A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

I ask again. “Did he hurt you?”
“Do I look hurt to you?”
She doesn’t. I don’t know what to think. Maybe he did and maybe
he didn’t.
“You coming, Shel?” he calls again, more brusquely this time,
losing patience. “I haven’t got all day to wait.”
“It’s really nice of you to come check on me, Meredith,” she says.
The rest of her words come quickly out, tumbling like a waterfall. “No
one does kind things like this for me.”
I lean in and whisper, talking fast, “Did he hurt you? You can tell
me if he did. I can help.” I don’t know what I’d do to help other than
go to the police. But I’d do that for her. She doesn’t answer. “You can
talk to me.” I breathe the words through the doorway, withdrawing
my foot to reach in and set my hand on hers. Her hand is cold. “I’m
here for you,” I say.
The grin on her face is very Stepford wives. “You’re sweet,
Meredith. Really sweet. I’m glad I found you,” she says. She drops
my hand. She goes again to close the door. She still hasn’t told me if
she’s all right.
I try to stop her. Before I can, the door is shut.