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Critter and Allie followed her into the garage—another building that could use thick insulation and a new roof. They all piled into her Jeep, and Jenna rammed her key into the ignition.

Pumping the gas, she flicked her wrist.

The engine ground.

Didn’t catch.

“Oh, come on,” Jenna urged the SUV, then glanced at Allie, who was buckling her seat belt. “It’s just cold,” she said, as much to herself as her daughter. Determined, Jenna tried again. And again. And yet again, but the damned thing wouldn’t start and she didn’t have time to try to figure out what was wrong with it. Frustrated, she glanced to the next bay of the garage where an old Ford pickup that had come with the ranch was parked. “We’ll take the truck.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Jenna was already out of the SUV and headed for the driver’s side of the truck when Cassie, cell phone pressed to her ear, hurried into the garage.

She took one look at what was happening and stopped short. “I’ll call you back,” she said, and snapped her cell phone shut. Dropping the phone into her purse, she said to her mother, “You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“I can’t be seen in this…wreck,” she said, motioning to the truck’s dented fender.

“Sure you can.”

“But—”

“Keep complaining and I guarantee you, it’ll soon be yours.”

“Oh God!” Cassie’s face was a mask of sheer horror.

“Get in. Now.” Jenna was through with complaining teenagers. It was bad enough that Cassie was lobbying hard for her own set of wheels, but that she somehow thought she needed to drive a BMW or sporty Mercedes or the like really bugged Jenna. All those years of privilege in L.A. hadn

’t worn off. She climbed behind the wheel, inserted the key, and the truck roared to life on the first try. “Thank you, God,” she said as her girls, subdued, squeezed in beside her and she started down the long lane leading out of her fifty acres.

Finally they were on the road, icy though it was.

Allie played with the radio, and between bouts of static finally found a station that she liked and Jenna could stand while Cassie groused about the weather, noting that she’d seen on the Internet that the temperature in L.A. was supposed to reach eighty-two degrees today. Perfect, Jenna thought sarcastically, and attempted to ignore her daughter’s bad mood. She only hoped the last few hours weren’t a precursor of things to come. But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? she silently asked herself as she glanced in her rearview mirror and saw her own worried green eyes.

What else could go wrong?

Another glance in the mirror and she had her answer.

Red and blue lights were flashing as a cop vehicle roared up behind her truck. She eased off the road, expecting him to fly by.

No such luck.

“What’s going on?” Cassie demanded, and both girls swivelled their heads to look through the dirty back window. “Oh, shi—shoot!”

“Watch it!” Jenna warned, but her eyes were focused on the side-view mirror where she could see what was happening behind her. It wasn’t good.

An SUV from the sheriff’s department followed her onto the shoulder. A tall, broad-shouldered man in county-issued jacket and hat stretched out of his vehicle. Long legs moving swiftly, harsh expression fixed on her truck, a few flakes of snow catching in his thick moustache.

All business.

“It’s that sheriff,” Cassie whispered. “The one on the news.”

“Our lucky day,” Jenna said under her breath. Cassie was spot-on. Sheriff Carter himself was striding up to her pickup. The morning was going to hell in a handbasket at breakneck speed.

CHAPTER 4

“Was I speeding?” the woman asked as she rolled down her window. Carter recognized her in a second. Jenna Hughes. Falls Crossing’s most famous citizen. Fresh out of Hollywood and squeezed into an ancient farm truck with bald tires, a few dents, and brake lights that weren’t working. Sometime back, he’d heard she’d bought the old McReedy place and he’d seen her from a distance a few times, but they’d never met. Until today. Helluva way to introduce himself to a woman whose beauty was legendary, and, from what he could see of her, accurate. Her face was small, knotted now in concern, and she gazed at him with the famous green eyes that he’d seen in half a dozen of her films.


Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery