The Trouble With Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

beauty; hunter green with a white removable hardtop and Army-tan
interior. And at that time, everything had worked as well as it had the day it
rolled off the manufacturing floor.
    He’d noticed my interest, and he
must have already known he was dying. I had come prepared to deal, and, like I
said, there was something I liked about Stan. I’d knocked a big chunk off the
price and he’d thrown in the Scout.
    For the next year, I took the Scout
back to Stan for everything: oil changes, new windshield wipers, tire-pressure
checks. He never charged me very much, and I always left the truck with him for
the day, let him tool around in it for old time’s sake. When he got too sick to
work, he gave me the name of a new mechanic: Leonard Krupp. Krupp was old
school and could work on a vehicle as old as the Scout.
    But the wear and tear must have
finally caught up to the thing, because it had been to visit the new mechanic
routinely since. I occasionally consider offering to sell it back to Stan’s
wife, even though she always hated it. Sometimes I dream about driving it over
to Krupp’s, when it’s running, and sending it crashing through the front window
of his garage. I’ve considered pushing it into Horsetooth Reservoir more than
once.
    When reality finally settled back
around me now, I walked back to the cab and retrieved my phone, dialing the
number for the towing company from memory.
    After arranging for a tow, I called
Krupp to tell him the truck was coming back. He didn’t answer. I left a message.
    Now I needed a ride. I never bother
to call my mother. Zach was at work. Friday mornings my best friend, Amy, worked
out of town. I knew she’d come get me if I called her, but I reserved calls
like that for emergencies only. I tried my friend Sadie, but the call went to
voicemail. I didn’t leave a message. Then I called Donald. Not only did he
answer, but he agreed to come get me.
    “Works out perfect,” he said. “I
was out cruising. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
    A small groan escaped me before I
could bite it down. I knew what “cruising” meant.
     
    _______________
     
    Donald is a lot of things, sentimental being one of them. In
addition to his daily driver, he owns a 1979 Lincoln Continental. The car had
belonged to his mother before her passing more than a decade ago, but he’d been
unable to get rid of the damn thing. Most days it sits at the curb outside the
house collecting dust and the occasional parking ticket. Every once in a while,
Donald will take it for a little morning spin, cruising up and down College
Avenue, just to keep it in running order.
    The truck was being loaded for
transport when the road boat floated into the lot, Donald at the helm. The
thing is nineteen feet long from bumper to bumper and the copper color of a
freshly minted penny, with a matching vinyl roof. The tow truck driver stared openly
at the Lincoln for a moment then turned to me. I smiled, waved, and climbed in
beside Donald. He sailed the Lincoln home.
    “What’s wrong with your truck?”
    I shrugged. “No idea. It just
died.”
    “Want to borrow the Lincoln?”
    Because it was Friday, I’d be lucky
if my mechanic got around to looking at my truck today. Realistically, it would
probably be Saturday, maybe even Monday. All said and done, it could very well
be a week before I could bring it home. Did I want to drive the Lincoln for a
week?
    “That’s generous of you, but I’ll
be okay. I’ve got the scooter.”
    “You sure?”
    Donald glanced at me, and I noticed
the childlike sparkle in his eyes as he maneuvered the Lincoln.
    I couldn’t help but chuckle.
    “Yes, I’m sure. Thank you. I’ll let
you know if I change my mind.”
    Donald tipped his head back
slightly and seemed to take in a long breath.
    “Say, you wearing Zach’s jacket or
something?” he asked. “I smell his perfume.”
    “Yeah, borrowed his jacket.” I left
it at that.
    When we arrived at the house,
Donald docked the copper barge