Small Town Taxi (Honey Walker Adventures Book 1) by Harriet Rogers

Author:Harriet Rogers [Rogers, Harriet & Rogers, Harriet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-26T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

The next morning the kitchen was empty with a note from Belle on the counter telling me she would be at the Cool Rides office. I fiddled with the coffee maker and actually found the coffee, but I wasn’t sure enough of my culinary skills to go as far as making it. I opened a few cupboards and didn’t find anything appealing to my morning need for sugar and carbs. I decided to see if Lucille would provide the kind of breakfast I was craving. I slung my bag over my shoulder and knocked on her door.

She opened it and I followed my nose to the breakfast platter.

“Why, hello, dear. Won’t you join me?” Lucille said to my back.

I had one cookie in my mouth, another in my hand and was stuffing one in my bag. Lucille was pouring coffee when we heard a car out in front of the house. We looked out the window together.

A long black limo sat ominously at the curb.

“Should I get my gun?” Lucille asked, holding the curtain aside.

As we considered this, a very large man I didn’t recognize got out of the driver’s side. He raised a limp white, lacy square over his head and waved it in the direction of Jon’s front door, a slight smile sort of pushing the sides of his mouth up. The impression was of someone who felt he shouldn’t be smiling but couldn’t stop it. Sort of like laughing at a funeral when you didn’t like the deceased and found out he was wearing a peanut outfit and got trampled by a rogue elephant. Inappropriate, but justifiable—and right out of a Mary Tyler Moore show.

“What is he doing?” Lucille moved to the door and opened it a crack.

“Miss Walker?” The driver’s attention changed to Lucille’s door and he moved forward cautiously. “Don’t shoot. I got Mr. Scarpelli here. He wants to talk. If you could come out to the car.”

“Don’t let him fool you for a minute,” Lucille said. She yelled at the driver, “You tell your boss if he wants to talk, get his ass in here. We women don’t get in cars with strangers. Besides, we have cookies.”

Whatever her background, Lucille hadn’t sprung into life baking cookies. I realized she had a lot of characters in her FBI-jacket-wearing repertoire.

The dark window of the limo glided down silently. A head full of white hair popped out. “Cookies? Who has cookies?”

“Hey, he’s a hot one.” Lucille smiled.

“Ah, I think that’s Mr. Scarpelli. Should we really let him in?”

“You don’t think he would shoot us for chocolate chip cookies, do you? He doesn’t look like that kind of man.”

“Probably not for the cookies,” I admitted. Lots of other possibilities, though.

The driver opened the door and a cane emerged. Mr. Scarpelli leaned on it and hobbled up the walk. Lucille was right. He was stooped and moved slowly but he had piercing dark eyes and Mediterranean good looks. His eyes softened as he approached Lucille.

“Why, what a lovely lady.

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