The Chocolate Frog Frame-Up by JoAnna Carl

Author:JoAnna Carl [Carl, JoAnna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General, Women Sleuths
ISBN: 9781101563786
Google: x6Uzam4F_5QC
Amazon: 0739439081
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2003-12-02T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Looking back, we made it easy for the guy.

One of the disadvantages of living in a quaint and beautiful tourist town, of course, is that a lot of day-to-day items, such as gasoline and groceries, are sold at tourist prices. As Warner Pier business people, Aunt Nettie and I—and Joe, too—try to patronize other local businesses. But when gasoline is a nickel higher per gallon in Warner Pier, some of us are not eager to cough up the difference.

The Marathon station ten miles north of Warner Pier, at the Willard exit, always has gasoline eight to ten cents cheaper than the Warner Pier stations. So Warner Pier locals who’ve gone to Grand Rapids or Holland universally follow the habit of stopping there to buy gas on their way back into town. As long as we’re there, we figure we might as well top off the tank. Besides, the restrooms are usually clean.

Joe hadn’t hurried as we left Grand Rapids. First, he’s not one of these immature guys who has to pass everything on the highway. Second, he tries to use as little gasoline as possible, though being forced to drive a pickup truck with enough moxie to haul a big boat means he can’t worry too much about mileage. Plus, I-196 traffic is heavy day and night, weekdays and weekends.

Joe didn’t even mention his plan to stop for gas. He just pulled off the Interstate at the Willard exit and hauled the boat over to an open gas pump. When I asked him if he wanted a Coke, he said, “I can get them,” and I answered, “Oh, I’ll do it. If you want a candy bar, you’re on your own.”

I got out of the truck, visited the ladies’ room, then bought two one-liter bottles of soda—one Diet Coke and one regular. As I was going back out to the pickup, I noticed a big black panel truck—the kind a plumber or electrician might drive—parked off to one side. I noticed it for a silly reason. It had tinted windows, and it looked empty, but just when I happened to be looking at it, it moved. It rocked back and forth, just slightly. The motion made me wonder just what was going on inside. I grinned as I got into the pickup, and I pointed the panel truck out to Joe when he came back.

He laughed. “I guess I’ll have to get my windows tinted,” he said. “Turn the pickup into a love nest.”

He drove out of the station and onto the entrance ramp, paused until the Interstate traffic cleared, then gunned the pickup until he was up to highway speed. He reached up to adjust his rearview mirror so that it dimmed the headlights of the vehicle behind us. “Jerk’s following too close,” he said.

I looked back, and I realized the vehicle behind us wasn’t only too close. It was coming up really fast, too.

“You’d almost think he was trying to ram us!” I said.

“He’d better not hit that boat,” Joe said grimly.

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