Foul Play
“She could see them through the window in the clinic waiting room. They were sitting in their van, drinking soda, doing crossword puzzles. Creepy, Amy thought. She was living in a goldfish bowl. She had weasely little men following her around, waiting for her to say the wrong thing, waiting for her to make the wrong move. A shiver ran down her spine. Definitely creepy.
She watched Jake come chugging into the lot and breathed a sigh of relief. Jake, the trusty dispeller of gloom and doom. The kni...ght of the breakfast table. Slayer of dragons and rude newsmen.
Her hero coasted to a stop beside the van. His maroon jeep-thing shuddered violently, backfired, and settled down to a brooding, sullen silence.
Mrs. Boyd jumped from her seat in the waiting area. “What was that? Was that a gunshot?”
Amy sent her a crooked smile. “That was Dr. Elliott. His car backfired.”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Boyd said. “I’d forgotten about his car.”
Jake came whistling into the office with Spot in tow, a new tie dangling from the collar of his button-down shirt and the morning paper under his arm.MoreLess
She watched Jake come chugging into the lot and breathed a sigh of relief. Jake, the trusty dispeller of gloom and doom. The kni...ght of the breakfast table. Slayer of dragons and rude newsmen.
Her hero coasted to a stop beside the van. His maroon jeep-thing shuddered violently, backfired, and settled down to a brooding, sullen silence.
Mrs. Boyd jumped from her seat in the waiting area. “What was that? Was that a gunshot?”
Amy sent her a crooked smile. “That was Dr. Elliott. His car backfired.”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Boyd said. “I’d forgotten about his car.”
Jake came whistling into the office with Spot in tow, a new tie dangling from the collar of his button-down shirt and the morning paper under his arm.MoreLess
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