Free Just Over The Mountain by Robyn Carr

was slanting over the tall trees to the west and casting a soft light into the room. Dust motes floated in the soft rays of dusk light. Amelia and Endeara, for all the hours they spent at Hudson House, weren’t much for housekeeping.
    Myrna took another leisurely stretch before sitting in a large wicker chair. “Specifically, what?” she asked.
    Amelia arrived with drinks on a tray and a little bowl of Goldfish snack crackers.
    “Tom called me earlier today. He said he’d run some bird-watcher off your property. He’d parked on the road and—”
    “Yes, I met him.” Myrna closed her eyes and took a tiny sip of her martini. She smacked her lips, then opened her eyes. “Faraday. Nice fellow. I told him he could bird-watch, but not around the house. The Barstows get all excited if they see anyone lurking about. And I told him to take special care by the hydrangeas. They’re delicate.”
    “You talked to him?” June asked.
    “Yes, June. He knocked at the door.”
    “You shouldn’t be answering the door!”
    Myrna looked both bored and annoyed. “June, I don’t even lock the door.”
    “Well, you should definitely lock the door!”
    “You don’t lock your door!”
    June made a face. She was locking it now, now that she had a secret lover who sometimes appeared as though out of the mist. Her secret lover might be an expert lock picker, but her father wasn’t. “Well, you’re a famous author. You remember that couple, what was their name?”
    “I’m not famous. Everyone but the neighbors thinks I’m dead. They think other writers are writing my books. Why, at my last signing in Garberville, there were only two people I haven’t known for over twenty years!”
    “But you let him in? You talked to him? I don’t think he’s really a—”
    “Actually, no, I didn’t invite him in. I felt badly about that. I told him I was quite too busy to have him in, but he should feel free to bird-watch on Hudson land, as long as he didn’t hurt anything and stayed off the hydrangeas. He said the police had run him off, so he wanted to be sure to ask permission. He seems a perfectly nice young man.”
    “But Tom doesn’t think he’s really a bird-watcher, so now will you lock your doors?”
    Myrna sipped her martini and said, “If it’ll make you feel better, June.” By her expression, she had absolutely no intention of doing so.
     
    Tom was almost home for dinner when he was radioed by Deputy Ricky Rios that Ray Gilmore had called the police department, irate. Ray had a modest garden and henhouse that someone had raided, robbing him of eggs and ripe tomatoes.
    Tom was nonplussed. “What does he want me to do? Read a fox his rights?”
    “He says some kids have been throwing eggs and tomatoes at vehicles on 482, just about two miles north of Rainbow.”
    That perked his interest. “That so?” he asked as his foot came down harder on the gas pedal. “I’m not far from there now.”
    A road heavily traveled in the country, 482 cut through a hill that rose up sharply on each side of the road. Tom slowed to look around just as he entered the pass. Before ten seconds had gone by there was a large splat on his windshield. Runny yolk ran down into the wiper tray.
    “I’ll be goddamned,” he swore in disbelief. He slammed on the brakes, spun the Range Rover around and jumped out of the car in time to see the foliageripple all the way to the top of the hill as the culprits made away. “That’s balls,” he said aloud.
    But no one knew the hills and roads better than Tom. He drove his SUV down the road a bit before he pulled it over to the side, got out and locked the door. He picked up a path that would cut around to the opposite side of the hill. He crouched a little, keeping low, as he crept along the path. He saw a flash of light-colored clothing—a shirt or a jacket—as a kid darted across the stones of the creek bed, coming right for him. Tom put himself behind a tree and just waited. When the moment