through her hair. “Ow,” she yelped. She’d unthinkingly
run her hand over her tender spot.
She went to the bathroom,
peered at her reflection and checked out her head. Au naturel would have to be her coiffure du
jour. She wasn’t going to blow dry or
spike her hair today. She still bore skid marks that were now bruising a nice
purple shade where she’d greeted the concrete face-down. She splashed cool
water on her face, toweled it gently, and then applied a light dab of makeup.
She thought about what her
father had said as she donned a pair of freshly-ironed jeans and a tan sweater.
What exactly did he have to tell her that was so critical that she had to meet
him in person? Did she dare meet him? She pulled a few strands of hair this way
and that to cover the circle of stitches, but her hair was too short. She gave
up and pulled a loose sock hat on her head instead. She decided she had to go.
She’d persuade Randolph to take her.
Downstairs, she called out to
Randolph. He didn’t answer. He was probably in his studio. She spied her iPhone
in its charger on the kitchen counter and called him. The call went to voice
mail. Tossing her phone into her purse, she decided she could drive down to the
barn, find him, and persuade him in person. As she began backing Streak out of
the garage, a blue, seventies-model Chevy C-10 pickup truck roared up behind
her, blocking her exit. A petite figure in green coveralls wearing a Camaro cap
bounced out and jogged to her. Ricky clasped Rhetta fiercely.
Ricky’s cap tipped back and
several tendrils of red hair escaped, curling down the side of her small oval
face. Her green eyes glittered. “I was so upset when I heard. Are you all
right?” She released her hug and held Rhetta out at arm’s length, scrutinizing
her up and down.
“Just a little smack on the
head,” Rhetta said, turning around, and pulling up the sock hat to display the
results of her misadventure.
“Ow, that looks painful,”
Ricky said as Rhetta carefully repositioned the sock hat.
“Randolph called and told me
what happened. I was under a car, but I showered and came right over. Can I do
anything for you?” She narrowed her eyes as she took in the open garage door and
Streak idling. “Wait a second, just exactly what were you doing? Were you going
somewhere?” She put a hand on her hip and tapped her foot.
“I was only going down to the
barn to get Randolph to see if he would drive me to the Tri-County Impound
lot.”
“To the impound lot? What
for?”
“It’s a long story. Back your
truck up over there.” Rhetta pointed to the circular turn around. “Come with
me. I’ll explain.”
Ricky bounded over to her
truck and backed it to the designated spot. She scurried into the passenger
seat of the Trailblazer. “Are you supposed to be driving?” Rhetta shook her
head. “Then I’ll drive.” Rhetta put Streak in park and the two women traded
places. Rhetta reached over and turned down the oldies she had blaring out of
the Bose sound system.
Ricky wheeled Streak out of
the garage and veered toward the barn and Randolph’s studio while Rhetta filled
her in about the most recent phone call as well as the robbery and attack.
“I can’t believe you got
tossed into a nasty Dumpster.” Ricky made a face. “I’m sure glad you’re okay.”
A smile teased her lips. “I have to ask, Miss Fashionista, what did you do with
the clothes you had on?”
Rhetta wrinkled her nose.
“The slacks are toast. There’s a hole in the knee from where I must have fallen
because I have a bruise on my knee that matches the location of the hole.”
Rhetta touched her knee gingerly. “I tossed the pants into the trash. I’ll take
the blazer to Lenderman’s Cleaners. I hate to throw it away. It’s one of my
favorites.” She sighed, and shook her head sadly. “I’m not sure anyone can ever
get the smell out, but if anyone can, it would be Lenderman’s.”
Ricky nodded. “Your face is
pretty messed up
run her hand over her tender spot.
She went to the bathroom,
peered at her reflection and checked out her head. Au naturel would have to be her coiffure du
jour. She wasn’t going to blow dry or
spike her hair today. She still bore skid marks that were now bruising a nice
purple shade where she’d greeted the concrete face-down. She splashed cool
water on her face, toweled it gently, and then applied a light dab of makeup.
She thought about what her
father had said as she donned a pair of freshly-ironed jeans and a tan sweater.
What exactly did he have to tell her that was so critical that she had to meet
him in person? Did she dare meet him? She pulled a few strands of hair this way
and that to cover the circle of stitches, but her hair was too short. She gave
up and pulled a loose sock hat on her head instead. She decided she had to go.
She’d persuade Randolph to take her.
Downstairs, she called out to
Randolph. He didn’t answer. He was probably in his studio. She spied her iPhone
in its charger on the kitchen counter and called him. The call went to voice
mail. Tossing her phone into her purse, she decided she could drive down to the
barn, find him, and persuade him in person. As she began backing Streak out of
the garage, a blue, seventies-model Chevy C-10 pickup truck roared up behind
her, blocking her exit. A petite figure in green coveralls wearing a Camaro cap
bounced out and jogged to her. Ricky clasped Rhetta fiercely.
Ricky’s cap tipped back and
several tendrils of red hair escaped, curling down the side of her small oval
face. Her green eyes glittered. “I was so upset when I heard. Are you all
right?” She released her hug and held Rhetta out at arm’s length, scrutinizing
her up and down.
“Just a little smack on the
head,” Rhetta said, turning around, and pulling up the sock hat to display the
results of her misadventure.
“Ow, that looks painful,”
Ricky said as Rhetta carefully repositioned the sock hat.
“Randolph called and told me
what happened. I was under a car, but I showered and came right over. Can I do
anything for you?” She narrowed her eyes as she took in the open garage door and
Streak idling. “Wait a second, just exactly what were you doing? Were you going
somewhere?” She put a hand on her hip and tapped her foot.
“I was only going down to the
barn to get Randolph to see if he would drive me to the Tri-County Impound
lot.”
“To the impound lot? What
for?”
“It’s a long story. Back your
truck up over there.” Rhetta pointed to the circular turn around. “Come with
me. I’ll explain.”
Ricky bounded over to her
truck and backed it to the designated spot. She scurried into the passenger
seat of the Trailblazer. “Are you supposed to be driving?” Rhetta shook her
head. “Then I’ll drive.” Rhetta put Streak in park and the two women traded
places. Rhetta reached over and turned down the oldies she had blaring out of
the Bose sound system.
Ricky wheeled Streak out of
the garage and veered toward the barn and Randolph’s studio while Rhetta filled
her in about the most recent phone call as well as the robbery and attack.
“I can’t believe you got
tossed into a nasty Dumpster.” Ricky made a face. “I’m sure glad you’re okay.”
A smile teased her lips. “I have to ask, Miss Fashionista, what did you do with
the clothes you had on?”
Rhetta wrinkled her nose.
“The slacks are toast. There’s a hole in the knee from where I must have fallen
because I have a bruise on my knee that matches the location of the hole.”
Rhetta touched her knee gingerly. “I tossed the pants into the trash. I’ll take
the blazer to Lenderman’s Cleaners. I hate to throw it away. It’s one of my
favorites.” She sighed, and shook her head sadly. “I’m not sure anyone can ever
get the smell out, but if anyone can, it would be Lenderman’s.”
Ricky nodded. “Your face is
pretty messed up
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