Read Tinkerbell on Walkabout for Free Online Page A

We’ll be back tomorrow.” He jerks
his head toward the Caddie.
    The others move in obedient unison, ambling back to the car
and disappearing into it.
    Perry turns on his heel and walks off back toward the garage
while Coop watches him in a way that makes the skin between my shoulder blades
crawl. He stands there so long one of his buddies climbs out of the Caddie.
    “What’s the hold up?”
    “I’m thinking.”
    Hence the complete lack of movement.
    “We going?”
    “Yeah, we’re going, all right. But we’re not waiting till tomorrow. We’ll give Perry a chance to clear
out, then we’ll do this thing.”
    “What if Perry’s right about the cops?”
    “What if Perry’s full of it?”
    They return to the Cadillac and pull out of the yard, not
being awfully careful with the fence. It still hangs slightly askew when they
disappear into the gloom.
    My first impulse is to race to the LeBaron and crack it open
like an oyster. To pry out whatever pearl these guys want so badly that it cost
a man’s life. This is a dangerous impulse, and hard to resist.
    “We don’t have much time,” I say.
    July is already punching a number on her cell phone. “I’m
calling the Sheriff’s Department. You call Lee and tell him what’s happened.”
    I obey.
    Naturally, Lee orders us out of the yard. “Dammit, Tink,” he
says. “It’s time you turned this over to the police.”
    “July’s doing that right now.”
    “Fine. Get—” His voice just quits.
    My blood chills a few degrees. “What?”
    “Perry’s leaving. Should I follow him?”
    Tempting. “No. No, stay where you are.” I hang up.
    “I don’t believe this,” says July, fiercely punching off her phone. “The officer on duty thought
I was a prankster.”
    For a moment, all I can do is stare at her. Finally, I say,
“Then call the CHP.”
    “Come on, Gina. You know better than that. We don’t have
jurisdiction.”
    “Then what do we do? Frankly, I’m not up for one of those
Charlie’s Angels takedowns. We’d probably end up under arrest.”
    “Now that’d be a real defining moment in my career.”
    “Then again, if we do nothing, Bob’s killers and whatever’s
in that car . . .”
    July stares at me in the dim junkyard light. “We don’t have
lock picks.”
    “Nope. But I’ve got a little Swiss Army knife.”
    I get up and move down the row of cars to the tail of the
LeBaron where I kneel to pull out my handy swivel-head flashlight. I clip this
to the collar of my jacket and aim at the lock, thinking: O, autovoi , give me a break.
    Apparently, you have to watch your language around inanimate
spirits. The penknife quite literally breaks off in the lock after a mere five
minutes of abuse.
    “Now what?” asks July.
    I poke at the broken blade with my fingernail. “We could
shoot it out. That always works on TV.”
    “Not funny, Gina. We don’t know what’s in that trunk. It
could be a bomb.”
    Or another body—though based on the conversation we just
overheard, it’s more likely to be drugs. “I was kidding. How about a crowbar?”
    She glances toward the parts cottage. “I’ll go see if I can
find one.”
    “I’ll check the garage.”
    “It’ll be locked. And we’ve seen how good you are with
locks, Nancy.”
    “Yeah, like you ’ re Bernie
Rodhenbarr.”
    We split up, July taking off for the parts place and me
sprinting for the garage. The dogs are still going nuts.
    I dash across the open area between the yard and the garage,
hoping I’m invisible against the uneven backdrop of shrubbery. Once behind the
garage, I make my way to the rear door of the shop.
    Locked.
    I slip over to a window and peer in. A tiny, flashing red
light high in one corner of the cavernous room tells me that Bob was as
security conscious as he was neat.
    I’m considering options when every light in the yard winks
out. This does not bode well. I slip to the corner of the garage and peer
toward the back of the lot. The mist in the far corner