|
|
|
|
|
|
|
directions to the Widow Austin's place?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Angie. Her name was Angie." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"How interesting. You remember her name, huh?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Easy name to remember," I lied. Actually I didn't have the foggiest idea why I remembered the girl's name. "Why?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Thought you didn't like flat-chested women?" B.C. purred. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Damn it, B.C., I'm too tired to play games. What about the girl?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"From what I'm told, she's the one who went out to get Bert and Polly. She supposedly took a van so that they could get Polly's wheelchair." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Well, apparently nobody has seen her since." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"What about the Johnsons?" |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"No one has seen them either." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Madden's reaction was the same as mine. The three of us jumped into his four-by-four and hightailed it for the old motel. The whole process of informing him on what we had learned and racing the mile and a half to the motel took less than five minutes, even with the fog. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It took no more than a couple of steps to hit the motel's front door, throw it open and half-hurdle my old body into the tiny lobby. Bert had the shotgun at waist level, finger on the trigger, ready to fire. The look on his |
|
|
|
|
|