The News in Small Towns (Small Town Series, Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

would be a box or rack of items that was not there before.
    Thing is, though, Meekins’ didn’t sell goats, didn’t sell meat of any kind.  I pulled off the road and stopped in front of the market.  I switched off the ignition and the headlights.  It was still dark, although the light haze of a rising sun could be discerned through the trees.  The place would be opening up soon and I could ask some questions.  In the meantime, I wanted to see the dumpster.  I grabbed a flashlight from the glove box, got out of the truck, and began walking around the side of the stall toward the back of the Quonset hut.  Halfway there I heard a harsh clatter like the heavy door of a dumpster being opened or closed.  Had Clarence gotten there ahead of me?  I hadn’t seen his car, but he lived just across the street and could have walked over.  Or maybe his mom, who tended the register nearly every day from sunup to sundown.  I walked faster.
    “That you, Clarence?” I shouted.  “It’s Sue-Ann.”  Another clatter and a hush of voices, then hurried footsteps.  I rounded the aluminum building and cast the light from my flash at the square green dumpster sitting just inside the tree line.  But no Clarence.  I shone my light at the trees and caught what looked to be the shadow of running legs and I heard the crunch of heavy boots on dry leaves.
    “Wait!” I called loudly, and sprinted the last twenty yards to the treeline.  I moved the light back and forth, lasering the trees and shrubs but caught no sign of the person I thought I had seen running away.  I wanted to follow whoever it was—the flashlight revealed a faint trail through the high grass—but even that short run had tuckered me out and set my heart groaning.  I had to go down on my haunches to rest.  I went through a litany of curses—some in different languages—but none did any good.
    Clomping footsteps approached from the direction of the market and I heard a familiar voice shout, “Who’s back here?”
    I managed to stand up and compose myself. “It’s me, Clarence.  Sue-Ann.”
    I clicked off my flashlight as Clarence came into view.  Clarence was a big man, and he looked bigger in the semi-darkness.  He was wearing his inevitable brogans and blue overalls and his hair was slicked back like he had just gotten out of the shower.  The only odd thing about him was the shotgun he was toting.  The stock was held in his right hand; the barrel lay loosely in the crook of his left elbow.  “God’s balls, Sue-Ann.  What are you doin back here?”
    “Working on a—” I had to stop and take a couple of breaths.  “Working on a story about that goat,” I managed.  “For The Courier .  You figure on using that shotgun on me?”
    “Not if you ain’t killed no livestock and put em in my garbage.”
    I started to retort, but Clarence waved away my words.  “Just kiddin, Sue-Ann.  Saw your truck pull up just as I was ready to come over.  Thought you were an early customer.”  Clarence walked over to the dumpster and peered inside.  Then he looked back at me. “You open the door?” he asked.
    “No, I . . . I was going to, but somebody was already here.  I chased them for a while. . . .”
    “Wondered why you were huffin and puffin so.  Did you see who it was?”
    “Too dark.  And whoever it was heard me coming.  Ran off into the woods right in there.”
    Clarence walked to the edge of the woods and peered into the darkness.  When he turned back around he looked pensive.  Holding the shotgun in his left hand he walked back to where I waited.  “Still workin for The Courier , eh?” he asked.
    “Yeah.  But if you want me to talk you’ve got to give me coffee.”
    His face brightened as more of the sun crept through the trees.  “Got some fresh beans yesterday morning,” he told me.  “Had to drive down to Panama City to get em.  Got some ground and ready for the pot.”
    “Let me get my purse out of the