12

I bullied my way into the outer lane. I turned right at the next intersection, then right again at the first cross street. When I reached Oak Street, I hung a left. Half a block up, a red Camaro sat in the parking lot of the Hampton Inn and Suites.

I cut off two vehicles, both of which had lovely sounding horns, and whipped into the parking lot, rear tires fishtailing on the pavement. I steadied Patsy’s course and guided her into a vacant spot near the hotel’s front entrance. The last three digits of the license plate matched the ones from the car at the restaurant.

I checked it and found it empty, then hurried to the front desk.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. Do you have a reservation?”

“Could you tell me which room the owner of that red Camaro parked out front is in? He probably passed by your desk a few minutes ago. Brown hair, shorts, a bandage on his left arm and …”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t help you with that. Even if I could, our privacy policy would prohibit me from doing so.”

I was getting real tired of privacy policies. I exited the lobby and walked the hallways of all three levels with no luck. Frustrated, I returned to Patsy. After considering several possibilities, I elected to move my car to a less conspicuous parking spot. I pulled in beside a U-Haul moving truck that shielded me from easy view but kept me close enough see the hotel entrance.

I waited almost two hours with no sight of him. Deciding I was wasting my time, I pulled onto southbound Oak Street. As I waited for the light at Ming Avenue to turn green, Max called me back.

“Sorry I had to hang up on you earlier, but duty called.”

“No problem. Can you run a partial plate number for me?”

“Sure.”

I gave him the last three numbers and a description of the vehicle. Since it was only a partial plate number, I correctly anticipated it would take a little longer than usual to get a reply. We chit-chatted as we waited. Then I remembered something. “The last time we talked, I started to tell you about this note …”

“Hang on, Sis. I think I’m getting an answer.” A few seconds of silence passed. “Guess what?”

“Just tell me.”

“It was stolen almost a week ago from a residence in Visalia. Where did you last see it and how long ago?”

“Holy crap! Ten minutes ago. Oak Street at the Hampton Inn. Want me to go back and delay him if he tries to leave?”

“No! This is a law enforcement matter. You’ve been enough help as it is. I’m on my way. Bye.”

Max would be royally pissed, but I executed a swift U-turn at the next intersection and motored north on Oak Street. I wasn’t that far from the Hampton Inn.

Halfway back to the motel, a delivery truck on Palm Street, a cross street to Oak, ran the red light and plowed into a car three vehicles ahead of me. Northbound traffic came to a standstill. I jammed on the brakes. Damn! My luck with traffic was nothing short of a travesty.

My eyes lit up when I saw the Camaro headed southbound. I recognized the driver as the same guy from the restaurant. He must have cleared the intersection just before the accident. I was in the inside lane, so I whipped Patsy into a sharp U-turn and pulled up behind him. There were no cars between us. I called Max again and brought him up to date. He told me to stay clear and let him handle it as he was but a few blocks away. Fat chance of that!

I backed off and kept a five-car-length distance between the Camaro and Patsy. I allowed a car from a side street to pull into traffic between us. If the driver hadn’t noticed me yet, this new car might block his view. Then again, he probably didn’t know what kind of car I was driving. When I passed Verde Street, I heard the siren and saw the flashing red and blue lights in my sideview mirror. Max flew past me, slowing just a tad, in order to give me a brief stare that could have frozen a volcano.

I punched the accelerator, barking the rear tires. If he was indeed Alice’s murderer, I intended to be there when my brother took him down. Max would just have to have his meltdown over my disobedience. He’d get over it and I’d let his admonishment go in one ear and out the other, nodding as he yelled at me. He’d sigh and shake his head after the lecture and I’d offer a half-hearted apology. It wasn’t virgin territory.

Max followed the sports car as it careened left onto Brundage Lane and headed east at a fast clip. I was half a block behind Max and he was just a couple of car lengths behind the subject. I braved a check of my speedometer—53 mph. Normally, Oak Street and Brundage Lane were clogged with way too many vehicles. Being Sunday, the traffic was much lighter. Nonetheless, it took only one other vehicle to screw everything up.

I looked up just in time to see the traffic light change from yellow to red. Max and the bad guy cleared the intersection before the light turned red. “Holy crap!” It was too late for me to stop at my speed.

