stung her nostrils. She tore off a strip of toilet paper and wiped the drip from the tip of her nose.
What did criminals do when they were on the lam? Except she wasn’t a criminal, but the law thought she was, and her mother, too. Maybe, just maybe, Hortense was one.
A protective feeling stole over Immy, sort of a maternal warmth, toward Hortense. For all her feelings of superiority—and Immy didn’t doubt her mother considered herself superior to her daughter—it seemed Hortense was defenseless in this particular situation. This occurrence was highly unusual. Hortense had no experience dodging the law and being on the run. Of course, Immy didn’t either, but she thought she might be able to figure out how to survive under the radar, having gotten this far. Her mother would never be able to do that.
Their motel hideout in Cowtail seemed perfect. No one knew where they were, even what town they were in. No one would find them here. If Immy could avoid being spotted when she went out to get food, they could stay here indefinitely. That thought led to her thinking about buying food. Food took money. When they ran out of money, they would be in trouble. How to get more money? Immy wondered if she could learn how to rob banks or maybe All Sips stores. People did it all the time. It couldn’t be that hard. She would need a better disguise, though. She swiped at her nose with a new wad of toilet paper.
“Imogene, come in here!” Mother sounded like she was alarmed at something.
She flew out of the bathroom, banging the door against the thin plaster wall. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Her mother pointed to the TV screen. “Look, it’s Xenia Blossom.”
Sure enough, a picture of the waitress who had quit over the bottom-pinching incident filled the screen.
“She was in a catastrophic collision,” said Hortense.
Immy dropped her wad of toilet paper to the floor.
They listened to the news report, which said Xenia had been involved in a car-combine crash outside Saltlick.
“It appears Blossom’s car, traveling at a high rate of speed, rear-ended the slow-moving combine, an older model John Deere. The passenger in Blossom’s vehicle and the driver of the combine were not harmed. Our information says that the damage to the stricken vehicle is said to be minor.”
The news moved on to the upcoming bond election.
“What was a combine doing on the road this time of year?” said Immy. “There’s nothing to harvest this early in the spring.”
“It’s that Pinkley boy,” said Hortense. “They gave his name just before you got here. He bought a used one to rent out. I talked to his mama in the grocery store about a week ago. He was taking it home from the secondhand John Deere dealer. I hope it’s not damaged irreparably.”
“They said the damage was minor. What did they say about Xenia?”
“She’s in the hospital, unconscious. They interviewed Cathy for about three seconds. She said she was at the window at the front of the Kut and Kurl and saw Xenia rush out of the restaurant and hasten to her car where she accelerated toward the highway.”
“She peeled out, you mean.”
“That is precisely the way Cathy verbalized it. Her car squealed around the corner to get over to the highway, she said.”
“Cathy was on TV? I’ll bet she liked that.”
“Imogene, the woman is unconscious.”
“Cathy, too?”
Hortense’s bosom heaved with her heavy sigh. “Xenia is unconscious. But why was she in the restaurant? Xenia, not Cathy. Did she think she had to be working today?”
“She quit, Mother. She quit the same day I did. I was telling the truth about that. So, no, probably not. Maybe she hadn’t heard the news about Uncle Huey.”
“Poor Hugh. He lost you and Xenia the same day. He was going to be shorthanded. How could you do that to him?”
Poor Hugh! What about poor Imogene?
“The only clue they seem to have,” said Hortense, “is a footprint. It seems a portion of the sausage
What did criminals do when they were on the lam? Except she wasn’t a criminal, but the law thought she was, and her mother, too. Maybe, just maybe, Hortense was one.
A protective feeling stole over Immy, sort of a maternal warmth, toward Hortense. For all her feelings of superiority—and Immy didn’t doubt her mother considered herself superior to her daughter—it seemed Hortense was defenseless in this particular situation. This occurrence was highly unusual. Hortense had no experience dodging the law and being on the run. Of course, Immy didn’t either, but she thought she might be able to figure out how to survive under the radar, having gotten this far. Her mother would never be able to do that.
Their motel hideout in Cowtail seemed perfect. No one knew where they were, even what town they were in. No one would find them here. If Immy could avoid being spotted when she went out to get food, they could stay here indefinitely. That thought led to her thinking about buying food. Food took money. When they ran out of money, they would be in trouble. How to get more money? Immy wondered if she could learn how to rob banks or maybe All Sips stores. People did it all the time. It couldn’t be that hard. She would need a better disguise, though. She swiped at her nose with a new wad of toilet paper.
“Imogene, come in here!” Mother sounded like she was alarmed at something.
She flew out of the bathroom, banging the door against the thin plaster wall. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Her mother pointed to the TV screen. “Look, it’s Xenia Blossom.”
Sure enough, a picture of the waitress who had quit over the bottom-pinching incident filled the screen.
“She was in a catastrophic collision,” said Hortense.
Immy dropped her wad of toilet paper to the floor.
They listened to the news report, which said Xenia had been involved in a car-combine crash outside Saltlick.
“It appears Blossom’s car, traveling at a high rate of speed, rear-ended the slow-moving combine, an older model John Deere. The passenger in Blossom’s vehicle and the driver of the combine were not harmed. Our information says that the damage to the stricken vehicle is said to be minor.”
The news moved on to the upcoming bond election.
“What was a combine doing on the road this time of year?” said Immy. “There’s nothing to harvest this early in the spring.”
“It’s that Pinkley boy,” said Hortense. “They gave his name just before you got here. He bought a used one to rent out. I talked to his mama in the grocery store about a week ago. He was taking it home from the secondhand John Deere dealer. I hope it’s not damaged irreparably.”
“They said the damage was minor. What did they say about Xenia?”
“She’s in the hospital, unconscious. They interviewed Cathy for about three seconds. She said she was at the window at the front of the Kut and Kurl and saw Xenia rush out of the restaurant and hasten to her car where she accelerated toward the highway.”
“She peeled out, you mean.”
“That is precisely the way Cathy verbalized it. Her car squealed around the corner to get over to the highway, she said.”
“Cathy was on TV? I’ll bet she liked that.”
“Imogene, the woman is unconscious.”
“Cathy, too?”
Hortense’s bosom heaved with her heavy sigh. “Xenia is unconscious. But why was she in the restaurant? Xenia, not Cathy. Did she think she had to be working today?”
“She quit, Mother. She quit the same day I did. I was telling the truth about that. So, no, probably not. Maybe she hadn’t heard the news about Uncle Huey.”
“Poor Hugh. He lost you and Xenia the same day. He was going to be shorthanded. How could you do that to him?”
Poor Hugh! What about poor Imogene?
“The only clue they seem to have,” said Hortense, “is a footprint. It seems a portion of the sausage
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