Free Stranded by Alice Sharpe Page A

parked with their hoods open and various engine parts scattered about. There was no sign that Billy had practiced his green thumb on his mother’s land.
    The sun was just coming up behind the hills, a yellow glow doing its best to break from under the haze like smothered candlelight. For a minute Alex stopped walking and listened. Birds had begun chirping, tree branches hung low and damp from the mist. There didn’t seem to be any unexplained noises. He shined his light on the shed and found a lock securing the door through the hasp to which it was affixed. There were scratch marks and gouges on the wooden door as though someone had tried to pry the lock off. There was no way of telling how old they were.
    A lean-to had been erected next to the shed and he shone his light there next. It was stuffed to the top with garbage bags and cardboard boxes, used motor parts and heaven knew what else. The light dispersed several rats who scurried off under the debris.
    He backed away and shone the light around the yard one more time. As water dripped down his neck, he found himself shaking his head. What in the world would anyone steal in a place like this? Lynda Summers was absolutely delusional.
    He walked back to find Jessica standing on the porch, Lynda still in the house by the door. “Well?” she demanded.
    “It’s possible someone tried to enter your shed. It doesn’t appear they were successful.”
    “That was probably Billy’s doing,” Lynda said. “He keeps his engine parts out there and he’s always losing the blasted key. You look like a drowned rat. Go home and tell Frank thanks a lot when you see him.”
    “Let us know if you have further problems,” Alex said as he reached up to take Jessica’s hand and help her down the rickety stairs.
    * * *
    “I TRIED TO talk to her about her son and his living conditions while you were outside,” Jessica said as they pulled up in front of a diner they’d last frequented years before. It looked to her that it had changed hands. Bright lights and plaid curtains on the windows gave it a homey, welcoming appearance.
    “Have any luck?” Alex asked.
    “None. I met her years ago when Billy was in my class. She was odd then, she’s odder now.”
    “What an understatement,” he said, holding the door open for her. They were greeted by the delicious smells of coffee and bacon. She thought it must be amazing to Alex to be in a restaurant after months of cooking his own food over a campfire.
    Alex called around while they waited for their order to be delivered. He jotted down the airport mechanic’s phone number on his paper napkin, then called the man. When he hung up, he shook his head.
    “Billy has never been to Tony’s house,” he said. “In fact, Tony sounded surprised I’d even suggest such a thing.”
    “Maybe Billy has a life his mother knows nothing about,” Jessica said. “One that includes friends. After what we saw this morning, I have to say I sincerely hope that’s true.”
    “Yeah.”
    Jessica took a deep breath. She was going to be a mother soon. She couldn’t imagine ever talking about her child as Lynda Summers had talked of Billy.
    “What are you going to tell Frank Smyth?”
    “Exactly what happened. I’m hoping he volunteers the reason he was in the middle of such a routine call and why he sent a detective out for something that should have been handled by a patrolman. I can’t quite make sense of it.”
    Their food was delivered right as Alex unfolded the newspaper someone had left on the bench seat. As Jessica buttered her waffle, he groaned. “Look at this,” he said, holding the paper so she could see the photo below the fold. There was Chief Smyth with his arm around Alex’s shoulder and a big grin on his face. “Chief Frank Smyth welcomes home Detective Alex Foster,” the blurb beneath it announced.
    “Good heavens,” Jessica said.
    “There’s a whole recap of the same story they ran Saturday,” Alex said. “People are