Read Online Sight Shot (Imogene Museum Mystery #3) by Jerusha Jones - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jerusha Jones
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Chatter chatter.”
“ I promise I will be this annoying until the ambulance arrives. Do you know you drove your truck into a ditch?”
“ Did not.”
“ And you need to get your muffler fixed.”
“ Like it that way.”
“ Maybe you’re just lazy.”
Amos turned to look at me, his eyes narrow. He ran his tongue around inside his lips, puckered and shot a stream of saliva through his teeth, missing me by mere inches.
I glared back. “So you do do that on purpose.”
Amos cackled. “Hee hee. Women.”
“ Where do you think you are?”
“ Well, I sure ain’t in church. Get outta my way.”
Amos half lunged out of the truck trying to reach the door handle, which, I noticed, meant he hadn ’t been wearing a seatbelt. I jerked my feet out of the mud with sucking sounds and staggered back. The door was wedged firmly, and Amos couldn’t budge it. He was also now stretched awkwardly, his hips in the seat but clinging to the extended door with his hands, his head lower than his backside. Essentially doing a 45-degree-angled handstand over a muddy ditch.
“ Aahhh,” Amos said. His arms began to shake. His back dipped and belly sagged like a sway-backed mare’s. “Aahhh,” and this sound was accompanied by a gurgle.
I liked him incapacitated, but I didn ’t want him to get hurt even more, so I stepped forward and scooped my arms under his midsection. “Want to get back in the truck now?”
“ Pfhuff.”
I let him sag.
“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” he spat out.
“ Tell you what,” I said, my nose uncomfortably near his armpit. “I’ll make you a deal. You stop spitting at or near or even in the presence of women — any woman at any time, and I’ll help you back into your truck.”
“ What iffen I forget?”
“ Oh, you won’t forget. You’ll remember the dark, bitterly cold night when you drove your truck off the side of the road in a fit of stupidity and were saved by a kindhearted, longsuffering woman.”
Amos grunted.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Here he was, helplessly at risk of wrenching his back and much more while a woman held him up, and he still had to think about it. I hoped he’d hurry up because I was going to need to inhale in another couple seconds and I didn’t fancy doing so in such close proximity to him.
“ Yeah. Okay.”
I heaved. He pushed.
I slipped.
“ Gaaargh.” But Amos had hold of the doorframe and slid back behind the wheel.
I flopped against the open door, panting.
The wailing of an emergency siren emerged in the distance, and I eyed Amos.
He cracked a wry smile. “Alright. You’re alright, I guess.”
“ Are you alright?”
“ Little dizzy.” He rubbed his forehead, then jerked his hand away when he saw the bit of blood he’d swiped from his nose. “What’s that?” Panic edged his voice.
“ Just a small cut. Probably won’t even need stitches.”
“ Huh. I must be a sight.”
My eyebrows shot up. Amos cared about his appearance? I bit back a smile.
“I see that.” Amos fished a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his face.
Sheriff Marge rolled up, an ambulance glued to her bumper. They parked on the shoulder, and I caught people ’s silhouettes in the flashing lights. Sheriff Marge’s thick, short form with the big Stratton hat was easy to pick out. She did a skateboard skid down the embankment, and I put out both hands to stop her.
“ Well then, Amos, what’ve you been up to?” She was breathing hard.
“ Not much ‘cept wreckin’ my truck.”
“ I see that. Need medical attention?”
“ Nope.”
“ Yes,” I said. “He’s dizzy.”
Amos glared at me.
“And ornery.”
Amos chuckled. “Alright. Get me outta here.”
The medics arrived and assisted Amos to the ambulance, leaving Sheriff Marge and me to scramble up to the road by ourselves. I found a prickly bush to hang on to and pointed it out to Sheriff Marge. We were both winded by the time we crawled onto the pavement.
“Going to the
“ I promise I will be this annoying until the ambulance arrives. Do you know you drove your truck into a ditch?”
“ Did not.”
“ And you need to get your muffler fixed.”
“ Like it that way.”
“ Maybe you’re just lazy.”
Amos turned to look at me, his eyes narrow. He ran his tongue around inside his lips, puckered and shot a stream of saliva through his teeth, missing me by mere inches.
I glared back. “So you do do that on purpose.”
Amos cackled. “Hee hee. Women.”
“ Where do you think you are?”
“ Well, I sure ain’t in church. Get outta my way.”
Amos half lunged out of the truck trying to reach the door handle, which, I noticed, meant he hadn ’t been wearing a seatbelt. I jerked my feet out of the mud with sucking sounds and staggered back. The door was wedged firmly, and Amos couldn’t budge it. He was also now stretched awkwardly, his hips in the seat but clinging to the extended door with his hands, his head lower than his backside. Essentially doing a 45-degree-angled handstand over a muddy ditch.
“ Aahhh,” Amos said. His arms began to shake. His back dipped and belly sagged like a sway-backed mare’s. “Aahhh,” and this sound was accompanied by a gurgle.
I liked him incapacitated, but I didn ’t want him to get hurt even more, so I stepped forward and scooped my arms under his midsection. “Want to get back in the truck now?”
“ Pfhuff.”
I let him sag.
“Yeah, yeah. Alright,” he spat out.
“ Tell you what,” I said, my nose uncomfortably near his armpit. “I’ll make you a deal. You stop spitting at or near or even in the presence of women — any woman at any time, and I’ll help you back into your truck.”
“ What iffen I forget?”
“ Oh, you won’t forget. You’ll remember the dark, bitterly cold night when you drove your truck off the side of the road in a fit of stupidity and were saved by a kindhearted, longsuffering woman.”
Amos grunted.
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Here he was, helplessly at risk of wrenching his back and much more while a woman held him up, and he still had to think about it. I hoped he’d hurry up because I was going to need to inhale in another couple seconds and I didn’t fancy doing so in such close proximity to him.
“ Yeah. Okay.”
I heaved. He pushed.
I slipped.
“ Gaaargh.” But Amos had hold of the doorframe and slid back behind the wheel.
I flopped against the open door, panting.
The wailing of an emergency siren emerged in the distance, and I eyed Amos.
He cracked a wry smile. “Alright. You’re alright, I guess.”
“ Are you alright?”
“ Little dizzy.” He rubbed his forehead, then jerked his hand away when he saw the bit of blood he’d swiped from his nose. “What’s that?” Panic edged his voice.
“ Just a small cut. Probably won’t even need stitches.”
“ Huh. I must be a sight.”
My eyebrows shot up. Amos cared about his appearance? I bit back a smile.
“I see that.” Amos fished a handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped his face.
Sheriff Marge rolled up, an ambulance glued to her bumper. They parked on the shoulder, and I caught people ’s silhouettes in the flashing lights. Sheriff Marge’s thick, short form with the big Stratton hat was easy to pick out. She did a skateboard skid down the embankment, and I put out both hands to stop her.
“ Well then, Amos, what’ve you been up to?” She was breathing hard.
“ Not much ‘cept wreckin’ my truck.”
“ I see that. Need medical attention?”
“ Nope.”
“ Yes,” I said. “He’s dizzy.”
Amos glared at me.
“And ornery.”
Amos chuckled. “Alright. Get me outta here.”
The medics arrived and assisted Amos to the ambulance, leaving Sheriff Marge and me to scramble up to the road by ourselves. I found a prickly bush to hang on to and pointed it out to Sheriff Marge. We were both winded by the time we crawled onto the pavement.
“Going to the
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