Sleight of Hand by Robin Hathaway

Author:Robin Hathaway
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-02-10T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 30

The days were growing shorter and it was almost dark when I parked my Honda on the side of the road and went over to where I thought the body had been dropped. It would have been better to do my investigating in daylight, but I didn’t want to be seen poking around. Old gimlet-eyed Peck might wonder what I was up to. Or Tom might drive by and start asking questions. I did the next best thing—brought a flashlight. There was a three-quarter moon, which helped some.

I was working over the ground a second time when I heard a car coming. I snapped off my flashlight and ducked down in the tall grass to wait for it to pass. To my surprise, the car stopped. I peered through the grass. The car was unfamiliar—a sleek black limo that looked as out of place here as a pickup on Park Avenue. Two men got out. One was of average height and build; the other was short and wide. Both were wearing hats!

As they drew closer, I could see their expressions. Grim. Stay or go? I wondered. I darted toward my bike which was only a few yards away.

“Stop!” The word wasn’t loud but came out as a hiss.

I obeyed. Not because of the order but because at that moment the moon came from behind a cloud and revealed the gun in the taller man’s hand.

I prayed for a bunch of rednecks to drive by—they always kept rifles in their pick-ups—or even Tom with his bow and arrow. My prayers were interrupted by the gunman, who was now only a few feet away.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I might ask you the same,” I said.

“Except I don’t have to answer. I have a gun.”

Seeing the logic of this, I said, “Jo Banks, M.D. Everybody knows me around here and several people know where I am.”

“Is zat so?” put in the shorter, broader man.

I didn’t think that required an answer, gun or no gun.

“Hey, boss, let’s finish her off and get the hell out of here.” He looked over his shoulder at the empty road behind him and back at the cornfields stretching as far as he could see. Just then, an owl hooted. “Geezus, this place gives me the creeps.”

“Easy, Fatty. I’m waiting for an answer to my question.”

“I lost my keys here the other day,” I said, “and I was looking for them.”

“In the dark?”

“It’s the first time I’ve had a chance. I have a busy practice.”

“Keys to what?”

“My Honda.”

“How did you ride over here with no keys?”

“I have two sets.”

“What were you doing here when you lost your keys?”

“Watching a hawk.”

“You stopped riding to watch a birdie?” The fat one snickered.

“Shut up,” the gunman said.

“What kind of a hawk?” he asked, as if he was interested.

“Red-tailed.”

“Geeze, she knows her birdies.” Fatty snickered again.

“One more crack out of you”—the tall guy turned toward his pal but kept his eyes on me—“and you’ll be seeing birdies playing harps.”

Fatty shut up.

“Take the car and park it behind those trees.

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