Read The Chocolate Snowman Murders for Free Online Page A

knee.
    My reflexes took over. I put all my strength behind a vigorous jab with my right elbow that caught him in the shoulder. “Get back in your seat belt!”
    Mendenhall moved away, though not as far away as I would have liked.
    I sneaked a glance at him. He was rubbing his shoulder and looking wounded. If he wanted sympathy, he was out of luck. I was wishing my elbow had had a spear point attached.
    Traffic slowed almost to a stop again. We were barely moving, and I tried to watch Mendenhall out of the corner of my eye.
    He was still rubbing his shoulder. “That wasn’t very friendly. When I visit a new place, I like to be friendly.”
    â€œPawing at a woman who is not eager for your attentions is not friendly. Please buckle your seat belt and stay on your side of the cab, Dr. Mendenhall.”
    He took another nip from his flask, pouting. He did not put his seat belt on. Traffic inched along. I was imprisoned in the truck. I began to make plans for breaking out of that prison.
    We passed a sign saying it would be a mile before the next exit, one long mile before I could get off the interstate.
    I allowed myself to hope that Mendenhall would subside. Pass out. Catch on to the idea I was trying to put across.
    Unfortunately, the idea he got was not the one I had in mind. Traffic began to move a little faster, but we’d barely gone a hundred feet—I was shifting from first to second—when Mendenhall slid across the seat and leaned toward me.
    â€œNow, Lee, I know you can be friendly. A beautiful woman like you knows she’s attractive to men. You must enjoy the attention.”
    He got up on his knees in the seat, leaned over, and breathed down my neck.
    â€œGet away!” As soon as I could get my hand off the gearshift, I put my palm in the enter of his chest and pushed him over backward. “Stay away from me!”
    He chuckled. “You know you like it.”
    Just then I saw the promise of deliverance. It was one of those highway signs describing which services are available at exits.
    There was a motel at the next exit, I saw, and that exit was now close. I slid the truck into the exit lane without bothering to make a turn signal.
    Mendenhall was getting up onto his knees, apparently ready for another try at my nape, and my sudden swerve almost threw him into the dashboard. As soon as he regained his balance, he began to crawl across the seat toward me. I again put my palm in the center of his chest. This time I pushed gently.
    â€œIf you’re feeling this amorous,” I said, “you need to get a room.”
    The guy nearly fell over backward, and it wasn’t because of my push. He was flatly astonished. “A room?”
    â€œYes. There’s a motel at this exit. They rent rooms. Do you have a credit card?”
    â€œA credit card?”
    â€œTo pay for the room.”
    â€œThe room?”
    He sounded scared to death. Dr. Fletcher Mendenhall was confirming something I’d long suspected. These creeps who come on so hard with no encouragement don’t really want to succeed. They’re simply trying to embarrass the object of the chase. Something about me—could it be my height?—had intimidated Mendenhall. He had no sexual interest in me at all. He simply felt that he had to humiliate me.
    I wasn’t humiliated. I was furious. And we were about to find out who wound up embarrassed.
    We reached the bottom of the exit ramp, and an arrow on another highway department sign showed me which way to turn. I made a hard right, drove a block, and turned into the driveway of a budget motel chain. It looked sleazy enough for my purpose.
    The truck skidded slightly as I hit the brakes in front of the office. I turned to face Mendenhall and smiled. “Okay. Get a room.”
    A broad smile came over the professor’s face. Once again he offered me his old-fashioned flask. This time I took it from him, though I didn’t drink from it.