Beauty and the Wolf by Bridget Essex

Author:Bridget Essex
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781544869612
Publisher: Rose and Star Press
Published: 2017-03-21T03:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11: The Woods at Night

I never deliver the other pizzas. I leave them sitting on the counter in the kitchen and hope that, if the two pizzas I took up aren't enough, they'll come down to fetch the other ones themselves.

I have to go help Betty.

Of course, I have no idea how I'm going to help her. Then I remember that I have a twenty-dollar bill, a Christmas tip from one of the diner's best customers, hidden in the secret compartment in my wallet—“secret” because the lining of the cheap wallet peeled away. It's not much, but it's something that I can offer her.

I don't have a car, but Paris isn't that big, and Mill Drive isn't too far away—maybe four or five miles out. Normally, I don't mind walking, but it's pitch black outside right now...

Well, it wouldn't be the first time I've hitchhiked, and it probably won't be the last.

I know, I know... Hitchhiking when you're a single lady isn't the safest way to spend an evening, but this is Paris, Vermont. I'm not saying it's the safest town in America, but it's pretty damn close. Everyone knows everyone else, and we don't have much cause for out-of-towners to cruise through.

I missed the last bus, so it takes me about half an hour to reach Main Street on foot; I don't see a single car until I get there. Then I lift my thumb against the flow of traffic—and by “traffic,” I mean one car every few minutes. Finally, Old Jeb pulls over to the side of the road in his truck.

Granted, truck is a kind word for that bucket of bolts sitting on four bald tires. But somehow, he keeps the ancient thing running, year after year.

Old Jeb isn't a talker. At the diner, he communicates by stabbing a dirty finger at a menu, or by grunting and nodding toward the dessert case. So when he draws his truck beside me, I'm surprised that he actually speaks.

“Bella,” he wheezes. “Where ya headed?”

“Mill Drive, Jeb. Are you going that way?”

He wrinkles his nose while staring through the windshield. Eventually, he nods, almost as if to himself. “Yeah. It's not far. Hop in.”

I step into the cab of the truck, slamming the passenger-side door.

The truck sputters, pumping out black fumes behind us. It doesn't seem capable of accelerating past twenty miles an hour. Great. This is going to be a long ride...

Old Jeb clears his throat about a mile down the road. The clearing of his throat is, I find out, a process. His lungs don't sound healthy at all. Maybe that's why he rarely talks... When he's finally done coughing and wheezing, he mutters, “That Andrew's been an asshole, hasn't he?”

If Old Jeb had said, “I've given all my guns to charity,” I don't think he could have surprised me more. I stare at him, my eyebrows raised sky high.

Jeb draws in a deep breath and spits something out of his open window. “Ain't right. What he did to Betty and her kids.

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