“Grab a plastic bag and come with me.”
Chad trailed behind me as I ambushed Mrs. Prentice before she could ignore the sign, printed in English and Spanish, PLEASE DO NOT PEEL THE CORN!
“Oh, hi, Miz Prentice,” I gushed. “Let me pick out some good corn for you. How many ears do you want?”
She peered at me over the top of her glasses and pinched her lips until they disappeared in a narrow white line, letting me know I’d spoiled her fun. She loved to strip the husks back on the corn, and check to make sure the kernels went clear to the end of the cob. Then, she threw the rejects back on the pile and nobody else would buy them. My job was to keep that from happening.
“Two and they better be good or I’m bringing them back,” she said, glaring at me. I smiled sweetly. “Have I ever let you down?”
“Humph!”
I picked out two plump ears of corn and dropped them into the plastic bag held by Chad.
“Anything else? How about some nice fresh tomatoes?”
“Three and they . . . ”
“Better be good,” I finished.
After what seemed like an eternity of inspecting every tomato in the pile for defects, I guided Mrs. Prentice toward the cash register and then carried the produce to her Lincoln Town Car. It was the same every day. Mr. Prentice would smile pleasantly, pop the trunk open and say, “Thank you, Allie Emerson.” I guess old people like to stick to a routine.
After the Prentices pulled away, Mercedes said, “Hey, your mom was here looking for you. She had a guy with her. Somebody I’ve never seen before.”
I groaned and my heart sank. Not another boyfriend. According to my calculations, Faye had been through every loser in the valley. Had she started importing them from west of the Cascades?
Mercedes looked at my expression and added hastily, “I don’t think she had the hots for him or anything like that.”
“Why? Did he look normal?”
Mercedes giggled. “No, silly. Remember who you’re dealing with. Mercedes Trujillo knows these things.”
“Was she on her way to work?”
Faye worked as a waitress at Bea’s Honey Pot Diner, and I knew she was working the dinner shift tonight.
286
“Yeah, wanna use my cell phone to call her?”
I did, and that’s when I found out the guy with my mother wasn’t another loser boyfriend. (Huge sigh of relief) No, it was Special Agent Dennis McCarty of the FBI, and he would be stopping by to see me soon.
Great. Just great.
When Dennis McCarty showed up, it usually meant somebody was trying to kill me. 287
Chapter Nine
Dennis didn’t show up until the end of the week. When I finished work and pulled in next to the trailer, he was sitting on our front steps. Uncle Sid’s dogs, Lewis and Clark, were sprawled on their backs so he could scratch their bellies. L and C were yellow Labrador retrievers, but probably not British labs like Ms. Peacock-Tuman’s dog. Tongues lolling and mouths agape in wide, bliss-filled smiles, Lewis and Clark were in doggy heaven, all eight legs churning the air. I spotted a Domino’s pizza box, a pile of napkins and a six pack of Pepsi on the spool table. Dennis wasn’t just a FBI agent. He was my dad’s friend and a fellow Star Seeker. We’d met after the school incident last fall, supposedly for debriefing. During the debriefing, I’d fibbed a little when it came to Beck and Nicole and their role in the ordeal. I figured their mother, Melissa, didn’t need the FBI poking around in her life. Think about it. If you wrote Christian fiction, would you want the world to know your twins had been fathered by a lust demon? Ha! Didn’t think so.
“Hey, Dennis,” I called, after carefully locking Junior’s—oops, I mean my car. “I heard you were in the area. Must be bad guys around, huh?”
Dennis rose. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doin’?”
He stretched out a hand, fingers up, palm forward, taking care to stay clear of the moonstone. The last time we’d met, I’d zapped him with it to prove a point.
We
Chad trailed behind me as I ambushed Mrs. Prentice before she could ignore the sign, printed in English and Spanish, PLEASE DO NOT PEEL THE CORN!
“Oh, hi, Miz Prentice,” I gushed. “Let me pick out some good corn for you. How many ears do you want?”
She peered at me over the top of her glasses and pinched her lips until they disappeared in a narrow white line, letting me know I’d spoiled her fun. She loved to strip the husks back on the corn, and check to make sure the kernels went clear to the end of the cob. Then, she threw the rejects back on the pile and nobody else would buy them. My job was to keep that from happening.
“Two and they better be good or I’m bringing them back,” she said, glaring at me. I smiled sweetly. “Have I ever let you down?”
“Humph!”
I picked out two plump ears of corn and dropped them into the plastic bag held by Chad.
“Anything else? How about some nice fresh tomatoes?”
“Three and they . . . ”
“Better be good,” I finished.
After what seemed like an eternity of inspecting every tomato in the pile for defects, I guided Mrs. Prentice toward the cash register and then carried the produce to her Lincoln Town Car. It was the same every day. Mr. Prentice would smile pleasantly, pop the trunk open and say, “Thank you, Allie Emerson.” I guess old people like to stick to a routine.
After the Prentices pulled away, Mercedes said, “Hey, your mom was here looking for you. She had a guy with her. Somebody I’ve never seen before.”
I groaned and my heart sank. Not another boyfriend. According to my calculations, Faye had been through every loser in the valley. Had she started importing them from west of the Cascades?
Mercedes looked at my expression and added hastily, “I don’t think she had the hots for him or anything like that.”
“Why? Did he look normal?”
Mercedes giggled. “No, silly. Remember who you’re dealing with. Mercedes Trujillo knows these things.”
“Was she on her way to work?”
Faye worked as a waitress at Bea’s Honey Pot Diner, and I knew she was working the dinner shift tonight.
286
“Yeah, wanna use my cell phone to call her?”
I did, and that’s when I found out the guy with my mother wasn’t another loser boyfriend. (Huge sigh of relief) No, it was Special Agent Dennis McCarty of the FBI, and he would be stopping by to see me soon.
Great. Just great.
When Dennis McCarty showed up, it usually meant somebody was trying to kill me. 287
Chapter Nine
Dennis didn’t show up until the end of the week. When I finished work and pulled in next to the trailer, he was sitting on our front steps. Uncle Sid’s dogs, Lewis and Clark, were sprawled on their backs so he could scratch their bellies. L and C were yellow Labrador retrievers, but probably not British labs like Ms. Peacock-Tuman’s dog. Tongues lolling and mouths agape in wide, bliss-filled smiles, Lewis and Clark were in doggy heaven, all eight legs churning the air. I spotted a Domino’s pizza box, a pile of napkins and a six pack of Pepsi on the spool table. Dennis wasn’t just a FBI agent. He was my dad’s friend and a fellow Star Seeker. We’d met after the school incident last fall, supposedly for debriefing. During the debriefing, I’d fibbed a little when it came to Beck and Nicole and their role in the ordeal. I figured their mother, Melissa, didn’t need the FBI poking around in her life. Think about it. If you wrote Christian fiction, would you want the world to know your twins had been fathered by a lust demon? Ha! Didn’t think so.
“Hey, Dennis,” I called, after carefully locking Junior’s—oops, I mean my car. “I heard you were in the area. Must be bad guys around, huh?”
Dennis rose. “Hey, kiddo. How ya doin’?”
He stretched out a hand, fingers up, palm forward, taking care to stay clear of the moonstone. The last time we’d met, I’d zapped him with it to prove a point.
We
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