By Vicki Lane
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You can’t possibly—” “No, Elizabeth, you can’t possibly. ” He reached out and patted her hand. “You have good intuitions, no doubt about it— Blaine is still talking about what went down last year and how you managed to be right in the middle of all that crap. ” Elizabeth jumped to her feet and stood staring down at the gently rocking Hawkins. “I will not be patronized and I will not have my hand patted! You’ll be saying ‘There, there, little woman,’ next. ” Phillip smiled calmly. ” She opened her mouth to make a quick retort, thought better of it, and resumed her seat.
Phillip addressed the small dog solemnly. ” James fell on his side and wriggled, delighted at the attention. ” Elizabeth held the door open and James shot in, making for his pillow in her bedroom. “It was good of you to make the trip out again, Phillip. ” He switched on the powerful little flashlight he had taken from his pocket and started for the steps. ” He paused. “By the way, I’ll see if I can find out who made the 911 call. ” Elizabeth muttered as she watched the beam of his flashlight bob down the dark 47 road.
Whoever it is, it doesn’t sound like they’re going to get much farther. Below the barn she could hear tires spinning desperately on the gravel, a moment of silence, and the sound of the vehicle backing. Probably just someone who took a wrong turn, she assured herself and began loading the crates and baskets of tomatoes into the back of her jeep. But then she heard the high-pitched whine of a car engine being pushed to the limit and around the corner of the barn shot an ancient green Volvo, bucking and swerving on the steep road.
Art's Blood by Vicki Lane