Escape Route (Murder Off-Screen Book 1) Read Free

idea. “Let me give you a gallon of pecan swirl to take home to Aunt B and Frank. It was your mama’s favorite. Rest in peace.”
    The wall phone rang, and he held up a finger. “Give me a sec.” He answered but didn’t say much—just a lot of head bobbing while he fiddled with the twisted cord. “Will—will—will do. Um ah. Yup. She’s right here if— Uh huh. Will do.” He hung up and mopped his forehead.
    “Aunt B?”
    “Woman could talk the nails out of a board. Wants you to swing by Bub’s and send your Uncle Frank home. Y’all are eating at the Cracked Blue tonight ‘cept your uncle doesn’t know it. Bub’s got his phone off the hook, so I’m thinking they’re up to a good game of pinochle.”
    “Off the hook? Isn’t that bad for business?”
    Mr. Stevenson washed his hands and the scoop. “Not much to hunt this time of year. Geese is about it, for locals. And crow.” He curled balls of pecan swirl out of a five-gallon container and pressed them into a plastic tub. “Don’t know about you, but the missus can vouch, I’ve had my fill of eating crow.”

CHAPTER 3
     
     
    The fat man rubbed his middle chin. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You?”
    “Nope. Me neither. Why would he do that?”
    “It’s a Lab. Labs are smart dogs.” The fat man, who went by Timmy, believing the name made him appear slimmer than he actually was, slid four or five inches along the fender closer to Avery, the designated driver. He spat a bit of chewed fingernail to the ground. “Dog don’t have nobody to play fetch, so he plays by himself.”
    The dog, who went by King and didn’t grasp the import of such a name, stopped and smiled at the men. They were welcome to join in. When they did not, he continued his game of solitaire and grabbed up the stick, swam out until he was several yards beyond the end of the dock and flung the stick as far as possible. On splashdown, he spun in the water and raced to shore. He shook a fair amount of the Chesapeake Bay onto the councilman’s March grass and gouged the winter dry lawn with his toenails, gaining purchase for the charge to the dock.
    His nails clipped against the boards as he ran to the end and—here’s his favorite part—threw himself off the pier as far as he could. The stick bobbed a foot farther away because of the wake and King nailed it every time.
    “Seems a shame to kill it,” Avery said.
    “I do hate to shoot a dog. I’m a hit man , not a hit dog . They could just take it to the pound.” He turned and looked the driver square in the eye. “Or set it loose alongside of the road. This is the Eastern Shore of Maryland. Everybody got a Lab in the back of their truck.”
    Avery, uncomfortable with the short distance between his narrow face and Timmy’s flushed cheeks, slid backward along the fender and gave himself some speaking room. “Cuthbart says to shoot it. That’s what we’re— you —are being paid to do. Half up-front. The other half after the news conference to announce the dog was hit by a car and had to be put down.”
    “Dog must be a real problem for these folks.”
    “Did you see that smile the dog gave us? That smile and the weird C marking on his ear is what got the councilman elected. Now that he won, no need for the dog.” He dusted his hands as a demonstration. “Won and done.” He smiled at his clever turn of phrase. Avery liked to think of himself as smarter than most. Definitely smarter than Timmy. “Now you know as much as me.”
    “So’s if it’s dead— accidentally dead, people will feel sorry for the councilman. They’d sure take their votes back if they knew King there was shot on purpose, and not road-kill.”
    “Let’s get him in the car before he gets too muddy.” It was a rental but Avery wasn’t paying extra for cleaning when he turned it back in at the Pittsburgh airport. Remember, we have to cover up that mark on his ear, too.” He clapped. “Here, King. C’mere like a good