The Shameless by Ace Atkins

Author:Ace Atkins [Atkins, Ace]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Suspense
ISBN: 0525539468
Google: TeycDwAAQBAJ
Amazon: B07JL43BJS
Barnesnoble: B07JL43BJS
Goodreads: 42584177
Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Sons
Published: 2019-07-09T05:00:00+00:00

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Quinn moved the Cherokee out front where he could watch Maggie seated at a booth in the truck stop, studying the menu, not even contemplating that fine T-bone steak deal. He’d shifted Lee Hazlewood out for some Tyler Childers, listening to the new song, “Honky Tonk Flame,” spotting the DeSoto County SO marked unit cruise the pumps and then roll toward a nearby strip mall. Quinn let down the window and started up a cigar, watching the front door and the back, getting a decent view of the wide entrance feeding into the restaurant. Maggie still alone, sitting behind the fogged glass, waiting for some crazy person who probably wouldn’t have the guts to show. If she felt in the least uncomfortable, she’d hit the call button on her cell. But if not, she’d sit there and listen to what this person had to offer.

Quinn could call DeSoto dispatch and run into the restaurant. He could make the arrest and hand whoever this was to the locals.

Most folks have a little more time to unwind, unpack the wedding gifts, set up shop in their house and get into a new routine. Quinn had maybe two months before Tashi Coleman had showed up, making shit tough for Maggie, bringing up some hard memories for her, making her walk back into the woods with them, trying to figure out what happened back in the fall of ’97. More than anything, Quinn just wanted those women gone and his wife back. They’d been trying like hell to keep little Brandon away from all this mess, but two nights ago, after Tashi had showed up at the farm, he’d wandered in, listened to talk about the body, the placement of the gun, all the craziness that followed. Little Brandon wanted to know why they were whispering about him and why did he shoot that gun?

Quinn could see a waitress walking up to Maggie, the women talking to each other for a bit and then the waitress walking away. His cell phone started to ring.

Quinn picked up.

“They’re gone,” Maggie said. “But they left me a key to the lockers. Let’s see what this bullshit is about.”

Quinn spotted Maggie over by the candy aisle and the novelty T-shirts. BLACK SMOKE DON’T MEAN IT’S BROKE. I LOVE THE SMELL OF DIESEL IN THE MORNING. JESUS CHRIST, THE #1 SAVIOR. Maggie tilted her head toward the trucker entrance facing the diesel pumps. They passed through the snack cakes, the hot dogs turning on heated rollers, black coffee stagnant and burnt in clear pots, action movie DVDs and audio tapes of Westerns and erotic thrillers. They wandered into a break room with a half-dozen truckers lounging about in easy chairs, half awake, watching flickering images on a corner TV set. Judge Judy, with her glasses down her nose, taking two women to task for trying to get out of paying for a parrot.

Maggie headed back toward the bathrooms and showers to a row of metal lockers, nodding toward one and turning the key.

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