Page 41 of 3rd Tango
This lights up my mother’s face. “They’re in already? That was fast.”
“Fortune smiles on us occasionally.” Fortune, aka JJ.
We say goodbye to Haley. Mom follows me out the front door, right on my heels, talking away about the unidentified woman and what she hopes we’ll discover about her family. How this might bring them some peace. I refrain from mentioning that if the DNA didn’t turn up any connections before, it might not now, either.
The heat is less intense today, but the humidity is just as bad. Mom is still talking as we climb into my car and I back out, heading for the main road. Some days, investigating is playing phone tag. Others it’s going back and forth, trying to find witnesses, or surveilling people to get pictures. Witnesses stand you up. Your sister ends up at the police station. I can’t wait to hear the story behind that.
On a rare occasion, something easy and helpful happens, like DNA results being ready in record time. I take those gifts with pleasure.
Mom is chatting away about two of the women in the group with her, and I’m thinking about Evelyn, when my driver’s side window explodes.
A scream rips through the air. I wrench the wheel.
Glass sprays over me, smacks my face, catches in my hair. A bullet lodges in my dash.
A fiery sharp sting on my left arm, and the stickiness of warm blood.
Bam.
A second bullet hits the front tire.
Mom screams again as the front end jerks. We skid.
As I try not to lose control, car horns blare behind us. The rear end swings around, my ears ringing from the exploding glass and my mother’s cries.
Get off the road. Now.
Gripping the wheel with all I’ve got, I try not to hit anyone and still move away from the shooter, wherever he or she might be. Another car? Somewhere off to the side?
The car won’t cooperate.
I stop the fishtail and the wheels hit something slick—oil on the road—and spin the opposite way. I’m pumping the brakes as hard as I can, but I can’t keep us from flying down the embankment and up the other side.
The brakes refuse to work, but the telephone pole we hit head-on stops us cold.
16
Meg
I’m standing at the gate of the impound lot waiting for Matt to retrieve the Buick. The car is sitting in front of the small office so I’m assuming he’s handling paperwork.
My phone rings and JJ’s name lights up the display. I owe him big for handling this. A bottle of expensive scotch might be a nice gesture. It strikes me as something he’d like.
I accept and lift the phone to my ear. “Mr. U.S. Attorney, thank you very much for the help.”
“Meg,” he says, voiced rushed and immediately setting me on edge. “Where are you?”
“The impound lot. We’re getting the car back. What happened?”
“I just got a call. It’s Charlie. And your mom. Car accident.”
For a second, I can’t move. It’s as if my body has gone numb. A futile attempt to absorb the shock. I don’t have time for this though.
Charlie.
Mom.
Accident.
