Death Stretch Read Online Free

naïve to take precautions.”
    “So I'm off the suspect list?”
    “I didn't say that. We're investigating everyone. I'll be back when I have more questions.” “Don't forget to lock your door.” He pointed his index finger at me. “And don't leave town.”
    “Sheesh.”
    He stomped out the door, leaving me with too many questions and a vague sense of unrest. If only we hadn't gotten interrupted at Mona's before she'd told us why Morgan had been headed to Corpseville.
    Crap. I should have mentioned Mona to Detective Johnson. On second thought, good thing I hadn't. Her information could lead the cops right back to Ginger.

Chapter Three
    Ginger answered on the first ring, her voice low and urgent. “I can't talk now. Rob just got home. I'll call you later.”
    I stared at the receiver, the dial tone loud and clear. What the ...?
    My stomach growled almost as loud as the dial tone, so I replaced the receiver and headed for the kitchen. Ginger never hung up on me. And where had her husband been on a Sunday morning? He wasn't a church-going man, and a small paunch indicated he'd taken a hiatus from running.
    Morgan's death was making me crazy. Ginger and I considered Morgan an unlikely blackmailer. So the threat remained. Maybe Mona could shed light on the situation.
    I hopped on my bike and headed for the Chocolate Fix. Yeah, I know. More exercise on the same weekend. I needed to stop before fitness turned into a habit, but I had no choice. My car sat in the shop and the bike remained my only transportation. Ginger offered to lend me a car but I didn't want the responsibility. The combined cost of the Howe vehicles could purchase three of my bungalows.
    ****
    Dang. I stood in front of the Fix, lungs heaving and sweat once more pouring off my forehead. Too bad I forgot Mona closed on Sunday, but then it wasn't every weekend I became a murder suspect.
    I should let things go. Yeah. Just go home.
    Avoiding my sweaty reflection in the store window, I eased onto the bike seat and peddled toward home. I didn't need a mirror to know my black hair stuck to my head, and my brown eyes looked like they belonged on a velvet painting.
    Having taken the same route hundreds of times, I pedaled by rote, barely noticing the houses of friends and neighbors I passed every day. Too bad I couldn't put my brain on automatic. My mind kept replaying the previous day's events. Detective Johnson stayed at the forefront of the memories.
    Morgan's face floated to mind. Such a vital man. Dead.
    Ginger, threatened by a blackmailer who might or might not have been Morgan.
    Me, questioned by the police. Treated like a criminal. Told I couldn’t leave town.
    Could my life get any worse?
    The hair on the back of my neck stood up. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a dark SUV with tinted windows ten feet behind me. Strange. He had plenty of room to pass me on the back street. The engine noise revved up.
    Time to get this moron on his way. I motioned for him to pass, but he hung back. The engine raced. I glanced over my shoulder. Sunlight glared off the SUV’s chrome grill. I winced. My eyes closed, but not before I saw the vehicle veer toward me. Crap, he wouldn’t miss me. I needed to move and fast.
    I swerved to the side and ran up the Haywood's driveway, steering with one hand. I hit a rock. The bike dropped to the side and so did I. My hands took the brunt of the impact, scraping as I sandpapered the cement. I rolled to a sitting position.
    The SUV raced off, now too far away to catch the plate. If I hadn't turned sharply onto the drive, I’d be hamburger.
    My hands stung. I cradled them to my chest, breathing quickly and trying not to cry. I don't know how long I'd been blubbering when Mrs. Haywood ran from her house, a first-aid kit in one hand and cell phone in the other. My mind blanked as she fussed over me.
    I had to stop asking rhetorical questions. Yes, life could get worse. Much worse. If the SUV driver hadn't just proved that fact, the