Read Online Winsor, Linda by Along Came Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Along Came Jones
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you hear something."
"Sure
thing," Charlie replied. "I wanna get it out of here right quick.
Invites vandals."
Ushering
Deanna to his Jeep, Shep halted in midstep.
"Vandals?"
He echoed her very thought.
An
icy stab of alarm cleared Deanna's mind, riveting her attention to what the
mechanic had to say
"Yep.
I can't figure it." Charlie jerked his head toward the fence where a patch
of new chain-link fence beamed bright against the weathered rust of the old.
"Cut clean through my fence like one of them criminals on TV and made
straight for that snazzy job. I only put up the fence to keep Buck from
tomcattin' around at night. But come quarter to three this mornin', he
commenced to raise thunder. By the time I got out here, whoever it was had left
his cutters and a right smart-lookin' jacket hanging on the fence in his hurry
to get out. Saw his taillights as he headed away from town, tires a squealin'
and Buck a yappin' after him."
Charlie
glanced over at a bulldog with a drab fur coat at least two sizes too large at
the collar. The face he turned toward them at the mention of his name reminded
Deanna of an aged Winston Churchill sans the cigar.
Shep
scowled. "Did you call the sheriff?"
"Naw,
probably some drifter. I figured he saw this rig and helped himself to a closer
look." Charlie grunted. "'Sides, if he came back for his jacket, me
'n' Buck would be ready for 'im."
"Yeah,
if he was local, he'd have known about Buck." Shep turned to Deanna.
"Why don't you take a look and see if anything is missing. You'd think
he'd have at least snagged those hubcaps."
"He
was more curious than greedy," Charlie informed them. "Had the trunk
popped. Left the glove compartment open. I just stuffed everything back in
there."
"You
going to look?" Shep prompted when she made no move toward the car.
Deanna
felt as if she physically pulled herself from the icy pool of panic that formed
in her mind. He. Was he the one—or one of the ones—who'd trashed her
apartment? Had someone found her? And if so, what was he looking for? It should
have been obvious by now that she wasn't floating in cash, or she wouldn't be
stranded out here.
Canada
wasn't so far away Deanna had seen enough crime television to know that with
the kind of money she'd been accused of taking, she could have had false IDs made
and caught a plane to anywhere. She walked over to the sports car with leaden
feet and slipped into the driver's seat. Her hand shook as she opened the glove
box. The owner's manual, along with all her maintenance receipts, were stuffed
into the organizer in haphazard manner. She pulled them out and put them in
order, wishing her life could be put to rights so easily.
The
contents of her vinyl cosmetic bag that had contained a brush, spare lipstick,
and a few personal products had been emptied and scattered into the far
recesses of the glove box. Leaving them where they were, rather than call
attention to the contents, she put the organizer over them and closed the
compartment door. As far as she could tell everything was there.
What
good would anything she had in the car be to anyone anyway, much less a vandal
or a thief? The answer to that nearly paralyzed her.
They
didn't want her car. They wanted her.
Shep
leaned on the open door of the vehicle, peering in. "Anything
missing?"
"N...no.
I don't think so. Must have been a nosy vandal." Her attempt to laugh was
shallow at best.
He
stepped back. "Hey, Charlie, is that the jacket in the back?" At his
nod, Shep reached behind Deanna and retrieved a crumpled and soiled silk-linen
blend sport coat. "You're right; he must have been a well-dressed
drifter," he said, checking out the label.
"Like
as not that was either stolen or handed out at a shelter."
Deanna
couldn't comment with her heart wedged in her throat. She'd seen the jacket
before—on C. R. Majors. Except it couldn't have been C. R. because he was dead.
Even expensive men's wear stores carried more than one of a particular design
or
"Sure
thing," Charlie replied. "I wanna get it out of here right quick.
Invites vandals."
Ushering
Deanna to his Jeep, Shep halted in midstep.
"Vandals?"
He echoed her very thought.
An
icy stab of alarm cleared Deanna's mind, riveting her attention to what the
mechanic had to say
"Yep.
I can't figure it." Charlie jerked his head toward the fence where a patch
of new chain-link fence beamed bright against the weathered rust of the old.
"Cut clean through my fence like one of them criminals on TV and made
straight for that snazzy job. I only put up the fence to keep Buck from
tomcattin' around at night. But come quarter to three this mornin', he
commenced to raise thunder. By the time I got out here, whoever it was had left
his cutters and a right smart-lookin' jacket hanging on the fence in his hurry
to get out. Saw his taillights as he headed away from town, tires a squealin'
and Buck a yappin' after him."
Charlie
glanced over at a bulldog with a drab fur coat at least two sizes too large at
the collar. The face he turned toward them at the mention of his name reminded
Deanna of an aged Winston Churchill sans the cigar.
Shep
scowled. "Did you call the sheriff?"
"Naw,
probably some drifter. I figured he saw this rig and helped himself to a closer
look." Charlie grunted. "'Sides, if he came back for his jacket, me
'n' Buck would be ready for 'im."
"Yeah,
if he was local, he'd have known about Buck." Shep turned to Deanna.
"Why don't you take a look and see if anything is missing. You'd think
he'd have at least snagged those hubcaps."
"He
was more curious than greedy," Charlie informed them. "Had the trunk
popped. Left the glove compartment open. I just stuffed everything back in
there."
"You
going to look?" Shep prompted when she made no move toward the car.
Deanna
felt as if she physically pulled herself from the icy pool of panic that formed
in her mind. He. Was he the one—or one of the ones—who'd trashed her
apartment? Had someone found her? And if so, what was he looking for? It should
have been obvious by now that she wasn't floating in cash, or she wouldn't be
stranded out here.
Canada
wasn't so far away Deanna had seen enough crime television to know that with
the kind of money she'd been accused of taking, she could have had false IDs made
and caught a plane to anywhere. She walked over to the sports car with leaden
feet and slipped into the driver's seat. Her hand shook as she opened the glove
box. The owner's manual, along with all her maintenance receipts, were stuffed
into the organizer in haphazard manner. She pulled them out and put them in
order, wishing her life could be put to rights so easily.
The
contents of her vinyl cosmetic bag that had contained a brush, spare lipstick,
and a few personal products had been emptied and scattered into the far
recesses of the glove box. Leaving them where they were, rather than call
attention to the contents, she put the organizer over them and closed the
compartment door. As far as she could tell everything was there.
What
good would anything she had in the car be to anyone anyway, much less a vandal
or a thief? The answer to that nearly paralyzed her.
They
didn't want her car. They wanted her.
Shep
leaned on the open door of the vehicle, peering in. "Anything
missing?"
"N...no.
I don't think so. Must have been a nosy vandal." Her attempt to laugh was
shallow at best.
He
stepped back. "Hey, Charlie, is that the jacket in the back?" At his
nod, Shep reached behind Deanna and retrieved a crumpled and soiled silk-linen
blend sport coat. "You're right; he must have been a well-dressed
drifter," he said, checking out the label.
"Like
as not that was either stolen or handed out at a shelter."
Deanna
couldn't comment with her heart wedged in her throat. She'd seen the jacket
before—on C. R. Majors. Except it couldn't have been C. R. because he was dead.
Even expensive men's wear stores carried more than one of a particular design
or
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