Free An Arm and a Leg by Olive Balla Page A

Frankie tapped the ear bud off and climbed into Tim’s car, where she sat staring through the windshield. Was it possible she’d been wrong? Could Tim’s death really have been an accident?
    One of Frankie’s psychology professors had said that memories are malleable and fluid things, designed to help in the struggle for survival rather than for absolute verity. As subjective products of the mind, memories can metamorphose over time, depending upon need and the chemicals firing in the brain of the one doing the remembering. Was her memory of Tim’s death an artifact of her brain functioning in panic stricken, self-preservation mode? Could her mind have manufactured the voices at the cabin? Had she spent several terror-filled hours running through the forest like a mad woman for no reason?
    Running through the forest like a mad woman —the words pounded through her head.
    What was happening to her? Only a few days ago she’d been looking forward to starting a new life in her new home. And now her life had turned into something out of a horror movie.
    With shaking hands and trembling fingers, she started the car.
    ****
    Larry watched Frankie pull out of the market parking lot. He tugged his phone free from his pocket, punched in a number and held the phone against his ear.
    “Hullo?” Mel said at the other end of the line.
    “Where are you?”
    “On my way back to the farm.”
    “Why have you been following me?”
    “I wasn’t following you.” Mel’s emphasis on the last word caught Larry’s attention.
    “Really? Then if you’re not following me, who are you following? Because I keep seeing you everywhere I go.”
    “I figured I could help you keep track of the sister.” Mel let go with one of the twisted, little-girl giggles Larry hated. “When you brought the Chevy back to the farm you seemed pretty tense. You know, like you were kind of, I don’t know…it got me to worrying, that’s all.”
    Larry grunted. “Right. You don’t need to worry about me. You ought to be worrying about what we’re going to do if O’Neil’s sister finds Bellamy’s shit.”
    “What can she do? She won’t know what to do with it even if she does find it.”
    “See, now that’s the kind of thinking that could put us away for the rest of our lives. All she has to do is show that stuff to the law. They’ll connect the dots from there.”
    Unbroken static on the line indicated Mel was considering Larry’s words.
    “And don’t think Bellamy will jump in to help us,” Larry added. “The law won’t mess with him. He’s got piles of money, as well as friends in high places.”
    “You know something funny? I don’t even remember pulling the trigger.”
    “I know.” Larry blew out a long breath. “I don’t hold it against you. It’s just the way your brain’s wired. But don’t worry. I’ll take care of things just like I always do.” Larry broke the connection.
    Mel’s inability to control his impulses was a growing problem. He’d nearly got them both killed by skimming money from their boss in Amarillo, and he’d always been quick tempered. Quick on the attack. But lately he’d been doing crap that didn’t make sense. Stupid crap, for no reason.
    And now it all came down to that O’Neil bitch. Larry had plans for his life. And he had good ideas, ideas that were going to make him rich. She could destroy it all in five minutes. Yessiree, Miss Frankie O’Neil was the real problem here.
    Larry started his car and drove out of the parking lot.

Chapter Ten
    Once home from the market, Frankie dodged an ambush by a grumbling Collette and pulled groceries from her bags. Finding no space in her pantry, she stashed the canned fruit in her hall closet beside a fifty pound bag of cat food. She scooted the wire hangers to the far left of the closet for another few feet of space.
    “At this rate, I’ll have to add on a room,” she said to Collette.
    The cat answered with a drawn out yowl.
    “Right. Enough idle