The Crossroads Read Online Free PDF

lawns.
    They rounded a final curve and approached a huge house. A grand Victorian with five bedrooms and five baths. Even though it was brand-new, it looked like an old-fashioned gingerbread house.
    â€œIt’s gorgeous,” said Judy. “And huge!”
    â€œWait till you see the inside!” exclaimed Zack.
    â€œDo we have a backyard?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œI always wanted a backyard!” Judy hopped out of the car and ran off to find it. Halfway around the house, she stopped. “Guys? We have company.”
    Zack and his father hurried over to where they could see what Judy saw: a police officer and two men in coveralls strolling through the wooded area bounding the edge of their backyard.
    â€œBen?” Zack’s father called out to the police officer, a tall, thin man in a khaki uniform and Smokey the Bear hat.
    â€œGeorge?” the cop hollered back.
    â€œFriend of yours?” Judy whispered.
    â€œYep,” said Zack’s father. “Sheriff Ben Hargrove. He was a rookie cop back when my dad was sheriff.”
    Hargrove came into the yard. The two men in coveralls followed.
    â€œBy golly, it’s good to see you, George,” Hargrove said. “I heard you might be coming home.”
    â€œMoving in today. So, what’s up? What brings you out this way?”
    â€œWe’re checking all the trees up and down Route 13. Looking for dead limbs. This your new house?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œNice one. This your wife and son?”
    â€œI’m sorry. Yes. Judy, Zack—this is Sheriff Ben Hargrove.”
    â€œHi!” Judy held out her hand. Hargrove shook it. Zack slid behind his father’s leg to hide.
    â€œShy guy, hunh?” Hargrove said.
    â€œI think he’s just a little overwhelmed. Been a busy couple weeks. Right, Zack?”
    Zack nodded.
    â€œSo, what’s up with the trees?” George asked.
    â€œThey’re killing people,” said the younger of the two men in coveralls as he ran his hand through his shaggy hair.
    Zack peeked around his father’s leg. He could see that Mr. Coveralls hadn’t shaved in a couple of days. Probably hadn’t showered, either. He sort of looked like a pirate or a mechanic.
    â€œOf course, there’s no way of knowin’ which tree’s doin’ the killing. None of ’em will confess! Like talkin’ to a stump!” He cracked himself up.
    The other man in coveralls, the older one, said nothing.
    â€œGeorge, do you know Tony Mandica?” Sheriff Hargrove gestured toward the younger of the two men.
    â€œNo, I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
    Mr. Coveralls stuck out his hand. “Well, I’m Tony. And this is my pop, Anthony.”
    The old man said nothing.
    â€œWe’re Mandica and Son Tree Service. He’s Mandica. I’m the son. Give us a call and we’ll give you a quote on trimming up your trees.” Mandica pulled a dirty business card out of his top pocket. It was coated with sawdust, stained with oil, and probably smelled like gasoline.
    â€œI see,” said Zack’s father skeptically. “And how much might that cost?”
    Mandica shrugged. “Depends on what we find.”
    â€œShould I hire lawyers? Or does the court assign each offending oak its own public defender?”
    Sheriff Hargrove wasn’t laughing. “We recently had two tree-related accidents out this way, George. Hate to have any more.”
    â€œWas there a storm?” Judy asked.
    â€œNo, Mrs. Jennings. No storm. On the Friday night before Memorial Day a tree limb broke off someplace high and tore down the blinker light out over the crossroads. Lucky for us, nobody was hurt before we got her fixed. Four days later, another branch in the same general vicinity busted through a milk-truck driver’s windshield. Killed him.”
    â€œOne of our trees?” Zack’s father asked, suddenly as serious as the