Free Mistaken Trust (The Jewels Trust Series) by Shirley Spain

original SPOF map in two and tucking it under her left arm along with the two envelopes, she dug her handbag out of the big drawer and whipped it over her right shoulder. Scampering to the door, she quickly unlocked it, flinging it open.
    Belinda, who had been standing next to the office door like an unsophisticated eavesdropper, reared back in surprise. “You all right, Jewels?”
    “Of course I’m all right, but thanks for asking,” she replied with a little too much pep in her voice while affectionately nudging Belinda on the arm as a show of gratitude for her concern.
    Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, Belinda strained a smile. “How about I walk you to your car,” she offered, zipping up her pink windbreaker and tightening the hood around her face for protection from what was soon to be pelting rain.
    “That would be great, especially if you don’t mind if we make a detour to Production.” A slight smile romped across Jewels’ face as she thought: except for the missing strip of iconic fur that should be encircling Belinda’s cinched up face, her secretary looked like a cartoon Eskimo bundled up for an ice fishing adventure.
    Belinda nodded that the detour was agreeable to her.
    “Please see that this goes out first thing tomorrow morning,” she said, handing her the letter addressed to Hines.
    Eying the addressee, Belinda widened her eyes. “Agent Hines, huh?” A playful grin vaulted across her face.
    Jewels answered with a simple tilt of her head.
    On the way out Jewels dropped off the other envelope in Production and casually stuffed the map in her purse. As they exited the building gabbing, Jewels laughed and giggled, purposely melodramatic, at nearly everything Belinda said. But between the bursts of forced gaiety, her eyes scoped the landscape. No sign of a green Dodge ... yet.

Chapter Six

    THE HUMVEE’S WINDSHIELD wipers slapped to the beat of the last few bars of the golden oldie. After a few commercial spots, the music resumed. It was CCR’s “Bad Moon Rising” ... again. And again Jewels wondered, Could the song be an omen of treachery to come?
    Her eyes cut to the rearview mirror. No sign of the green pickup. “Well, at least that’s a good omen,” Jewels assured herself, before singing along with the radio.
    The pelting rain subsided into occasional drops. The wipers screeched and moaned an irritating tune as they scraped against the nearly dry glass.
    Switching off the wipers, she piloted the Humvee around the bend of the sleepy highway. Her driveway came into view. A white sedan was parked on the opposite side of her rural mail box. The car reeked of plain clothes law enforcement. Locals or feds? Soon enough she’d know.
    Like magnificent skyscrapers lining the streets of downtown Manhattan, tall pines towered along both sides of the half-mile private lane, leisurely winding back to a spectacular two-story farmhouse dressed in a crisp, white wraparound porch. It was the perfect country home in the perfect, peaceful country setting.
    Jewels poked the garage door opener hooked on the sun visor. The door rose. As the big four wheeler crept into the garage, a quick look in the rearview mirror revealed the unmarked cop car had followed her down the lane. At least it wasn’t a green Dodge pickup.
    With the driver side door ajar, her left foot dangling out, she snatched the SPOF map out of her purse and carefully refolded the white paper placemat into a small square. Reaching under her left armpit inside her bra, she stuffed the map, adjusting it so the corner of the paper would not be revealed through the semi-sheer material of her white silk blouse. Picking up the bloody jacket and draping it over her arm, she slid out of the Hummer, slamming the door shut.
    Before exiting the garage, out of habit Jewels skimmed her hand under the front driver side wheel-well to verify the hideaway spare key to the Humvee was still there. It was. Hiding a spare key under the wheel-well of every vehicle