“Yes, I’d appreciate that. Thank you.”
The woman inspected me again after the door closed. “You ain’t travelin’ alone, are you?”
“Well, uh, yes, I am.”
I expected disapproval and dire warnings, but instead she just tilted her permed head curiously. “Don’t you git lonely?”
It was a question I’d heard before, and I answered it as I always did. “No, I’m fine. Traveling alone can be a wonderful adventure.” I thought about adding, as I’d heard another woman traveling alone say, “My cat’s better company than most husbands. Never argues and doesn’t snore.”
However, dearly as I love Koop, I can’t say he’s better company than a husband. I also have to admit that, even though I’m enjoying my traveling adventures and the Lord is always with me, sometimes I do get a bit lonely.
“You headed anywhere particular?” the woman asked.
“Not really.” The words unexpectedly struck me as more dismal than adventurous.
“What’re you doing in Stanley?”
“Just passing through.”
She nodded sagely. “That’s what most people do in Stanley. Kids, they pick up’n leave soon as they can figure a way to get outta town.” She paused, and her old blue eyes went dreamy. “That’s what I’d like to do someday. Me’n Tom, git us a motor home like your’n, put pedal to the metal and just go.”
“It’s the kind of thing you should do while you still have each other,” I advised impulsively. Harley and I had always intended to travel together, but we never got around to it before he was gone.
I put my hand to the back of my neck and rubbed at muscles that were beginning to feel stiff as dried jerky. The incident with the pickup, even if it had turned out to be a non-incident, had left me feeling kind of strung out. I didn’t want to drive any farther today. “Is there an RV park around here somewhere?”
“Old man Feister rents out a few trailer spaces. Mostly permanent locals, but he takes in an RVer now’n then. You go to the left at the Y down the road. Little farther on, gravel road turns off to the right. Miser Lane.” She giggled, as if the name were an inside joke. “But you gotta watch close. It’s easy to miss. Feister’s place ain’t much, but it’s cheap. And there’s a nice creek. Tell ’im Annie sent you.”
Cheap sounded good. Even with an occasional free night in a rest area or Wal-Mart parking lot, living on the road was costing more than was comfortable on my limited Social Security and CD income. “Okay, Annie, thank you. I’ll do that. Were you born around here?” I asked, curious as always about people I meet.
“No. Come from Iowa. Not much to do ’round here,” she added, “but we got a nice little church with a potluck every Wednesday night.”
“Sounds great.” It truly did. Old Man Feister’s place, just outside Stanley, Tennessee, was surely the middle-of-nowhere kind of spot the Braxtons would never think to look for me. With a creek and a potluck as a bonus.
“You take care now, hear?” she said as I opened the door.
“You too.” I gave her a thumbs-up sign. We little old ladies of the world have to stick together. Maybe we should form an LOLs United.
Outside, Taciturn Tom was running water in a tank for the mule. I waved and got a jerk of his head in response. I started the engine and threaded my way around the potholes. Three miles down the road I took the left fork at the Y. It would be good to stop and relax for a few days.
But a half mile farther on I saw it. My heart shimmied. My toes cramped. My teeth tingled. Bad vibes. Very bad vibes.
It was the pickup, closer now. Dirty white color. A dented fender. Silhouettes of two people in the cab. No coincidence here. They’d hidden and waited to see which fork I took. The orange fur on Koop’s back popped up like porcupine quills.
I started looking frantically for Miser Lane. If I could get off the main road, into the safety of people and trailers …
Too late. I saw the leaning sign for Miser Lane just as the motor home sailed past it.
It wouldn’t have meant safety anyway, I realized regretfully. Because the Braxtons would have my location pinned down, and they’d figure a way to get me.
My only chance was to lose them.
I tightened my hands on the steering wheel, swallowed hard, and did what Annie back in Stanley wanted to do. I put pedal to the metal and went.
She’s not your
average crime fighter!
In Plain Sight Page 27
