Full Release by Marshall Thornton (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📕

glove compartment, I pulled out a Chinese menu that had been stuck onto my windshield about a year ago. I found a pen. On the menu, I made a list of the clients who had called me to complain about being interviewed by the police and another list of the clients who hadn’t. Three clients had called to complain. David Barker and two others. Five clients hadn’t called. What if the clients who hadn’t called weren’t being interviewed by the police?

Something occurred to me, but it was so stupid I laughed. The names actually seemed to be divided by income level. David Barker and the other two complaining clients had incredible homes. Of the other five, four lived in apartments or condominiums while one lived in a modest house on a very cramped street. I didn’t think the police, who were so far invisible, were targeting my more affluent clients. That was ridiculous. But was there something here I should be seeing but wasn’t?

I tossed the menu onto the passenger seat and drove home. On the way, I continued to work the problem and kept checking the rear-view mirror to see if I was being followed. I wasn’t. Parking in my driveway, I got out and opened the garage door manually. It would be awhile before I felt I could spend the money to replace the opener’s track. I pulled my car into the garage.

Walking around to the trunk, I found myself staring at the driveway. An idea hit me. I left my groceries where they were and instead ran over and flipped on the overhead light. I manually closed the garage door. Then, I lay down on the cement floor. An economy car like mine is low to the ground. There was no way I could get underneath it. Nor could I really see beneath it, even while lying on the garage floor. I had to settle for running my hand around underneath the vehicle.

It was dirty under there, dirty and sort of unfinished. I tried to be careful as I moved my hand around. I didn’t want to end up with a bunch of cuts. When I didn’t find what I was looking for on the driver’s side, I moved around the back of the car to the passenger side. I bent over and began feeling around the rear wheel well.

Then I felt it. A small box stuck to the inside of the fender. It was cleaner than the surrounding fender. In fact, it was nearly pristine. I gave a yank and pulled it off. The box was about the size of a pack of cigarettes. On its front surface was the brand name Tracco Surveillance Products. It was some kind of GPS device.

That’s how they were doing it. They were invisible because they weren’t following me at all. They were tracking my every move on a computer somewhere. And the reason only three of my clients had called to complain was that they’d only interviewed those three. They were the clients who had driveways. With my other clients, I’d had to park on the street. The police couldn’t figure out where I’d gone. They’d either been confronted with a large apartment or condominium complex or, in one case, a narrow street with more than a dozen houses without driveways.

I should have guessed they’d done something like this. Financially, the city was circling the drain. There’s no way they could afford to have me followed by a couple of cops twenty-four/seven. A GPS saved them a ton of money. I opened my car and tossed the GPS device onto the front seat. Now, I controlled whether they followed me or not.

I was angry, of course. Strangely, I felt dirty. Doing massages with a full release hadn’t made me feel dirty. But the idea that the police were watching me, judging every move I made, waiting for me to give them the information they needed to put me in prison like any common criminal, that made me feel dirty. Like I’d picked up a parasite.

I was still fuming when the phone rang. Not recognizing the number, I barked a hello into the phone. I was surprised to discover Sylvia Navarez on the other end. She sounded nervous, her voice quivering.

“I want you to come over. If you come over, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Why? Why are you going to tell me?”

She left a long silence. “I feel too guilty. Letting you pay for something you didn’t do.”

That was good enough for me. I hung up the phone and rushed to put away my groceries. When I was done, I hurried back out to the garage. I opened up the passenger door on my car and picked up the GPS off the front seat. I set it into one of the boxes of unused kitchen things. I didn’t think it was a good idea for the police to know where I was going.

Relief flowed through me. I felt like I’d just had a couple glasses of wine. I was sure Sylvia knew who had killed Eddie, and that meant this whole thing would be settled today, in just a few hours. I was nearly giddy as I sped to her house. I parked up the hill exactly where I had the last time I’d come. As I walked down toward Sylvia’s house, I wondered if her new protégé would be hanging around like he had last time. He was kind of cute. Maybe when all this was over I’d treat myself to one of his massages.

Of course, when all this was over what I wanted to treat myself to most of all was Detective Tripp. I had no idea if that would be possible. Sure, our make out session let me know he was attracted to me. But he hadn’t called me, and he didn’t completely believe I was innocent. I had no idea how he might feel about me when all this was over.

I probably should