Free Deceived by Laura S. Wharton Page B

shake and, instead, started talking about his vehicle. “I would like to trade this for something else. It’s got about 50,000 miles on it, runs great, and is clean, inside and out,” Sam forced himself to say.
    “You have the title on it?”
    “Yep. What have you got?”
    Bob smiled broadly and replied, “Whatever you need.” He put his arm around Sam’s shoulders and steered him through a row of used cars of various makes and models. Sam gravitated toward a red Dodge Ram 1500, and Bob pounced on his interest.
    “This here is a fine truck. What did you say your name is?”
    “Sam McClellan.”
    “Very good, Sam; this is the truck for you. I knew you were a truck man the second you drove onto the lot,” Bob beamed.
    Sam looked back at his own Blazer. Well, duh.
    He looked at the interior of the Ram and then under the hood while Bob started it up and roared the engine for effect.
    “May I drive?” Sam asked.
    “Why, of course.” Bob jumped out eagerly and ran around to the other side, his seatbelt fastened before Sam even had the driver’s door closed.
    Sam pulled out of the parking lot and headed north on 17, flooring it as only a cop in a chase would. He hit seventy miles per hour before the next stoplight and entrance to Topsail Beach. Bob held on for dear life as Sam jumped on the brakes, then did a U-turn in the middle of the road with the back end fishtailing at the speed.
    “You have insurance?” Bob asked just above a whisper.
    “Yep.” Sam floored it again and drove back to the car lot, wheeling in at a high speed.
    White-knuckled, Bob gingerly stepped out of the truck, clearly relieved to be back. Regaining his composure, he smoothed down the fly-away hair again and smiled. “You see? That truck was meant for you! If you have the title to yours, we’ll go ahead and make a deal today!”
    Sam looked over the truck one more time, and then he followed Bob into the trailer where bottle-blonde Glenda warmly greeted him like an old flame and offered him a cup of coffee as he sat at a small table filling out paperwork. After about twenty minutes, feeling like he had gotten a decent deal, Sam was off to a detailer across the street to get his “new” truck cleaned.
    Half an hour later, as he was leaving the detailer, Sam saw Bob driving the Blazer into the entrance to the detailer, waving to Sam as he emerged from the truck. Sam was quick to step on the pedal so he wouldn’t have to talk to Bob again.

Chapter fourteen
    Driving back down Highway 17, Sam thought about his conversation with Singleton. He exited toward Carolina Beach and headed toward the Golden Sun Hotel. Completed just a few months earlier, the new high-rise was an addition to an older motel with fifty-four oceanfront rooms. The complex stood as a landmark on the beach with two pools, beachfront rooms with balconies, a decent restaurant, and a gift shop. Since Sam had been out of the office for a few days, he knew nothing of the fire. And since he was not officially back on duty, he thought he would do an unannounced drive-by to see what he could uncover.
    When he arrived on the scene, Sam saw that the boys had already been there and had cordoned off an area of the new section that contained fire damage. He circled around the parking lot, surveying the hotel and its proximity to the beach.
    Sam parked near the two-story motel and casually walked into the lobby of the older low-rise. A pimple-faced teen leaning on the counter looking at a hotrod magazine jumped and stashed the magazine under the counter when he saw Sam approach the desk.
    “You want a room?”
    “No. Just looking around today. I have a family reunion coming up and wanted to book everybody here, but then I heard there was a fire, so I wanted to see how bad the damage is,” Sam lied.
    “The fire wasn’t here. It was in the new part, but it wasn’t too bad,” the kid said, leaning on the counter again.
    “Know what happened?”
    “I heard someone started it on