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

around toward Oakley Beach, down the road five miles. In the exact opposite direction of where they needed to go. “Now we have to find a gun shop.”
    “I forgot bullets. So shoot me.”
    Avery clenched his jaw and swore an oath that this was the last gig he’d ever pull with this clown. “The extra gas comes out of your share.”
    Timmy scratched the dog between its brown eyes. “C’mon. Let’s get this mess over with. Put the back window down. Labs like that.”
    As the fresh air rolled in, King smiled and stuck his head the whole way out the window.
    He really liked these guys.

CHAPTER 4
     
     
    I could afford a new bicycle, but a rusty, wire basket and a bell with a thumb switch will not be denied. Vintage chic. It used to have pink and white streamers flapping from the handle grips until I was twelve.
    Your first bra changes everything.
    “Don’t you just love this place?” I said to the cheery, striped paper bag, riding shotgun in the basket.
    Oakley Beach is a two-hour trip from Ocean City, set back far enough from Route 50 so that the reach-the-beach traffic didn’t cramp our Main Street, or side-swipe us with tourism. Or a whole lot of touristy dollars for renovation. If you came for a weekend getaway, Bo Peep’s Bed-and-Breakfast was the only show in town, decked out in Lilac Moderne and shades of violet not normally visible to the naked eye, and enough lavender potpourri to make those naked eyes bleed.
    Other than that, our tidy village has no bells. A couple of whistles, but not enough to get us a page in Fodor’s .
    Our uppity neighbor, Reed Shore, ten-miles farther south, has water view everything. Big wigs from DC travel over the Chesapeake Bay to crack crabs at Fisherman’s Catch and spend quality time at a donor’s waterfront estate. Reed Shore hosted the Queen—the one with the crown—and people I now know in LA, shot a movie there when I was waist-high and just old enough to imagine how neat it would be to work in the movies. Now that I’m five-foot-five, I’ve discovered that the dream job is not anything like I thought it would be.
    Which is why, after one disappeared friend and my first box office success, I came running home to Aunt B and my bike with the bell, to realign my ducks.
    ~~^~~
    Bub’s Bullets, Bows and Arrows needs new signage. What’s left of the paint clings to the barn wood planks in curls and bits like a puzzle with pieces missing. It has hung crooked over the entrance since 1996 when Tropical Storm Josephine blew through town on her way to Ocean City.
    ‘Need a ladder to set that straight,’ Bub’s been saying since 1996. Ladders appear to be at a premium in Oakley Beach to this day, but maybe in another twenty-odd, one might turn up.
    The gang huddled around the card table in the storefront window, but waved at me as I leaned my trusty bike against the building. I grabbed the blue-and-green striped Stevenson’s bag since there wasn’t one pocket of shade on Bub’s side of the street. The bells jingled but the Come In sign was missing. Bub had taped up a plain sheet of paper with the words Lab Puppies and a phone number printed in thick, black marker.
    “Hey, my girl.”
    I could never remember Uncle Frank calling me by any other name. I’d been his girl since he and Aunt B adopted me after the car wreck, so he could call me any ol’ thing he wanted.
    “Hey, back. Hi, guys. Hi, Bub. Phone off the hook?”
    They hung their heads and folded their cards like kids caught smoking behind the shed.
    “So not a social call,” Bub said. “B sent you.”
    “Where are these puppies? The sign says puppies. I want an armful of puppies.”
    Bus Gill thumbed his suspenders. “At home with their mama.”
    “Lenore? That’s great. I thought she was done having pups.”
    “This is the last. Had eight. Letting her keep one this time, but selling the rest. You’re welcome to one, though, Jaqie. They’ll be ready in two weeks. Got the three colors this time around,