresley’s, though instead of a living room, she had it set up as an office.

      “What now?”

      “I brought back your phone and I want to clear up my back rent.” She reached into her purse and handed over the money order.

      Scowling, the woman pursed lips that were poorly outlined in an unnatural orange-brown. “I’ve been hounding you for months. How come you can pay now?”

      “Does it matter?” Kresley asked.

      The woman shrugged and her dull brown eyes narrowed. “Need something else?”

      “I want a copy of the rental agreement and background checks on me and my roommates if possible.”

      “Sure,” the landlady shrugged and rolled a cheap office chair over to the filing cabinets and took out a file marked 1B. She rolled over to a copy machine, managing to do everything without ever leaving her chair. Kresley thanked her.

      Her response was, “Yeah, well, just remember next month’s rent is due in sixteen days.”

      Returning to her apartment, Kresley heard a car pulling into the lot. The sound spooked her, so she jerked her head to see if it was her thick-necked bodyguard.

      It was Matt’s Jeep.

      “Before you get mad,” he began before he even cut the engine. “I’m here on Kendall’s orders. She said with the concussion someone should check on you. I’m just—” Matt stopped in mid-sentence to answer his cell. “DeMarco.”

      “It’s Gabe. The Coast Guard just found the Carolina Moon.”

      “And?”

      “Lots of blood and lots of bodies.”

      “Janice?”

      “Sorry, all I got from my contact was two female victims and three male victims.”