Mighty Old Bones Read Free Page A

he turned to run away.
    “What the…Jane! He’s got your purse!” Phoebe screamed.
    I managed to grab the tail end of the open shirt that he had kindly left untucked and pulled him closer, just enough to grasp his arm. I swiveled and used leverage to turn his body slightly and bring him down on his back with a loud thud.
    He didn’t move.
    Phoebe sucked in a loud startled breath. She held her hands over her mouth and stared down. “I believe you’ve killed him.”
    “Don’t be silly. His eyelids are moving.”
    “Hey, somebody call the funeral home.”
    “Phoebe, don’t be ridiculous, he is not dead.”
    “He will be when I get through with him. The very idea, robbing a decrepit old lady. And in Tullulah. No, sir, buddy. This here young’un is not long for this world. Jane, help me get him up and then come show me how to flip him. Just one time, that’s all I ask. Oh, shoot, here comes the fuzz.”
    The patrolman she had spoken with earlier walked out the Pig’s door, coffee cup in hand. He didn’t see us at once. An older gentleman who came outside with him looked like he was telling a joke.
    The boy moaned a bit and looked groggy as he sat up. Phoebe clucked her tongue. “Too bad. They should have plenty of room for him down at the jailhouse. I guess we should step back so Junior has room to cuff him and haul him off.”
    When Phoebe called to the policeman, and while our attention was slightly diverted, the thief took a chance. In an instant, the young man jumped to his feet and sprinted across the lot and out of view, my purse held firmly under one arm. The policeman threw down his cup and gave chase.
    He had no luck. After a few minutes, he came back, out of breath and dispirited. He had radioed for backup while looking about for the thief. He didn’t stop to talk with us but hurried toward his vehicle, asking us to wait until he or another officer could take our statements.
    Twenty minutes later, the police took our report, but I knew it would do little good. It was the last thing any of us expected.
    Phoebe kept looking at her watch. She held up a finger. “Okay, fellows, you’ve got one minute to wrap this thing up because that’s when we’re leaving. Right, Jane?”
    Before I could speak, Phoebe locked eyes with the officer taking notes.
    He let us go. Her face returned to normal, to the nice church lady and former children’s librarian that she really was. She grabbed my arm and pulled me along, inviting all the policemen in hearing to her house for cake anytime they wished to stop by.
    The curls on Phoebe’s head flopped as she ran, bouncing on the top rim of her new all-black fashion sunglasses. When we reached the car, she slung her purse into the backseat. She turned the ignition before fully settling herself behind the wheel. With the shifter in drive, she put the car in motion without waiting for me to shut my door first. I pulled with all my might, managed to close the door, and grabbed the dashboard.
    Her foot gunned the accelerator. We jerked out of the Pig’s parking lot with a screech, grinding black rubber marks in the asphalt. I managed a weak apologetic smile for the policemen who watched our departure.
    We zoomed to the town square and around it three quarters of the way, taking each corner at a skid. I felt as if we tilted on two tires the whole way round. Looks of horror from pedestrians had no effect on Phoebe’s speed nor did their cries of disapproval break her concentration. Used to Phoebe’s driving, I remained silent as I fought gravity to keep my seat.
    She spun the wheel as we turned onto a side street and, taking another turn sharply, the car bumped into the driveway of a gravel parking lot. Beside it sat a very old log building, its front door and wide porch facing the main street. Phoebe stomped on the brake. The back end of the car fishtailed a few feet to the right and the car jerked to a halt as the rear tires sprayed rock and plumes of white dust.
    Phoebe