Chapters (62)
- Cover
- A PENNY
- Dedication
- Acknowledgments
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- A Sample Chapter of Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels
- About the Author
- Other Books by Mindy Starns Clark
- About the Publisher
“Callie!” he said when he realized it was me. “I was just trying to reach you at the Smythes’. What a mess I’m in here.”
“What’s going on?”
“Those prints you asked me to run? I was doing it on the QT just as a favor. But one of the names set off some red flags with Keegan and Sollie, not to mention the FBI. Now they wanna see you and me ASAP.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “The red flag was for Mitchell Ralston.”
“Ralston, Rathbone…the guy went by several names. Real name is Monty Redburn. He’s got a rap sheet long as my arm.”
“Why was he flagged?”
“He’s being sought in connection with Smythe’s murder. Don’t know how he fits in, exactly, but now I’ve got to explain why I was running his prints and where I got them. You’ve got to come in.”
I glanced at the clock, thinking about Harriet. She would be at the train station in less than 20 minutes. So far, traffic was very light, but I knew I couldn’t depend on that. Once I picked her up, we had lots to do, important work that might clear up the questions hovering over this entire investigation. I knew that if I went to the police station instead, I would be stuck there for hours, answering their questions, telling them everything I had done and been through since my investigation began.
“Duane,” I said, “I’m really sorry and I owe you big on this one, but I’m not coming in. Not just yet.”
“What?”
“You have to put off the meeting. I’ll contact you in a few hours.”
“But Callie, you can’t—”
“Please, Duane. I’m sorry. I’ll be in touch.”
He was quiet for a long moment before exhaling loudly.
“Just a few hours,” he said. “I can’t hold ’em off any longer than that.”
“I promise,” I said.
I hung up and was just slipping the phone into my purse when I heard the odd sound of a motor gunning.
I looked up, shocked to see a red pickup truck filling my rearview mirror; Mitchell Ralston or Monty Redburn or whatever-his-name was at the wheel.
Bang!
He rammed his truck into the back of my car! I felt the force of it thrust me forward, and I gripped the steering wheel tightly as I tried not to lose control.
I looked around frantically, trying to size up my situation, blaming myself for being so wrapped up in my phone conversation that I hadn’t seen Redburn behind me.
Bang!