Free Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) by Larissa Reinhart

out.”
    “What do you mean? Go to the rest stop?” I dropped my gaze to my boots.
    “Baby, I know you. You’ll be stewing about this all night, wondering how this happened to Tyrone. You are a curious type of person. You’re fixing to drive out there, just to see for yourself, aren’t you?”
    “I am curious. But I thought it might seem morbid.”
    Todd pulled me into his body for a long hug. “I don’t care what the town thinks. You’re a good woman, caring about folks like murdered copper thieves. Let me take you to the rest stop. I love doing stuff like that with you.”
    I shoved off his chest. “Don’t go getting any ideas. I’m still not talking to you. That also means no hugs.”
    “Sure, baby,” Todd grinned. “Whatever you say.”

    Todd parked his little, red hatchback before the low pitched building holding Georgia travel brochures, soda machines, and bathrooms. We hopped out of the Civic and studied the empty car park area. The evening air had cooled. I shivered in my beaded flag t-shirt, but the goose bumps rose from the lonely setting, not the chill. We could hear the whine of motors zipping down the interstate toward Atlanta or Alabama. Behind the building, the low rumble of a parked diesel truck hummed.
    I looked at Todd. “Guess we better head around back. That’s where Tyrone would have seen the hijack. Maybe there’s still yellow tape marking off the areas. The police would have already scoured for evidence in both crimes, so there won’t be much to see.”
    We followed the sidewalk around the back of the building. A lone Georgia State Patrol vehicle had parked on the edge of the lot. Under the yellow glow of a streetlamp, one semi pulling a long trailer rested near the woods. The GSP car door opened and a tall figure in full uniform stepped out of the vehicle.
    “Rest stop closes at ten,” he said. “On your way to Atlanta?”
    “No, just stretching our legs,” I called. “Going to sit at one of these picnic tables for a minute.”
    “Don’t take too long. Stay away from the taped off areas.” The officer left his door open and leaned against the car, folding his arms. “I can see y’all from here.”
    “Yes, sir,” said Todd.
    We crossed the lot, heading toward the wooded picnic area behind the truck parking. With the dim light from the parking lot lights, we could spy the yellow tape looped around a stand of spindly pines in the distance. I stopped at the edge of the blacktop. My shoulders drooped. Todd laid a gentle hand on my neck.
    “Tyrone didn’t get very far into the woods,” I said. “That perp has balls of steel. If anyone drove up, they would have witnessed the murder.”
    “I don’t get why they didn’t kill Tyrone right away,” said Todd. “Were there any other trucks parked back here during the hijack?”
    “Good question. My guess would be no, unless the drivers slept pretty hard. They would have heard gun fire.”
    “Maybe the hijacker saw Tyrone but thought it was too late to do anything about him,” said Todd.
    “If I had just shot someone in cold blood and then saw a witness, I would not let that witness get away.”
    Todd pulled his hand off my shoulder.
    “They must have heard about it after the fact,” I explained. “Or followed Tyrone.”
    “Do you think they know about you?” said Todd. “That you drew a picture of the killer?”
    A breeze rattled the leaves on a sweetgum tree and I shivered. “Why would that matter?” My pitch drew high and loud, and I lowered my voice. “As far as anyone knows, that composite was drawn by a cop. I didn’t sign the sketch.” Did I? I drew my hands in to clutch my arms as I tried to remember if I had. Signing pieces had become a habit from school. Why would I sign a sketch, though?
    A breeze carried the sound of someone heavy thrashing through a pile of leaves. I jumped, and Todd grabbed my arm. We backed onto the blacktop, and I glanced over my shoulder to check on the State Patrol officer. A