The highway was just as deserted as before, shrouded in heavy mist and lonely as a grave. I fixed my eyes on the horizon, trying to come to grips with what I’d learned. My knuckles throbbed a little. That part, anyway, had been satisfying. As I slowed down for the flashing yellow lights by the bridge, I saw a turkey vulture at the edge of the road, hunched over the still form of a raccoon. The bird raised its naked head and stared at me, a challenging, arrogant look. Something long and pinkish dangled from its bill. I glanced away, unwilling to gaze into its hooded eyes, and focused on my driving. Fortunately, I don’t believe in omens or any of that shit. I’d gone another quarter mile when all the bits of information swirling about in my head collided with such suddenness I nearly left the road. “He figured he had a big inheritance coming his way…” “They were never able to trace him…” “…hadn’t even left a note…” “Red…dripping down the stems…” Something I’d seen when I was with Biddie…and something else, something to do with sheets… I slammed on my signal and made and abrupt left onto Johnson Ranch Road, cutting across the path of an oncoming bubba truck and earning an assurance from its driver that I was number one in his book.
What do You think about Death At A Fixer-Upper (2016)?
