Page 75 of Evil Bones
See ya!
Kids today are more resourceful than you ever were, my naggy conscience piped up again.You’d have binged on Coke and chips and waited for an adult to appear.
Teens have cell phones now, I defended my adolescent self. And takeout options up the wazoo.
I ate the yogurt, hoping protein would improve my outlook.
Idly gazing out the window, I spotted something odd.
Having lived in the Annex a very long time, I know all my neighbors and their vehicles. A black sedan was parked in the spot reserved for the Woos, an elderly couple who didn’t drive and had never owned a vehicle.
The CIA has nothing on the gossip network at Sharon Hall. Had the Woos purchased wheels, I’d have heard within days. They rarely had visitors. And no one ever parks in someone else’s slot.
I knew the car didn’t belong to the Woos. And I knew I’d never seen it before.
I scanned the vehicle, maybe a Honda. It was parked facing me, but sunlight glinting off the windshield masked its interior. I couldn’t tell if anyone was in the front or back seat.
Had the car been there when I’d arrived home?
Had it followed me?
Retrieving my phone from the counter, I mimed dialing, then talking. Pretending to disconnect, I began snapping pics of the Honda.
Then, slipping the mobile into a pocket, I faked exiting the kitchen, squatted, and duck-walked back to the window. Hunkered down out of sight, I observed the Honda. Maybe Honda. If it remained parkedwhere it was, that meant I was paranoid. If it left, that meant what? I wasn’t sure.
I watched for maybe five minutes. Was about to call it quits when the driver started the engine, and the vehicle began rounding the circle drive toward my unit. Staying low, I raised my phone above my head and took more pictures.
When I was certain the Honda had passed my front window, I rose for a better view. Saw the car reach the bottom of the hill, turn right, and vanish.
Opening my laptop, I downloaded the pics so I could see them better.
The car was a four-door black Accord with a decal on the right side of the back window and a starburst pattern on each of the hubcaps.
I expanded and studied several shots, hoping for a fuller view of the license plate.
CHAPTER 17
Unlike Sister Adelbert with the vehicle at Cordelia Park, I was able to make out three characters: TL3. I entered the letter-number combo into my Notes app. Added: black Honda Accord.
Then I clomped upstairs, peeled off my sweat-soaked clothing, and took a quick shower. I was planning to treat Ruthie to dinner at a restaurant of her choice. Maybe it was the sight of all that refrigerated produce, but I was in the mood for lettuce roll ups and hoped she’d choose Baoding.
Point of information. My brain is an impulse buyer when it comes to cravings.
Before that outing happened, unbeknownst to me, it would be an AT&T evening. My mother was the first to call. She had no news to share, just wanted to chat. Then it was Harry, offering a heads-up that Mama thought I sounded tense. After disconnecting with my sister, I returned to the kitchen to feed Birdie. Still no sign of my niece.
To kill time, I booted my laptop, created a file, and uploaded the pics of the Honda that I’d taken with my phone. Belly full, the cat curled beside me and watched with disinterest.
Ansel Adams need never feel threatened by my photographic skills. Quickly snapped without benefit of a viewfinder, most of my shots were dark and blurry. I chose the four clearest and copied them into a photo editing app. Enlarged each until it verged on pixelation, then centered the license on the screen.
No matter how much I increased contrast or sharpened edges, the plate remained shadowy and largely unreadable.
Seven came and went.
Seven-thirty.
Still no Ruthie.
I tried her number but was rolled to voice mail.
