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Back A Penny for Your Thoughts Save as PDF
Chapters (62)
  1. Cover
  2. A PENNY
  3. Dedication
  4. Acknowledgments
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-One
  26. Twenty-Two
  27. Twenty-Three
  28. Twenty-Four
  29. Twenty-Five
  30. Twenty-Six
  31. Twenty-Seven
  32. Twenty-Eight
  33. Twenty-Nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-One
  36. Thirty-Two
  37. Thirty-Three
  38. Thirty-Four
  39. Thirty-Five
  40. Thirty-Six
  41. Thirty-Seven
  42. Thirty-Eight
  43. Thirty-Nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-One
  46. Forty-Two
  47. Forty-Three
  48. Forty-Four
  49. Forty-Five
  50. Forty-Six
  51. Forty-Seven
  52. Forty-Eight
  53. Forty-Nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-One
  56. Fifty-Two
  57. Fifty-Three
  58. Fifty-Four
  59. A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
  60. About the Author
  61. Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
  62. About the Publisher

I put the binoculars back up to my face, watching as the car came to a stop near the gravesite. It just sat there for a long moment, though I couldn’t see inside because the sun glared off of the windshield. Finally, a man got out and I gasped, recognizing him as the same fellow who had followed me through Philadelphia, the young man with spiky hair who lost me outside of the jewelry store.

He wasn’t driving the red pickup now, but a plain blue sedan of some sort. As I watched, he crossed over to talk to one of the workers and handed him a piece of paper. When he was finished, he got back in his car and drove off.

I waited until ten o’clock sharp before I started up my car and drove it to the gravesite. I got out and made my way over to the green AstroTurf that had been spread on the ground under the awning. I hesitated, wondering what to do next, when the same workman I had seen interacting with “Spike” came over and asked me if my name was Webber.

“Yeah,” I said, my right hand cradling the canister of pepper spray deep in my pocket. “That’s me.”

“I got a note. Some guy left it here for ya.”

He handed me a piece of paper, which was folded with my name scribbled on the outside. I took it gingerly and opened it.

It said, Too many people here for us to talk. Meet me at the first canopy, by the big tree.

I slid the note into my pocket, glad that Duane Perskie had given me a fingerprinting kit.

I got back into my car and headed toward the front of the cemetery. I knew the place the note was talking about—it was another funeral site, with the requisite green awning and ground-covering AstroTurf, but this one was devoid of any activity. I parked nearby, grabbed the billy club and the pepper spray, and then walked down the hill toward the awning, noting the absence of the blue sedan and the man who had been in it.

I reached the awning and stepped onto the carpeting, looking around cautiously. Something about this bothered me, perhaps the fact that this spot was so much more isolated than the other had been. I stood in a sort of valley, hidden from the Smythe gravesite by a short hill that rose up between us. I was wishing now that I had called Perskie after all, and I walked the place off, headed for the relative safety of the big tree that bordered the cemetery plot.