Look Both Ways by Carol J. Perry Page B

the delivery truck. I put the idea of calling Pete aside for the moment. What could I say, anyway? That I’d behaved like a bad-tempered brat? He had so much on his mind, he probably hadn’t even noticed my snarkiness.
    This would be a good time to get acquainted with my new truck. I headed for the exit that led into the warehouse garage behind the old store. Mr. Pennington was right. The 1980s vintage truck wasn’t pretty—just a plain old, dull, tan-colored regular-cab Ford F-150 pickup. The remnants of a faded DUKAKIS FOR GOVERNOR sticker still clung to the rear bumper, contrasting with the bright new Massachusetts license plate. The tires seemed okay, and when I climbed inside, the interior looked clean enough. I turned the key, and the engine cranked to life immediately. So far, so good. A garage-door opener rested on the dashboard. I pressed the button and watched as the wide aluminum door slid open. I was ready to take my new wheels for a spin around Salem.
    I drove slowly onto what had once been Trumbull’s Department Store’s warehouse receiving lot. I rounded the building, emerged in the Tabby’s parking lot, and with one regretful look toward my own beautiful blue Corvette, pulled out onto Essex Street.
    I headed down Washington Street, past the post office. I turned onto Margin Street, trying to tell myself I’d chosen that route because there’d be less traffic that way—that it was just a coincidence that the police station was located there.
    It’s still lunchtime. Maybe I’ll see Pete.
    â€œBe careful what you wish for,” Aunt Ibby always said.
    I slowed down when I saw a familiar Crown Vic pulling out of the station’s driveway. It was Pete, all right. But who was that blonde sitting beside him?

CHAPTER 13
    I saw Pete glance at the truck, but of course, he didn’t recognize it. Or me. I’d turned my head away as we passed one another, then immediately regretted it, because I hadn’t been able to get a good look at the blond woman.
    I took Jefferson Avenue all the way down to Salem State University, probably driving a little too fast, before I turned the truck around and headed back to the Tabby. What was the matter with me? I was acting like a silly teenager. Getting snippy with Pete because I didn’t like his tone of voice, then being upset because he had a woman in his car. She was probably a fellow police officer, or maybe even a shoplifter he’d just arrested.
    Preferring, although doubting, the latter explanation, I stopped at the market on my way back, picked up a bottle of wine to go with tonight’s pizza, then drove straight to the warehouse garage. I parked, locked the truck, and walked back into the school. Mr. Pennington’s office door was partially open, so I knocked gently and entered.
    â€œI’ve just taken a ride in the truck, sir,” I said, “and I think she should do fine.”
    â€œExcellent, my dear,” the director said, pulling his top desk drawer open. “Here’s a credit card for you to use in the acquisition of properties.” He extended the card toward me, then hesitated. “You understand, I’m sure, that our budget is extremely limited.”
    â€œI do,” I said, “but it would be helpful if I knew exactly how limited it is. Could I have a dollar figure to work with?”
    â€œWe think seven hundred and fifty dollars total would be a good figure.”
    I accepted the card and tucked it into my bag. “Probably doable if I can borrow some of the furniture and get lucky at thrift stores and yard sales.”
    â€œWe have every confidence in you, Ms. Barrett.” He smiled, stood, and shook my hand. “Of course, the gasoline for the truck is included in the seven-fifty.”
    â€œOf course,” I said. “That’s only fair. Guess I’ll get started shopping right away, and thanks again for this opportunity.” I gave him a