since we were like five!’ Bess said.
And they were out the door.
The next morning had gone better for Mr Smith and Mr Jones. A trucker pulled into the Texaco station fairly early and agreed to take them as far as La Grange. From there it was a piece of cake finding a rental car agency (a different company than the last one, of course), and heading back to Black Cat Ridge.
They’d parked three doors down on the same side of the street as the Pugh home, hopeful that the cop on the other side of the Pughs wouldn’t see them. They’d been there almost half an hour when Mr Smith sat up in the new rental. ‘It’s them!’ he said excitedly. ‘They’re getting in the minivan!’
‘The one in the middle,’ Mr Jones said, ‘she’s the one that’s got the satchel thing.’
‘Yes, that’s right, Mr Jones,’ Mr Smith said.
Mr Jones looked excitedly at Mr Smith. ‘Now we can get the satchel!’
Mr Smith shook his head and gritted his teeth. ‘The satchel is in the school, remember? We can’t get it from them today. Maybe tomorrow.’
‘But what if they go to the school? What if that’s where they’re headed right now?’
Mr Smith thought about it for a moment, then pulled out after the minivan as it left the driveway. ‘OK, so we’ll follow them for a little while.’
It was Bess’s turn to drive the minivan. She pulled the seat up as far as it would go and started the engine. As they pulled into the Metroplex’s parking lot, she asked her sisters, ‘What color was that car Mrs Luna said was parked across the street from the house?’
‘Blue?’ Alicia said.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ Megan agreed.
‘Hum,’ Bess said, pulling into a parking spot only four city blocks from the theater.
‘What “hum”?’ Megan said, turning around in her shotgun seat to look behind them. ‘I don’t see a blue car!’
‘Me neither,’ Bess said, ‘but that white one has been following us since our street.’
She turned off the ignition and all three girls watched the white car slowly drive by.
‘Two dark-haired men,’ Alicia said. ‘One is taller – at least, he sits taller than the other.’
‘Is that what Mrs Luna described?’ Megan asked.
‘You really just don’t listen, do you?’ Bess said in disgust.
‘Get off my back!’ Megan shouted.
‘Hey, guys! Give it a rest! Is that them or not?’ Alicia said.
‘I dunno,’ Bess said. She sighed. ‘Let’s just go see what’s playing, OK?’
After the girls left, I fixed myself some lunch – a small salad and some fruit – and sat down in the family room to watch the noon news. After finding out we were in for at least seven more days of sunny weather, with highs of one hundred degrees for the third day in a row, and that one of the U.T. coaches had passed out during practice the day before from the heat (and he was just sitting on the sidelines), the real news came on.
‘A couple of days ago we reported that a man fell or jumped from the parking garage at the Driscoll Hotel in downtown Austin. The police released a statement today, saying that from information gleaned from the medical examiner and the crime scene investigators, they are declaring the death of James Unger from Houston a homicide.’
‘Shit!’ I said.
‘The report states that it appears Mr Unger was pushed. His wife, Elizabeth Unger, vice president of Pharmacopia, the pharmaceutical company owned by the Ungers, is still unavailable for comment. In other news …’
I muted the TV, picked up my iPhone and dialed Willis’s number at work. ‘Guess what?’ I said when he answered.
‘The kids have all run away and we are allowed to use their college money to retire and move to the South Pacific,’ he said.
I sighed. ‘Ah, if only. No. That guy – James Unger?’
‘What guy?’
‘The guy at the parking garage at the Driscoll!’ I said. How could he not know what guy?
‘Oh, yeah, the guy who jumped or fell—’
‘Neither!’ I said with an ‘ah ha’ to
And they were out the door.
The next morning had gone better for Mr Smith and Mr Jones. A trucker pulled into the Texaco station fairly early and agreed to take them as far as La Grange. From there it was a piece of cake finding a rental car agency (a different company than the last one, of course), and heading back to Black Cat Ridge.
They’d parked three doors down on the same side of the street as the Pugh home, hopeful that the cop on the other side of the Pughs wouldn’t see them. They’d been there almost half an hour when Mr Smith sat up in the new rental. ‘It’s them!’ he said excitedly. ‘They’re getting in the minivan!’
‘The one in the middle,’ Mr Jones said, ‘she’s the one that’s got the satchel thing.’
‘Yes, that’s right, Mr Jones,’ Mr Smith said.
Mr Jones looked excitedly at Mr Smith. ‘Now we can get the satchel!’
Mr Smith shook his head and gritted his teeth. ‘The satchel is in the school, remember? We can’t get it from them today. Maybe tomorrow.’
‘But what if they go to the school? What if that’s where they’re headed right now?’
Mr Smith thought about it for a moment, then pulled out after the minivan as it left the driveway. ‘OK, so we’ll follow them for a little while.’
It was Bess’s turn to drive the minivan. She pulled the seat up as far as it would go and started the engine. As they pulled into the Metroplex’s parking lot, she asked her sisters, ‘What color was that car Mrs Luna said was parked across the street from the house?’
‘Blue?’ Alicia said.
‘Yeah, I think so,’ Megan agreed.
‘Hum,’ Bess said, pulling into a parking spot only four city blocks from the theater.
‘What “hum”?’ Megan said, turning around in her shotgun seat to look behind them. ‘I don’t see a blue car!’
‘Me neither,’ Bess said, ‘but that white one has been following us since our street.’
She turned off the ignition and all three girls watched the white car slowly drive by.
‘Two dark-haired men,’ Alicia said. ‘One is taller – at least, he sits taller than the other.’
‘Is that what Mrs Luna described?’ Megan asked.
‘You really just don’t listen, do you?’ Bess said in disgust.
‘Get off my back!’ Megan shouted.
‘Hey, guys! Give it a rest! Is that them or not?’ Alicia said.
‘I dunno,’ Bess said. She sighed. ‘Let’s just go see what’s playing, OK?’
After the girls left, I fixed myself some lunch – a small salad and some fruit – and sat down in the family room to watch the noon news. After finding out we were in for at least seven more days of sunny weather, with highs of one hundred degrees for the third day in a row, and that one of the U.T. coaches had passed out during practice the day before from the heat (and he was just sitting on the sidelines), the real news came on.
‘A couple of days ago we reported that a man fell or jumped from the parking garage at the Driscoll Hotel in downtown Austin. The police released a statement today, saying that from information gleaned from the medical examiner and the crime scene investigators, they are declaring the death of James Unger from Houston a homicide.’
‘Shit!’ I said.
‘The report states that it appears Mr Unger was pushed. His wife, Elizabeth Unger, vice president of Pharmacopia, the pharmaceutical company owned by the Ungers, is still unavailable for comment. In other news …’
I muted the TV, picked up my iPhone and dialed Willis’s number at work. ‘Guess what?’ I said when he answered.
‘The kids have all run away and we are allowed to use their college money to retire and move to the South Pacific,’ he said.
I sighed. ‘Ah, if only. No. That guy – James Unger?’
‘What guy?’
‘The guy at the parking garage at the Driscoll!’ I said. How could he not know what guy?
‘Oh, yeah, the guy who jumped or fell—’
‘Neither!’ I said with an ‘ah ha’ to
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