AT Dawn by John W. Mefford

Author:John W. Mefford [Mefford, John W.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: female sleuth, crime fiction female, crime fiction fbi, Women Sleuths, women sleuths thriller series, mystery thriller fbi, thriller books psychological suspense series, thriller and mysteries best sellers, mystery thriller series
Publisher: Sugar Hill Press
Published: 2016-07-07T22:00:00+00:00

11

After texting the name of my old beau to Gretchen so she could do her research drill, I relieved Corey and picked up the kids.

“Anything you want to do, I’m game,” I said to them, looking to temporarily rid my mind of Mario and what had gone wrong to lead him to where he was today.

Then I smelled something that made me want to hurl. “Who needs to use the restroom?” I asked, punching my window down.

“Luke stepped in it back at the barn,” Erin said. “Didn’t you hear us when we got in the car? Corey’s friend works at the stables, and we got to ride horses down the beach. It was an absolute blast.”

I could somehow identify with Luke, feeling like my nose had been stuck in it, with all the disturbing reminders from my past and how imperfect it had been...and apparently still was.

We decided on putt-putt and go-carts. I asked to borrow a hose when we arrived at the facility, which had been considered old even when I was a teen, and washed off the bottom of Luke’s Teva. We each grabbed a different color golf ball, and then we hit the golf course. Unfortunately, the miniature golf course—and all the associated obstacles—hit back. On the fourth hole, Erin attempted to knock her ball in between the rotating blades of a tiny windmill. She caught it just right...or wrong, depending on the perspective. The bouncing, dimpled ball caromed off the spinning blade, then ricocheted off a concrete wall on the next hole and smacked Erin just under her eye.

Her scream could have been heard ten miles out at sea. When I finally peeled her hand away from her face, I saw purple, black, blue, and one puffy eye. The owners were nice enough to comp our round of golf and give Erin a bag of ice. After sitting in the boiling sun for a few minutes—during which I tried calling and texting my dad to see when I could pop over for an uncomfortable but necessary discussion about Carly and her possible connection to the drive-by shooters—Erin agreed to ride go-carts on the little kid track so that Luke could putter around in his own car. Five other kids joined them on the track, all moving at no more than about ten miles per hour. They traversed the oval for four laps. Just as I pulled out my phone to see if the Boston team had any news to share, I heard an engine whirring. I looked up and found Luke’s yellow car jackknifed on top of a boulder that lined the inside part of the track. He was yelling at the top of his lungs as his sister circled him, laughing hysterically.

I couldn’t hear a word he said, but I had a feeling he was using plenty of four-letter words. The teenage employee was cracking up as he ran over and picked up the car and set it back down on the track. I tried to cover my smirking mouth.

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