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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

Suddenly, the elevator dinged, echoing sharply in the cement garage, and the doors opened to let out a small group of businessmen. Seizing the opportunity, I crossed over and fell into step with them, walking safely to my car without incident. After I got inside, I cracked the window, then started it up, listening for the sound that was sure to follow. Within an instant, I could hear the truck start up as well. Here we go, I thought as I pulled out and headed for the exit. Just what I needed. A tail.

Reaching the exit of the garage, we headed out into the five o’clock gridlock of downtown Philadelphia. After a few blocks, I pulled out my cellular phone and dialed Harriet. I got her machine, so I left a message describing the car that was following me, complete with license plate number. I felt sure she would have no trouble taking it from there. And if something unfortunate should happen to me, at least they would know where to start looking.

After going six slow blocks with the truck two cars behind me, I felt just antsy enough to try to lose him. We were in a long line of traffic trying to funnel onto a bridge over the Schuylkill River in an area I was familiar with from my summer at the law firm there. I waited until I was even with an empty one-way street, then suddenly turned right and zipped down it the wrong way, to the sound of several different honking horns. I turned right again once I reached the next intersection.

I went about a block, then turned right again, essentially doubling back behind the truck that had been following me. There were other routes out of the city, and I considered my options as I checked my rearview mirror for signs that the guy had succeeded in following me. With no glimpse of him, I crossed over the road I had started on, then continued in a perpendicular direction for a few miles before finding another bridge over the river and out of town.

I had lost him; I was sure of it. Letting out a long, slow breath, I settled into my seat and tried to put the entire thing out of my mind. Someone was keeping tabs on me, and I wondered who it could be. Perhaps once Harriet ran the plate, I’d have a better idea.

Traffic grew heavy again once I was on the Schuylkill Expressway, and I glanced at my watch, knowing that the wake for Wendell Smythe was in two hours. It would be my first good chance to be alone in the Smythe’s home, and I planned to work my way through the bedrooms I hadn’t yet seen. I knew I would have to move quickly; I couldn’t be too late for the wake.