Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (chapter books to read to 5 year olds TXT) 📕

over the top of his glasses at the signature then studied Kirby for a long second. More worried than joking, he said, “You look like a hard night in Reno.”

Kirby didn’t bother to answer. He turned to look at the mountain bike. As promised, it wore a big red bow. Kirby carried it out and carefully placed it in his trunk. He turned back to the steps.

The old man handed Kirby the rifle. “Sighting’s been calibrated. Shoots dead-on. Up to a hundred and eighty yards there’s no need to elevate. Silver bullets don’t travel that good anyway. They tend to tumble quicker. Wait till it's close enough to see its eyes.”

Kirby placed the rifle against the back wall of the trunk and turned back for the ammo clips.

“I polished the silver. Maybe they’ll travel better.”

“Thanks.” Kirby set both full clips in a fabric storage pocket on the right side of the trunk and closed the lid.

Jesus.

A fourteen wheeler rolled past the inn and turned down a snow covered side street, Mona’s daddy driving. No mistake.

Kirby turned toward the driver’s side of his car.

The old man grabbed his arm. “One more thing.” His dead stare held gripped. “Silver won’t flatten out on impact like lead. It’ll go straight through.”

“That’s okay. I’m a good shot. I’ll shoot it in the head or neck.”

“Won’t help, you know.”

“What?”

“Silver bullets. That’s just a superstitious myth.”

“Then why did you make them up? Why didn’t you say something before?”

The old guy shrugged. “Guess I’m superstitious.”

Chapter Twenty One

He drove uphill as fast as he dared, knowing there'd be no traffic from Sonora. Dense clouds still hung low over Sonora Pass Highway, a narrow strip of asphalt with hundreds patches and repairs he'd somehow never noticed before. He turned right onto a much better road, descended into her valley and passed Jacobsen's at 12:11pm. He sped down River Road with a pickup truck a quarter mile behind. He slowed to turn up her driveway and looked in the mirror.

The pickup truck turned left onto a snow covered side road, two guys inside. What looked like a black calf stood in back, maybe the bait she’d been harping about.

He drove down to her barn, around the pile of snow in the middle of her wide driveway and parked in front of the house. By parking in this direction, he could see anything that might approach from up in the direction that truck had taken.

He shut off his car, got out and walked around the rear toward the front steps.

What the . . .

Red flowers poked through snow in front of her raised stone porch.

Great!

He plucked three stems and smelled them. “Phew.” They smelled like skunk. He tossed the flowers off the porch and knocked on the door. “Phew.” His fingers smelled like skunk.

The kid opened the door, still pissed off. His dog pushed onto the porch to sniff Kirby’s legs and feet. Kirby didn’t move a muscle. “Merry Christmas, kid. Is your mother in?”

“Mom.” The kid slammed the door in Kirby’s face and left his dog outside.

The dog sniffed Kirby's hand, sneezed, and shook his head.

“You got that right.”

The dog trotted down the steps and lifted its leg on Kirby’s back tire.

“Damn.” For the first time, Kirby got a good look at the scrape on the right rear fender of the Bentley.

Carolyn opened the front door and smiled politely, a hesitant look in her normally gorgeous eyes.

“Merry Christmas. Am I forgiven?”

She looked away and opened the door wide. “Of course. Come in.”

The dog pushed past Kirby and stood in the entry, his spot for guarding the house.

Kirby walked into the entry, past the dog.

Carolyn closed the door. “Have you eaten? You look awful.” She seemed sure of herself today, something he’d never seen before.

“Thanks.”

“Didn’t you get any sleep last night?” She led him down into the living room.

“Not much. I still feel rotten about what happened last night.”

Stupid kid.

She walked toward the kitchen without looking back.

He said, “Listen, I noticed a truck turning off the road. They had a calf in the back.”

She glanced back and shrugged, not interested in that either. They hadn’t talked about what had to be done, what had supposedly brought him up here.

“Now might be a good time to have a talk with them.”

That turned her around, thinking about it. She grabbed a nice sheepskin coat from the back of the kitchen door and led him outside.

Kirby put her in his car, drove back onto River Road and turned up onto the snow packed side road. He placed the car in park but left it running.

Just in time.

The pickup truck rolled downhill toward them, a well traveled path through deep snow.

He said, “Let me do the talking.”

She said nothing. They both got out and moved to the front of his car.

The truck stopped a few feet away and left the engine running. Two men got out of the truck and walked slowly toward them. The bigger man wore a tan cowboy hat with a badge. The skinny guy wore a plain, black cowboy hat. Both wore sheepskin coats.

Kirby shivered, freezing. He'd left his wool coat in the car.

“Merry Christmas, ma’am.” The bigger man took off his sheriff’s hat and smiled. He didn’t look at Kirby, only at her. The skinny guy ignored him too.

Kirby said, “Mrs. Potter has asked me to look into this matter. She’s already emailed me your so-called irrevocable trust deed.”

“Ma’am, there’s a moon tonight.” The sheriff still ignored Kirby. “I thought we had all this settled.” Now he sneered at Kirby.

“Not by a long shot.” Kirby stepped up to the sheriff, eye to eye.

The skinny one took off his black hat and stepped toward Carolyn, not caring at all about Kirby. Skinny said, “Remember, we got a special Christmas service at two.”

They both put their hats back on and climbed back into their truck.

Kirby would have loved slapping the skinny guy around. The sheriff looked the type who'd slap back, the type who'd know how.

Kirby said, “What the hell