Read Online Buried Evidence by Nancy Taylor Rosenberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nancy Taylor Rosenberg
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cleaning up the kitchen.
The lights to the shopping center where Ralph’s was located loomed in the near distance. Outside the grocery store was a phone booth. Squealing to a stop at the curb, he left the engine running in the Mustang as he raced toward the phone. After digging in his pocket for his wallet, he came up with only a few dimes and a five-dollar bill. In his rush to get to Baskin-Robbins, he must have left his wallet on the coffee table at the duplex.
A middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair was exiting the market, her arms laden with groceries. He opened his mouth to ask her for change, then stopped himself. The police could easily dispatch a unit to the phone booth after he reported the accident. The woman must live in the neighborhood because she was walking in the direction of the sidewalk instead of the parkinglot. Their eyes met and he quickly looked away. How could he call from here? The woman would remember him.
John peered inside the store. If he went inside to get change from one of the checkers, he would encounter the same problem. He had to make certain no one would be able to connect him to the crime. He wanted desperately to do the right thing, admit what he had done, get medical help for the boy. He knew he couldn’t, however. It was a matter of survival. A person couldn’t sell real estate without a driver’s license. But that was the least of his concerns. Because of his DWI, they’d send him to jail this time. Since the boy had been injured and he’d fled the scene of the accident, he could easily be facing prison in lieu of a jail sentence. How could he suffer through the humiliation of a prison sentence? Lily would never let him live it down. Shana would be devastated. In addition, he wasn’t a young man. He would never come out alive if they sent him to prison. The inmates would have a field day with him. He had never been a strong man, and the type of people who ended up in prison could smell weakness like a wolf could pick up the scent of an injured deer. Using the edge of his shirt, he wiped his fingerprints off the glass window.
Finally he formulated a plan. He’d get the change, then drive to another pay phone to notify the authorities. Stepping on the electronic mat for the door opener, he tried to appear calm as he entered the store and approached a heavy-set blonde woman working the express counter. “I’m closed,” she said, pointing at another cashier a few rows over.
Standing behind a young couple, he felt a sharp pain in the center of his chest. Was he going to drop dead of a heart attack and never see his daughter again? The man and woman in front of him had a cart full of food; the husband was unloading items onto the counter. Thinking of Shana made him realize he couldn’t go home empty-handed. “Where’s the ice cream?”
The sleepy-eyed checker didn’t answer him.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he yelled, bumping into the woman. “Where’s the damn ice cream?”
“Aisle seven,” the male checker told him.
A few moments later, John was back in line with a pint ofBen & Jerry’s chocolate chip ice cream. He’d grabbed the first carton he’d seen in the freezer.
“You must be a real ice cream freak,” the husband said, glowering at him. He was a tall, muscular man, his hair cut short on the sides, then gelled to stand up on top. On his right forearm was a tattoo of an eagle. “You almost knocked my wife down. You could have said you were sorry. Can’t you see that she’s pregnant?”
“I’m sorry,” John said, staring into the woman’s eyes. Her face suddenly took on the features of the beautiful young man. He wished he could tell him that he was sorry, that if things had been different, he would have helped him and not run off like a coward. Tossing the five-dollar bill on the counter once the couple had left, he paid for the ice cream and hurried out of the store.
Intending to drive to another phone booth, he found himself back on
The lights to the shopping center where Ralph’s was located loomed in the near distance. Outside the grocery store was a phone booth. Squealing to a stop at the curb, he left the engine running in the Mustang as he raced toward the phone. After digging in his pocket for his wallet, he came up with only a few dimes and a five-dollar bill. In his rush to get to Baskin-Robbins, he must have left his wallet on the coffee table at the duplex.
A middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair was exiting the market, her arms laden with groceries. He opened his mouth to ask her for change, then stopped himself. The police could easily dispatch a unit to the phone booth after he reported the accident. The woman must live in the neighborhood because she was walking in the direction of the sidewalk instead of the parkinglot. Their eyes met and he quickly looked away. How could he call from here? The woman would remember him.
John peered inside the store. If he went inside to get change from one of the checkers, he would encounter the same problem. He had to make certain no one would be able to connect him to the crime. He wanted desperately to do the right thing, admit what he had done, get medical help for the boy. He knew he couldn’t, however. It was a matter of survival. A person couldn’t sell real estate without a driver’s license. But that was the least of his concerns. Because of his DWI, they’d send him to jail this time. Since the boy had been injured and he’d fled the scene of the accident, he could easily be facing prison in lieu of a jail sentence. How could he suffer through the humiliation of a prison sentence? Lily would never let him live it down. Shana would be devastated. In addition, he wasn’t a young man. He would never come out alive if they sent him to prison. The inmates would have a field day with him. He had never been a strong man, and the type of people who ended up in prison could smell weakness like a wolf could pick up the scent of an injured deer. Using the edge of his shirt, he wiped his fingerprints off the glass window.
Finally he formulated a plan. He’d get the change, then drive to another pay phone to notify the authorities. Stepping on the electronic mat for the door opener, he tried to appear calm as he entered the store and approached a heavy-set blonde woman working the express counter. “I’m closed,” she said, pointing at another cashier a few rows over.
Standing behind a young couple, he felt a sharp pain in the center of his chest. Was he going to drop dead of a heart attack and never see his daughter again? The man and woman in front of him had a cart full of food; the husband was unloading items onto the counter. Thinking of Shana made him realize he couldn’t go home empty-handed. “Where’s the ice cream?”
The sleepy-eyed checker didn’t answer him.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he yelled, bumping into the woman. “Where’s the damn ice cream?”
“Aisle seven,” the male checker told him.
A few moments later, John was back in line with a pint ofBen & Jerry’s chocolate chip ice cream. He’d grabbed the first carton he’d seen in the freezer.
“You must be a real ice cream freak,” the husband said, glowering at him. He was a tall, muscular man, his hair cut short on the sides, then gelled to stand up on top. On his right forearm was a tattoo of an eagle. “You almost knocked my wife down. You could have said you were sorry. Can’t you see that she’s pregnant?”
“I’m sorry,” John said, staring into the woman’s eyes. Her face suddenly took on the features of the beautiful young man. He wished he could tell him that he was sorry, that if things had been different, he would have helped him and not run off like a coward. Tossing the five-dollar bill on the counter once the couple had left, he paid for the ice cream and hurried out of the store.
Intending to drive to another phone booth, he found himself back on
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