Read Online Barbara Graham - Quilted 05 - Murder by Sunlight by Barbara Graham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Graham
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ease him into the remainder of the story.
“Some great big dude in a shirt with the sleeves ripped out jumped on the top of my truck and I thought the roof was caving in. He said he wanted to ride next.” Anger was filling in some of the places where guilt and fear had been. “He broke it. See? Look at my truck.”
Sure enough. The roof on a not new, not old, dark green extended cab pickup showed definite signs of having experienced too much weight.
“Then what happened?” Tony studied the man’s face as he stared at his damaged truck. Anger seemed to be pumping some energy into his system.
“I made him get off. There was a bit of a skirmish and then it was over. The big dude had a monster of a pickup and it was all jacked up high, you know, with way oversized tires. Practically need a ladder to get into it.”
“Go on,” Tony suggested. He was appalled and fascinated by the scenario being described by Logan.
“Well, we’re zooming around the streets, Curry is standing on the top of the monster truck laughing like crazy, and the big dude is driving. And then, all the sudden”—he paused, breathing heavily—“everything went quiet. Curry was gone. Man, he was just gone. He wasn’t on the truck. Wasn’t in the bed. We drove up and down looking on the roads, the shoulders, and the ditches. It was like he’d been abducted by aliens.”
“Okay.” Tony rose, dusting off the seat of his pants. “As they say on television—don’t leave town.”
Logan’s bloodshot eyes watered in the bright sunlight. “What happened to Curry?”
Wade was already on the radio, looking for information about the monster truck when Tony explained the result of the evening’s entertainment.
“In a tree? I had no idea. Now I’m sorry I was complaining about a little road rash.”
In a community the size of Silersville, it didn’t take long before Tony and Wade located their new surfer dude, or at least his probable vehicle. Logan had not exaggerated the height and size of the dazzling orange truck’s tires. Theo would need a full-size ladder just to reach the door handle. He and Wade studied the vehicle from several angles. There were a couple of scratches that looked a bit fresh, but Tony had no way of knowing what caused them. Their dead surfer had been wearing tennis shoes.
The truck’s owner, a bleached blond giant, hurried out the front door of his house, letting the door slam behind him. “Did somebody hit my truck? Is she all right?”
“This is yours?” Tony wanted to be sure he was talking to the owner.
“Sure is. Isn’t she a beauty?” The giant grinned and patted the tailgate like it was a pet. “Every dime I make goes into maintaining it.”
“And your name?” Wade turned to a fresh page in his notebook.
“Uh . . .” The man hesitated. “Everyone calls me L.L. It stands for Larry Lowell.”
Tony decided his expression said it all. For whatever reason, L.L. hated his given name. “Where do you work?”
“I, uh, I’m between jobs.” The giant looked puzzled. “Say, is there a problem?”
“Do you know Miles Curry?”
Shaggy eyebrows lowered, shielding his eyes. “Don’t believe so. He ever use a different name?”
“Okay, skip the name. What were you doing two nights ago?” Tony wouldn’t be surprised if none of the men had bothered to introduce themselves to one another.
“Two nights?” L.L. massaged his earlobe with a hand the size of a baseball glove. At length his eyes brightened, the eyebrows raised. “I had dinner over at The Okay, drove around a bit lookin’ to see if anyone I knew was out and about, you know, and come back and watched the tube, baseball mostly.”
Tony wasn’t sure what to believe. He was usually happier when people’s stories bore some relationship to each other—not the exact phrasing or word for word, because in most cases that meant they were working from a script—but he did like it when everyone was at least talking about events
“Some great big dude in a shirt with the sleeves ripped out jumped on the top of my truck and I thought the roof was caving in. He said he wanted to ride next.” Anger was filling in some of the places where guilt and fear had been. “He broke it. See? Look at my truck.”
Sure enough. The roof on a not new, not old, dark green extended cab pickup showed definite signs of having experienced too much weight.
“Then what happened?” Tony studied the man’s face as he stared at his damaged truck. Anger seemed to be pumping some energy into his system.
“I made him get off. There was a bit of a skirmish and then it was over. The big dude had a monster of a pickup and it was all jacked up high, you know, with way oversized tires. Practically need a ladder to get into it.”
“Go on,” Tony suggested. He was appalled and fascinated by the scenario being described by Logan.
“Well, we’re zooming around the streets, Curry is standing on the top of the monster truck laughing like crazy, and the big dude is driving. And then, all the sudden”—he paused, breathing heavily—“everything went quiet. Curry was gone. Man, he was just gone. He wasn’t on the truck. Wasn’t in the bed. We drove up and down looking on the roads, the shoulders, and the ditches. It was like he’d been abducted by aliens.”
“Okay.” Tony rose, dusting off the seat of his pants. “As they say on television—don’t leave town.”
Logan’s bloodshot eyes watered in the bright sunlight. “What happened to Curry?”
Wade was already on the radio, looking for information about the monster truck when Tony explained the result of the evening’s entertainment.
“In a tree? I had no idea. Now I’m sorry I was complaining about a little road rash.”
In a community the size of Silersville, it didn’t take long before Tony and Wade located their new surfer dude, or at least his probable vehicle. Logan had not exaggerated the height and size of the dazzling orange truck’s tires. Theo would need a full-size ladder just to reach the door handle. He and Wade studied the vehicle from several angles. There were a couple of scratches that looked a bit fresh, but Tony had no way of knowing what caused them. Their dead surfer had been wearing tennis shoes.
The truck’s owner, a bleached blond giant, hurried out the front door of his house, letting the door slam behind him. “Did somebody hit my truck? Is she all right?”
“This is yours?” Tony wanted to be sure he was talking to the owner.
“Sure is. Isn’t she a beauty?” The giant grinned and patted the tailgate like it was a pet. “Every dime I make goes into maintaining it.”
“And your name?” Wade turned to a fresh page in his notebook.
“Uh . . .” The man hesitated. “Everyone calls me L.L. It stands for Larry Lowell.”
Tony decided his expression said it all. For whatever reason, L.L. hated his given name. “Where do you work?”
“I, uh, I’m between jobs.” The giant looked puzzled. “Say, is there a problem?”
“Do you know Miles Curry?”
Shaggy eyebrows lowered, shielding his eyes. “Don’t believe so. He ever use a different name?”
“Okay, skip the name. What were you doing two nights ago?” Tony wouldn’t be surprised if none of the men had bothered to introduce themselves to one another.
“Two nights?” L.L. massaged his earlobe with a hand the size of a baseball glove. At length his eyes brightened, the eyebrows raised. “I had dinner over at The Okay, drove around a bit lookin’ to see if anyone I knew was out and about, you know, and come back and watched the tube, baseball mostly.”
Tony wasn’t sure what to believe. He was usually happier when people’s stories bore some relationship to each other—not the exact phrasing or word for word, because in most cases that meant they were working from a script—but he did like it when everyone was at least talking about events
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