Gone South (A Butterscotch Jones Mystery Book 3) by Melanie Jackson Page A

cards.
    “Damn it.” I reached into my left coat pocket and found something hard and rectangular hiding among the rubber bands , tissue , and hard candy. It was about a half inch wide and an inch and a half long.
    “What?” Chuck asked. “Did you find something?”
    I moved the plastic thing in my hand up to the dash where it caught the light of a passing street lamp.
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “A USB memory stick. For a computer.” Chuck sounded excited.
    Chuck’s portable computer had been on his desk near where I found the thug with the scar.
    “I guess we know what he was looking for on your desk . I wonder what’s on it. ”
    “ Me too. I mean, it could be anything. By anything, I mean something really important. So, I have a plan. I’m going to get you to Seven Forks and leave you with Anatoli, then I am taking the memory stick back to headquarters. This is probably something vital . Maybe career making. I’ll have to think of some way to explain how I got it. Maybe the intruder dropped it during the struggle .”
    That Chuck wanted to make his career came as a bit of a surprise. He had been sounding awfully disenchanted.
    “Okay. I’ll be glad to be rid of it. ” I turned in my seat again and looked back . “Do you think that car is following us?”
    “Yes, but it’s the main road to the highway.”
    “Oh.” I tried to relax. “May I have your phone?”
    Chuck pulled it out of his coat pocket and handed it over.
    “I wish I’d thought to charge it, not that there is much of a signal out here, ” he said while I dialed Big John.
    My mind was on other things. Our mayor wasn’t going to be happy about the early morning call.
    “Be careful what you say,” Chuck reminded me. “Others may still be listening.”
    The phone only made it through half a ringtone before it was picked up . It turned out that Big John was up already and waiting for me to check in.
    We of t he Gulch have learned that television and telephones are not among the necessities of life at least ninety-nine percent of the time . And when you really need either, they can be had at the pub. My neighbors had been dropping in since I left, watching the news, hoping to hear nothing about an arrest at the border. As a social service, Big John had taken to leaving the TV on all the time and that was how my friends knew before I did that my father was dead. The strange killing at the hospital had made the news. There was no mention made of Chuck or me, but the coincidence was too large to ignore.
    I wasn’t shocked to hear this bulletin relayed from the mayor , but still it gave me a chill. Whatever my father had been doing down in t he States , it was enough to get him murdered and to send a killer across the border to chase after me.
    “The Wings is here,” Big John said. “Should I send him up to Winnipeg to collect you ? You’d be safer here, eh? ”
    It would take him about two hours to get here. If he was fueled up. If he was sober. Did we want to wait that long? How soon would the body be discovered — and by whom ?
    “No. We ’re in the Range Rover. We’ll try for Seven Forks. If he can, have t he Wings meet us there tomorrow . Big John,” I paused ; cell phones are not private and this being Chuck’s phone, there truly could be listeners. “Sasha is with you, isn’t he?”
    Sasha was Big John’s son-in-law. He had also once been known as t he Butcher of Minsk. I felt Chuck look my way.
    “He’s here. Misha is visiting too. Right now, Anatoli, Alex e i , and Ivan are at their cabin at Seven Forks . They’d be pleased if you stopped in. I could let them know to expect you. ”
    “That’ s good, and we may do that. Just be sure Sasha and Misha stay around t he Gulch until I get back.”
    “Will do. It’s like that then, is it?” He meant organized crime as opposed to the police.
    “Yeah , different flavor but the same recipe . Haven’t seen any signs of other parties following us , but it’s early days