By means of some nifty weaving, braking and accelerating—and a total disregard for my wish not to die before I was old—I managed to negotiate the cross traffic. I’d fallen somewhat behind Max and the Camaro. I punched the gas again, zipping even faster in and out of slower traffic. Within seconds, I caught up to them.

Somehow, all three of us successfully cleared the large intersection of Brundage Lane and H Street. But Chester Street, the main north-south thoroughfare, loomed next.

A guy in a jacked-up pickup truck was zipping out of the McDonalds restaurant at the intersection, using the Brundage Lane exit. He had his headphones on and he did a little seat dancing.

I jammed my brake pedal just as Max did. Apparently the Camaro guy wasn’t as attentive. I stomped the brake pedal and cut my wheels hard to the right. I swiveled into the Auto Zone parking lot as Max cut sharply to the left and half-skidded northbound onto Eye Street. I probably wasn’t NASCAR material, but it was a pretty nifty move.

It’s a fairly open intersection with clear vision quite a distance in all four directions. I gritted my teeth and sucked in way too much air as the pickup T-boned the Camaro on the right-rear fender. The truck lurched backward several feet, then flipped onto its side as the Camaro spun around it and crunched into the truck.

Smoke billowed over the street as the Camaro did two donuts in the middle of Brundage Lane. It skidded sideways, diagonally through the intersection, toward the Walgreen’s parking lot on the northeast corner.

Its tires skidded into the curb and flipped the car onto its roof. It rolled over three more times before coming to rest on its passenger door, the left side tires still spinning in the air. Four or five parked cars took direct hits.

Max and I ran from our vehicles at almost the exact time, converging in the middle of the street. I’d grabbed my handgun from my purse before exiting Patsy. As we sprinted toward the cantered Camaro, Max ten feet to my right, I saw the driver poke his head out the driver’s side window, the one facing the sky.

“Take cover!” I screamed at Max when I saw the driver extend his arm. I was at the right angle to catch the reflective glint of the handgun as he pointed it in our direction. Unfortunately, there was very little cover to take. We had just stepped onto the sidewalk bordering the Walgreen parking lot. The heavily damaged Camaro was only fifty feet in front of us.

Pop!

I caught my breath as the bullet whizzed too close to my ear for comfort. I fell to the ground and rolled behind what little cover the base of a light standard offered. I saw Max dive behind a parked utility van.

The Camaro driver crawled out the window and jumped to the asphalt as Max and I scurried for cover. He fell to the parking surface awkwardly. He grabbed his right ankle as he attempted to run for it. He took three or four steps before giving into the pain. He momentarily rested on the trunk of a car parked next to the wall of the drugstore.

I elected not to fire my handgun as there were too many pedestrians in the area. Apparently, Max felt the same way. He’d unholstered his sidearm but made no effort to use it.

The perp attempted another get-a-way on foot. He’d gone less than ten feet from the corner of the drugstore when he stopped and grabbed his ankle again. He lost his balance and tumbled onto the surface of the parking lot. Bad timing—a kid in a tricked out Buick Regal sped around the corner and cut his wheels sharply.

I scrunched my face and shivered as the Buick crunched the perp’s legs. The back bumper of the lowered Buick caught the guy’s pant leg and dragged him several car lengths before the bumper disengaged the material. The Camaro driver skidded several feet over the blacktop and stopped immediately when his head banged against the front tire of a parked car. The driver of the Buick sped from the scene as quickly as he could, smoke billowing from his tires as he lurched onto eastbound Brundage Lane.

Max and I rushed to the perp’s side as he lay motionless. His handgun had slid a good forty feet away. I retrieved the weapon as Max knelt at the guy’s side. I rejoined my brother and the perp as a small crowd gathered. After Max called for EMS and a crime investigation team, we monitored the perp. His chest rose and fell slightly, so I knew he was still alive. As we waited for the EMS team and the CID to arrived, Max gave me the customary lecture about not obeying him. I nodded my head and promised to comply next time. He knew I lied about listening to him next time. It was an understood ritual. We both knew our parts.

When EMS arrived, they examined the perp and informed us he would probably survive That made me smile inwardly. If he was Alice’s murderer, I wanted to him to suffer a lot more than he already had. Dying in a parking lot accident would be way too easy. Call me a callous, cold-hearted bitch if you want. I really didn’t care.

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