Arts & Entertainment

Chapter 8: Holly Finds An Ace in the Hole

Holly confronts her husband and the strange man accompanying him.

Holly peered into the car. She sized up the young woman in the driver’s seat: Couldn't be more than 21. A little lean, a little nerdy. Not Tim’s usual preference, but under 25 is any man’s type, Holly thought with bitterness. The girl looked back at Holly impassively.

“First things first. Who the hell is she?” Holly hissed, jerking her head in Meredith’s direction.

Tim reddened. Holly always had a jealous streak a mile wide.

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“She’s an intern with—" Mistle began.

“An intern! I should have known,” Holly scoffed.

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“It’s not like that,” Tim protested.

“Don’t insult my intelligence, Tim,” Holly said.

He could tell Holly was about to lose it. Her face was bloodless, tight around the edges. In the weak winter light, Tim could see Kayla in the front seat of Holly’s baby blue Bug, gulping down tears, her little face puffy and red from crying. He’d only been home for half an hour, and already the reunion was a disaster.

“Ma’am, if I may,” Ivey said earnestly. “We need your husband on a matter of national security.”

“Oh I bet. National security. That’s pretty good,” Holly snarled. “I’ll have to remember that one. Who needs the Secret Service when you have a John Deere salesman like Tim here?”

Nevertheless, Holly found herself mesmerized by the man’s eyes as he told his bizarre story—something convoluted about a letter, a bomb and the Mall of America. His eyes were a light hazel that looked almost gold. Every few minutes, an involuntary twitch convulsed the man’s grizzled face. Holly thought she saw something familiar about this man.

“. . . so my niece brought me in to diffuse the situation quietly. Don't need everyone to know Christmas is in danger, now do we?” the man said with a slight chuckle. “Anyway, I know Tim's an excellent ordnance man—one of the best. With all respect, ma’am, you underestimate him.”

This last bit, in particular, infuriated Holly. How dare he suggest she doesn't know her own husband—strained as the relationship has been?

A brutal wind rampaged through the parking lot as the sun sank, defeated, into the horizon. The man’s eyes burned, unblinking. The apartment complex had a gritty, neglected look—sagging roofline, trash scattered about and stagnant water pooled all along the front grounds, as if there had been a flood. Nearby, a car with no glass left in the windows sat up on cement blocks. The whole place seemed deserted.

Holly felt her rage giving way to doubt, deep in her guts.

He said he was a private investigator, but where are his credentials? Holly saw a tattoo on the man’s neck—an ace card pocked with a smoking bullet hole.

She didn't trust him.

Bewildered, Holly looked at Tim. Poor, gullible Tim. He believes these people, she thought.

With a start, Holly remembered where she’d seen the man with the strange eyes.


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