Apples, Appaloosa and Alibis by Maria Swan (cheapest way to read ebooks txt) 📗

high heels for walking flats. Then I was back in the Honda Pilot on my way to the Phoenix Mountain Preserve.

As I backed the SUV out of the driveway, Dior started barking. Poor baby. To top it all off, I nearly hit Tommy’s Harley at the end of the driveway. The look he gave me... priceless. Then I remembered I was driving his aunt Brenda’s Pilot. Ah!

I focused on the road, and it was only six minutes past two when I found the spot Tristan had suggested, a dirt lot across from some nice homes. The road came to a dead end on the loose fence separating the preserve from the street. I parked away from the other cars, not taking the chance of getting boxed in, and with the way I drive, especially not with Brenda’s Honda.

Checked my watch, should I call Tristan and see if he was anywhere nearby? I was too far from the preserve to actually see hikers on the trails. And just then a car came roaring in, raising a cloud of dust and backing in so that I was left to see the rear end of the older Jeep. It looked beat up. The rear window was cracked. Oh, well, to each its own.

I reached for my cell at the bottom of my purse but couldn’t feel it. Where was it? Did I leave it at the 8th Place house? No, no... not today. I dumped the contents on the passenger seat. Nothing. Searched through my real estate folders. What now? I checked around and under my seat. This wasn’t even my car, so I had no idea where something could end up if it fell off the seat. Damn. I heard voices coming from the car next to me. If everything failed maybe I could ask to use their cell phone? Better hurry, they may be heading for the trails. A car door slammed, so I rolled down my window and peeked out. The Pilot was somehow higher, and I only had a good view of the empty rear seats of the Jeep.

I stretched my neck a little and noticed a woman standing by the open passenger door. I couldn’t see her head as she was bent down, talking to someone inside the car. Wait... something looked familiar about her. What?

On instinct I pulled back, and my elbow bumped my now-empty purse. It flew off the passenger seat and landed on the floor. Great, just great. Frustrated I bent over and reached to grab it and... my fingers felt the hard surface of my cell phone. I wanted to sing and dance and... I clicked on the back to make sure it was working. I mean, the way my afternoon had unfolded...

I scanned the messages. Nothing from Tristan. Maybe I should call him. Loud laughing came from the jeep, it sounded like a man’s voice. I couldn’t resist and looked again. Finding the phone had improved my mood, until I recognized one of the laughing heads.

Jessie Smith sat in the Jeep, her legs dangling out of the open car door, her animated voice coming from inside the vehicle. I couldn’t see the man she was talking to nor did I know if she had arrived in the Jeep or walked there. I sat stunned. What now? I slid low in the seat and closed the window hoping she wouldn’t look up and see me. My instincts told me not to make my presence known.

I called Tristan’s cell.

“Hi, Fiat, you had me a bit concerned. Where are you?” His voice joyful and worry free.

“Huh, I’m where you told me to park,” I whispered.

“Are you whispering? Is something wrong?” Just like that he sounded very concerned. I managed to ruin the mood even from a distance. Good job Monica.

“Well, I don’t know. Right after I parked, a Jeep drove in, and backed up next to me, and, uh, I don’t know if she was already with the people in the Jeep or if she got here afterward. But it’s her.”

“Angelique?” he asked. And my heart sank. Why did I always spoil everything?

“No. Jessie.”

“Jessie? Fiat, are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Jessie knows your car well, she would have recognized you and perhaps driven away or come over and said hi, depending on the reason. Who brought her there now?”

“I’m not driving my car.”

Pause. “Fiat, whose car are you in?” His voice cautious as a sapper navigating a mine field.

“I have Brenda’s Pilot. Long story. Anyway, Jessie doesn’t know I’m parked next to her. But the minute I step out of the car, she will.”

“Can you see the license plate?”

“Wait.” I stretched over the passenger seat, but because the license plate was encased, I couldn’t see it. I would have needed to get out of the car and walk behind the Jeep. I explained all that to Tristan.

“Fiat, wait. Don’t do anything, Detective Ross is calling me. I need to take this. I’m so sorry. Please be patient, and don’t move. Sweetie, give me two minutes.”

And he was gone, and I wanted to die. All the romantic expectations of us walking the old trail, holding hands? Why must everything always go wrong? Was I jinxing everyone I cared for?

Tristan was on the cell again. “Fiat, I called Alexander. He’s picking me up same place as where he dropped me off. I must meet with the detective. He wouldn’t discuss whatever it is over the phone. I’m so sorry. Alexander placed a call to Jessie. If indeed she’s parked next to you just be a little patient. We are getting her out of there, and then you can drive away and—and I will get in touch with you. I promise. I’m walking back to where I started. Don’t be sad, it’s just a small bump on the road like they say. Fiat, it will get better; it will.” He must have been walking as we spoke because I could tell his breathing had changed. “Okay, I can see the parking lot.