The Cypress Trap: A Suspense Thriller Read Free Page B

stood beside the pump, staring down the street,
wondering where the black van had gone. When Owen honked, she jumped.
    “I’m
coming,” she said, and moseyed around the front chrome grille. She noticed the
dirty bug shield and hood splattered with the remains of dead lovebugs, and she
hoped their acidic, gooey insides wouldn’t eat through the paint.
    Owen
honked again, longer this time, and Rayanne moved faster. She climbed into the
passenger seat and fidgeted with her seat belt. She could feel the weight of
his stare, and when he asked her what was wrong, she shook her head. “I think
we should find another lake.”
    Owen
raised his hands, then brought them back down on the steering wheel. “What are
you talking about? We’re already here.”
    “He
said the ramp might be washed out.”
    “So
what do you want to do?” He clutched the steering wheel, and Rayanne noticed
his knuckles turning white. He looked over at her. “Go home?”
    “No,”
Rayanne said quietly. “It’s just that …”
    “It’s
just what?”
    “I
saw that black van again.”
    “So?”
He hesitated a moment, then sighed and shook his head. “It’s probably somebody
who lives ’round here.”
    “The
waitress in the diner didn’t think so. She’d never seen it before.”
    “Babe,
I’m tryin’ to wrap my head around this.” His grip tightened on the steering
wheel to the point where Rayanne could imagine him snapping it in two. She
watched him shut his eyes, take a deep breath, then open them again.
    He
turned to her and spoke slowly, clearly trying to curb his anger. “I cancelled
the tournament. Cancelled my plans with Darryl to take you fishing with me. You
said you wanted to go. So what’s the problem?”
    “I
think—”
    “You
wanted to spend alone time together, right?”
    “Yes,
but …” Rayanne’s voice trailed off. She folded her arms and turned to look at
the diner. She could see the waitress in the front window, watching them. Owen
started the engine and put the Chevy in gear. It made a low rumble in the
floorboard that Rayanne could feel along the soles of her feet.
    “Then
what is it?” he asked as he pulled out of the Texaco station and onto Main
Street.
    Rayanne
wished he would turn the truck around. “I don’t know,” she said, noticing the
splotches of dead lovebugs on the windshield. The glass was covered with them.
She hadn’t noticed it before. “I don’t want to trespass, you know?”
     
    * * * * *
     
    With
little downtown traffic, Owen drove quickly along Main Street. It was drizzling
again, and he flipped on the windshield wipers. They swished bug remnants from
one side of the glass to the other. His Chevy, even hauling the boat, handled
the wet road easily enough.
    After
a minute of listening to the monotonous squeak of the windshield wipers,
Rayanne cleared her throat. “I’m fine, I guess. It’ll be good for us to get
away from it all.” She’d decided to make the best of it. It’s what she really
wanted. She looked over at Owen and smiled at him. “And it’ll be good for you
to take a break from the job search.”
    In
a flat drawl he said, “I’ll find a job. You don’t need to ride me.”
    “I
wasn’t riding you.” She kept the smile on her face, though now it was forced.
It was a testament to her determination, and she tried again. “You don’t think
Darryl is too upset about me commandeering your fishing trip, do you?”
    “It
wasn’t a fishing trip, it was a bass tournament.” His voice was sharp, direct,
and Rayanne clearly took its meaning: the conversation was over.
    When
they drove out of town and the speed limit bumped up from 35 to 45 miles per
hour, the Chevy had the road to itself. Owen pressed down on the pedal,
hurrying. He didn’t look at her, but added, “And yes, I’m sure he understands.”
    Rayanne
didn’t respond, twirling the wedding ring on her finger.
    They
drove for nearly twenty minutes in silence before she pointed ahead. “There