Hidden by Tara Taylor Quinn

neither the car nor the money for a bus pass.”
    â€œI’m surprised McCall doesn’t let you take his truck. It’s not like he needs it sitting there for days at the station.”
    What was it with the people in her life lately? Pushing for answers to questions they’d never asked before. Had she been here too long? Was it time to move on?
    Or was it some subtle change in her that had prompted the change in them?
    â€œScott and I keep all our possessions separate. Things stay neat and clean that way.”
    â€œYou’re nuts, girl.” Patsy rolled her eyes. “I’d have had that man to the altar a year ago.”
    â€œThere’s a lot to be said for doing things my way,” Tricia said over her shoulder as she headed for the front of the shop. She could hear Taylor laughing, hear his little tennis shoes on the outdoor carpet by the door. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask Patsy for help. “With fewer expectations, there are fewer reasons for disappointment, which means fewer arguments.”
    â€œYeah.” Patsy was right behind her. “But think of all the making up you’re missing out on…”
    A gold lamé gown with black Lycra strips across the bust and below the waist hung at one end of the room-length revolving rack that held orders waiting for pickup. A three-year-old designer gown.
    A Kate Whitehead original.
    Tricia stopped so abruptly Patsy bumped into her.
    â€œWhat?” the dry cleaner asked, looking around them in concern.
    Tricia shook her head, focused on the floor for the second it took to get her breath back. “Nothing.” She glanced up at Patsy, eyeing the confused woman for a long moment.
    In the end, she didn’t have a chance to make any decisions. Tricia just opened her mouth and the words that came out were nothing like the little speech she’d rehearsed on the bus. It was after reading the paper on the way over this morning that she’d begun thinking about it.
    â€œI need some help.”
    â€œYou got it.”
    Still meeting Patsy’s gaze head-on, Tricia said, “No questions asked.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œI mean it.” The stern voice was one she hadn’t used in many, many months.
    â€œOka-a-ay.” Patsy’s gaze didn’t waver. She stood her ground two inches away from Tricia.
    â€œYou know everyone on this island.”
    â€œPretty much.”
    â€œSo you can find me a private detective who’s competent enough to get me one little piece of information—without being so competent that he follows up on it or surmises anything I don’t want surmised?”
    Patsy’s brown eyes narrowed. She didn’t respond.
    â€œNot that there’s anything to surmise. I just don’t want the complication of any false assumptions.”
    Nodding, Patsy appeared to be thinking.
    â€œSomebody who’ll forget he ever knew me.”
    She hadn’t made a mistake. She’d given Patsy nothing she could do anything with.
    â€œArnold Miller.”
    Heart beating faster, Tricia stood there, thinking it through, ensuring that she made no errors. It wasn’t too late to stop this. All she had to do was walk away.
    And let the guilt eat her alive. If Leah needed her, if she could help and she did nothing…
    â€œMamamama!!” Taylor’s voice rang out from the front of the store.
    If she did this, if she was found out, her son’s life could be in danger. That was something other people might not believe, but Tricia knew the truth beyond doubt.
    â€œDo you want me to call him?”
    Could she do it? Leah’s life against Taylor’s? The baby squealed as though Doris had tickled him.
    Taylor wasn’t currently in danger. Leah very well could be.
    â€œHe’s not some hotshot out to prove himself?” she asked.
    â€œUsed to be,” Patsy said, leaning back against the rack holding the gold-and-Lycra Whitehead gown. “He