Free The Blood We Spill: Suspense with a Dash of Humor (The Letty Whittaker 12 Step Mysteries) by Donna White Glaser Page B

quivered.
    I reached in and squeezed his shoulder. “I’ll tell
her. Now, you better get going. I don’t want any questions about why I’m
getting dropped off by a handsome banker in a BMW.”
    Jimmy smiled wanly at my weak attempt at humor,
looking as if he had five hundred different things he wanted to say. Whatever
they were, he swallowed them down and drove off.
    I watched the car disappear down the street before
dragging my jumble of suitcases over to a metal bench tucked along the
cinder-block wall of the store. The air had a thin end-of-October crispness to
it, making me shiver in my jean jacket. The sky hung gray, threatening snow,
although it was early for it. I tucked my hands between my knees and hoped it
would be a short wait.
    Perching with my butt on the backrest, feet on the
seat, gave me a bird’s-eye view of the parking lot, but drew attention as well.
Shoppers heading into the store glanced curiously at me and my haphazard nest
of belongings. Not a common sight in small-town Wisconsin. When we made eye
contact, folks would smile slightly, and we would share a friendly “howdy” nod.
Most looked puzzled, obviously trying to work out how I could possibly have
misplaced my U-haul, but were too polite to comment.
     
    A fter a half
hour of chilly breezes blowing up my skirt, my legs were chicken-fleshed and my
butt numb. A beat-up blue van that looked like it could comfortably seat four
soccer teams and their moms shuddered to a stop in the fire lane in front of
me. The driver stepped out, smiling. He was tall and rangy with thick, dark
hair and a clipped beard. Easter play directors would cast him as
Jesus—probably a handy image in a cult—but he looked more like a cowboy. A sexy
cowboy.
    Still in the van, Rachel thrashed in a wicked
battle with the unyielding passenger-side door. I could hear her thumping and
kicking from inside. But Cowboy, intent on introductions, ignored the uproar.
    “Maranatha,” he said. “Are you Betty?”
    “Letty,” I corrected him. “Is, um, Rachel okay?”
    He turned as if realizing his companion’s
predicament for the first time. “Oh, hey. Sorry about that.” He hauled the door
open with a wrenching creak, and Rachel lurched to the pavement. Her brief
struggle for self-control gave her a constipated look, but she erased the
irritated expression from her face with an effort.
    Cowboy and I shook hands, and I learned his name.
Justus’s hand felt like he had been holding it against the van’s heater the
whole way here. His delft-blue eyes splashed color over the dreary day. I stood
too long staring at them, causing a knowing grin to flash across his face. Oh,
boy.
    Like me, Rachel was in a calf-length skirt, which
snapped around her legs. The dropping temperature spurred us into action. As we
slung my bags into the back of the van, I noticed a sticker fixed to the rusty
bumper that warned “In Case Of Rapture, This Car Will Be Unmanned.”
    Well, there’s a cheery thought.
    After making such a mystery of the group’s
location, I half expected to be blindfolded. Instead, we headed north up
Highway 53 and then northeast for another hour. It was a depressing ride. The
beautiful autumn color had been leached from the trees, leaving the dullness of
browns and tans to muddy the landscape.
    The Midwest has more than four seasons, but we
don’t usually talk about the others. There are long, dreary spans of time that
bracket both ends of winter. The days we fight to slog through—head down, feet
dragging—just to get to the other side. Newcomers fear ice, snow, and the cold
of winter. Locals don’t. Winter is crisp and clear. Unambiguous. Winter can
kill you, but you’ll see it coming. It’s the gray days that we dread. Gray days
pull us down with the demise of green things, the monotony of slush. 
    This was probably not a helpful frame of mind.
    I knew we were somewhere east of Hayward, but I
was too unfamiliar with the area to know for sure. Justus finally