Read The Quintessence of Quick (The Jack Mason Saga) for Free Online Page B

to introduce Linda to the elder uncle first, so we dropped by Gene Debs’s, and yes we went flyin’, ’cause the little lady’s a pilot herself.” eyebrows arched, he looked at Linda. “Hope you don’t mind, hon. You’ve been explaining yourself all morning, so I thought I’d deliver the shocking news for a change.”
    “Be my guest, darlin’, but I’ll bet Cordelia knew already. After all, we’ve been in town for over twenty-four hours.” smiling at Cordelia, she said, “Jack tells me no secret’s safe in Bisque for more than twenty-four hours.”
    “Child,” she said, she looked at Linda with frank appreciation, “Where you’re concerned, it’d be more like twenty-four minutes. How d’ya like Bisque so far?”
    Linda let the question hang in the air for a quarter-beat. “Charming; what I’ve seen of it, that is. We just got here yesterday.”
    “And I gotta get outa here today. Don’t that beat all? Well, soon as I get back we’ll have y’all out here for a snifter. Hell, if Buster does good tomorrow we’ll really blow it out.”
    “What’s he doing tomorrow?” Linda asked her.
    “Hell, hon, Daytona’s tomorrow. At th’ new track. Don’t Jack tell you ennythang about th’ homefolks?”
    “Shit,” Jack said with an impatient headshake. “It’s tomorrow?”
    “Yes, sweetheart, it’s tomorrow!” Cordelia said, mimicking the headshake as she moved to put him in a mock headlock. “I swear, I don’t know what we’re gonna do with this boy,” she grinned at Linda over the top of his head. Releasing him, she said, “But you’ve got a pretty good excuse this time, Jackie. Th’ lovesick blues’ve been known to play absolute hell with a body’s calendar.”
    Moving to regain the initiative, Jack said, “And you’re just leaving now?” Giving his aunt a playful butt-slap as they separated. “You won’t be down there ’til midnight.”
    “You’re not the only one that can fly someplace, y’know,” she said, slapping him back. She cocked her head at the sound of a ringing telephone. “Matter of fact, I gotta get movin’. Lindsey Rankin’s pickin’ me up in the Firestone plane, and he’s probably sittin’ out there waitin’. Hold on a minute.” Stepping up on the porch, she walked quickly to the door, extracted a bag from just inside it and turned the key that was already in the lock. “Glad y’all didn’t show up five minutes later,” she said. “I gotta go; gimme a hug.” This last to Linda. “Mm-m. Don’chall have too much fun scandalizin’ th’ ol’ hometown ’til I get back to help ya. Wish us luck; we’re th’ only Plymouth in th’ field. Lemme outa here now.” Throwing the bag into the 300’s back seat, she had its engine turning over seconds later, the tailpipes growling like an unlimited hydroplane.
    “Hm,” Linda mused as they watched the Chrysler roar away. “Wonder who painted those coveralls onto her. Some kinfolk you have, hon.”
    “And you ain’t even met my Mama.”
    “Good thing I don’t have to today, if she’s anything like that handful. They’re buddies, huh?”
    “Lifelong. And stayed that way, even when she married Buster.”
    “Mama wasn’t in favor of it?”
    “Not much, from the few things I’ve heard her say over the years. We were living in New York, and I was still in diapers.”
    “Did y’all come down for the wedding?”
    “Nah. They eloped. But, as they say, enough about her. You gettin’ hungry?”
    “Not a bit. What do you say we just go for an early dinner?”
    “Fine with me,” he said. You up for hot dogs and/or hamburgers? I thought we’d stop by Don’s Dog House after HCBC. It’s close, and we’ll probably see an example or two of the natives’ Saturday-night mating ritual. Too cold for curb service, but they’ll bring us a set-up so we can have cocktails in the car.”
    “How quaint. Got some booze at the office?”
    “Cat got an ass?”
    The wagon followed its nose for the three miles