French Vanilla & Felonies

by Erin Huss

  "Yeah," Maizy said, "and what if we could? It'd be radical, right? I bet he dented your bumper. Even worse than normal, I mean. That thing was huge."

  I frowned. That hadn't occurred to me.

  "And if he bent the frame," Maizy said, "your car is toast. You know what that means."

  "It means I want to know who totaled my car," I growled, stomping on the gas. The Escort coughed once, bucked, and died. We coasted to the side of the road and looked at each other.

  The chase was over. We were out of gas.

  A PLAYBOY IN PERIL

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