Chapter Thirteen
Margo drove a classic Mercedes sedan. It was circa 1960 but had been restored and repainted with a rich lacquer finish; the midnight blue so deep you could imagine falling right into it. She crunched to a stop in the gravel parking lot at the entrance to Sheldon Creek Park, pulled on the parking brake and turned off the ignition. The sun was just below the trees.
“I still don’t understand why we’re here,” Lee complained while watching the shadows deepen. “I didn’t get a chance to finish my dinner.”
“A walk, dear. The exercise will do us both good,” Margo said, and she pushed open her car door.
“But the park closes at sundown.”
“There’s time,” Margo said, standing to survey the gloomy perimeter of the woods where darkness was moving forward between the trees. “Come alo
