Gingerbread Cookies and Gunshots by Meier Leslie

Author:Meier, Leslie
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780758274090
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2023-09-26T00:00:00+00:00

Lucy had printed out driving directions to the Andersons’ house on Bridle Path Road in Dover, and it seemed easy enough: get to the Maine Turnpike, pick up Route I-95 and stick with it until it became Route 128, the infamous highway that circled Boston, and take the Dover exit. Easypeasy. If she left by 6:00 a.m., she could make Dover by ten, allow half an hour for an interview, and be home by two-thirty, well before the girls got home from school.

Except, of course, that she wasn’t used to highway driving, at least not the way they did it in Boston. For one thing, the signs were confusing. Sometimes Route 128 was marked 128; sometimes it was Route I-95. Sometimes it was north, and sometimes the signs said south. And the printed directions were difficult to read without her reading glasses, not to mention while she was speeding along at eighty miles per hour. That was way above the speed limit but seemed to be her only option if she wanted to keep up with traffic and not become a dangerous obstacle.

“Can’t you see I’m a stranger around here? I’ve got Maine plates,” she muttered as a Saab honked loudly before zooming past on the right. She wanted to get over to the right lane—she knew her exit must be coming up—but there were two lanes of traffic to get through and nobody seemed to want to let her in. She saw the sign for the exit as she sailed past, stuck in the wrong lane. It took a couple more exits before she could finally get off the highway, and then she found herself on a deserted country road. She turned left off the ramp, thinking to cross the highway and get back on on the other side, but there seemed to be no signs at all for Route 128 or I-95 or anything except quaint little roads: Uncle Ernie’s Way, Stage Coach Road, Elm Street. Even Main Street, when she found it, didn’t seem to lead anywhere. Thoroughly confused, she turned into a gas station and asked for directions. The clerk, however, was rapidly speaking a foreign language into the cell phone he had glued to his ear and didn’t seem to understand her question. If he did, he certainly wasn’t interested in answering.

Back in the car she studied the directions once again and even consulted a map before deciding she had no option but to retrace her path. Traveling from the other direction, she finally spotted the sign for Route 128, half covered by a lowhanging evergreen bough, and casting her fate in the hands of Providence, launched herself once again into the oncoming rush of traffic. Horns blared but nobody hit her, and she stuck to the right lane, dodging merging cars, until she finally regained the Dover exit. There, once again, she found herself on a country road, passing white-fenced pastures where blanketed horses grazed on the brown winter grass.

The houses that she could see were mansions, much larger than anything in Tinker’s Cove.

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