Free That Runaway Summer by Darlene Gardner Page B

Bradford, who’d been elected last November in a special election after the previous mayor was unable to finish his term due to poor health. “You don’t mind if I straighten up as we talk, do you?”
    “I’ll help.” Jill walked with Annie to a shelf containing bottles of suntan lotion and insect repellent in no discernible order. “So what’s up with Charlie? Did he tell you any jokes?”
    “A quote, not a joke,” Annie said. “Something about a lie traveling halfway around the world while the truth was putting on its shoes.”
    “Teresa says politics have given him a whole new source of material,” Jill said, referring to Charlie’s wife. She’d become acquainted with the couple during the spring festival and liked them immensely, especially Charlie, partly because he was so delightfully corny.
    “Charlie was actually calling about something serious.” Annie picked up a bottle of Coppertone that had fallen on the floor and placed it back on the shelf. “He knows I rent out mountain bikes and wanted to fill me in on a race called the Poconos Challenge.”
    “I’ve heard of it,” Jill said slowly.
    “Oh, good. Then you’ll be up to speed when Charlie contacts you.”
    “Why would Charlie call me?” Jill asked.
    “He’s looking for a cyclist to present the proposal to the nominating committee.” Annie stood back and surveyed the straightened shelf, apparently satisfied. “I told him he should try you.”
    “I don’t think—”
    The phone rang, interrupting Jill.
    “I’ve got to get that.” Annie moved toward the counter, talking as she went. “No one else is around today. My dad’s got the day off, although I had to twist his arm to get him to take it.” She picked up on the third ring, answering, “Indigo River Rafters.”
    Annie’s smile grew wide as she listened to the caller. “You sure can talk to her, Dan,” she said, her twinkling eyes on Jill. “She’s right here.”
    She covered the mouthpiece and held out the phone to Jill, her eyebrows shifting up and down. “He sure does call a lot for a man who’s not interested in you,” she said in a loud whisper.
    Darned if Jill’s heartbeat didn’t speed up.
    She took the phone, avoiding looking at Annie. “Hey, Dan.”
    “We’ve got a problem,” he said. “Your brother overheard me talking to that farmer about Tinkerbell. Now Chris is missing and so is the goat.”

    T HE QUAINT DOWNTOWN of Indigo Springs, with its array of businesses that catered to families, afforded a lot of places for a ten-year-old boy to hide.
    Add in a half-blind pygmy goat with its leg in a cast and that changed things.
    Dan figured he and Jill should have located the pair in about five minutes flat. It had been twice that long since he’d met Jill in front of the vet’s office, and so far they had no leads.
    They spotted the bored-looking man sitting in the shade on a park bench outside a Main Street boutique at about the same time. From his seat, the man had a panoramic view of the downtown street where tourists strolled past restaurants, specialty shops and art galleries.
    Jill reached him first, approaching with a smile, as she had every other person they’d questioned. She wore an Indigo River Rafters ball cap, quick-dry shorts, a T-shirt and old tennis shoes, yet still managed to look beautiful.
    “Sorry to bother you,” she said in her unhurried drawl, “but we’re looking for a ten-year-old boy—”
    “He hasn’t been found yet?” the man interrupted, his heavy dark eyebrows arching. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest. “He’s been missing for a good while.”
    “Pardon me for asking, but how do you know how long he’s been missing?” Jill asked.
    “I’ve been sitting here waiting for my wife to finish her shopping for what seems like forever. A fellow came by—” the man paused and scratched his chin “—oh, must have been a half hour ago and showed me a photo.”
    Jill’s hand flew to her throat. Her face