Just Say Yes by Elizabeth Hayley Page A

found herself wishing a mass murderer would pull over just to distract them from whatever she’d done to ruin their easy companionship. And then, as if in answer to her silent prayer, an old blue VW Bug pulled onto the shoulder in front of them.
    â€œStay toward the back of the car. I’ll talk to them,” Tim said firmly.
    Quinn sighed and slowed to a stop at the rear of the beat-up Bug. She couldn’t quite make out what was being said, the highway traffic creating too much noise. But she turned her head sharply at the sound of Tim banging his hand against the car’s passenger door before it pulled back into traffic. “What happened?” she asked when she was beside him again.
    â€œHe was a little . . . strange.”
    Quinn chuckled. “Well, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? We’re the dopes wandering down the highway looking for a ride.”
    Tim’s face split into a wide grin, and just like that, the tension that had been between them vanished. “Yeah, but we’re not wearing clown suits.”
    â€œShut up!” Quinn stopped walking. “He was not wearing a clown suit.”
    â€œIf you say so.” Tim laughed.
    â€œWow. How very John Wayne Gacy.”
    â€œMy thoughts exactly. I figured everyone driving has the right to be selective, so maybe we should exercise that right too.”
    â€œGood call,” Quinn agreed. “I hate clowns.”
    â€œI never get that. So many people say they’re afraid of clowns. Why?”
    â€œStephen King’s
It
,” Quinn replied, as if that was all the explanation that was needed. “Besides, you clearly aren’t too fond of them either. You turned Hobo the Hitchhiker-Killing Clown down all on your own.”
    â€œYeah, but that was more because he had a box of condoms and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s sitting on the passenger seat.”
    Quinn stared at him. “I know I’ve been joking about it, but now I’m convinced. We’re going to die today.”
    Tim wrapped an arm around her shoulders, which warmed immediately at his gentle touch. “At least we’ll go together,” he said teasingly.
    Quinn didn’t verbalize that she didn’t feel as bad about that prospect as she should.
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    Two hours and countless walked miles later, Quinn and Tim were offered and finally accepted a ride from an older woman who looked like she’d spent most of her life performing hard labor. She had a throaty rasp that made Quinn think she probably smoked two packs of Newports a day. She introduced herself as Clarabell, and Quinn had to repress the urge to ask her if she had grown up on a farm.
    As luck would have it, Clarabell was also a bit of a Bible-thumper who lectured them on the hazards of hitchhiking as she quoted Gospel verses. Quinn was going to remind her that she’d picked up hitchhikers, which was equally dangerous, but she decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Clarabell was heading to a swine auction in Sceaty, Virginia, which was damn close to North Carolina. It was at least a three-hour drive away from home, and they weren’t all that close to their destination yet. Quinn hoped a train passed through Sceaty, since that was how they planned to get home.
    Almost as if he’d sensed her worry, Tim turned around in the passenger seat of the rugged Dodge Ram and gave Quinn a small but comforting smile. They would be okay. She was with Tim, and he’d make sure she got home in the same condition she’d left. Though she wasn’t sure if that was really what she wanted.

Chapter 10
    Marinate
    Clarabell dropped them off at a small motel just off the highway. She thanked them for listening to all of her stories—especially the one about her cousin getting married in a barn, which she’d told several times along the way, putting a different twist on it each time. “It was