red fingers flitted in a quick wave of dismissal. “No. No ambulance. I’m okay.”
He nodded briefly and relayed the information to Dispatch.
Conner tugged off his leather glove and held out his hand. “I’m Captain Gates from the sheriff’s department.” Her hand was ice cold. “Can you tell me what happened here?”
“Someone rammed into my car and took off.” Conner expected to hear fear in the woman’s tone. Instead, he was met by the hard edge of annoyance. “It’s my sister’s car,” she added, as if that might explain her tone.
“It was horrible.” Erin rolled up on the balls of her orthopedic shoes and her eyes brightened with excitement. This was, after all, probably the most thrilling thing she’d witnessed in her fifty-odd years. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Always thought maybe someday someone would come crashing through the front of the store. You know?” She touched the arm of the woman standing next to her. If she had been looking for an ally, she didn’t find one in the woman’s steely gaze. The clerk continued, undeterred. “I see that all the time on the TV. But, wow, never seen anything like that in real life. He was aiming right for this lady’s car.”
“You saw the accident?”
“Yes,” Erin said. “I looked up when I heard the tires squeal. At first I thought it was on account of the snow and ice. But no, this was completely intentional. He tried to crush her between the car and fuel pumps.” The clerk’s eyes grew wide. “I didn’t catch the license plate. He pulled in and parked there shortly before this lady arrived. Never came into the store. I didn’t think much of it because people use this parking lot all the time to shop at other stores. Easier than street parking.”
“Did you notice anyone getting out of the truck?” Conner asked.
“Can’t say that I did.”
Conner directed his attention to the attractive woman who clasped a blanket tightly around her shoulders. Her attention was focused on the parking lot, or maybe her car. What was she searching for? “Any surveillance camera footage from that part of the parking lot?” Conner asked.
“Doubtful. You’re free to look, though,” Erin offered. “The only camera is pointed at the register.”
“Do you...” He backed up his train of thought and turned toward the shivering woman. “I’m sorry. What’s your name?” It wasn’t often that he met strangers in Quail Hollow. It was one of those places where everyone knew everyone else or, at the very least, knew of everyone else. He most definitely had never met this brunette with watchful brown eyes. Yet something about her seemed vaguely familiar.
“Grace Miller.” She blinked slowly, as if she had to think about it.
He made a mental note of it. Miller was a common Amish name around here; however, this woman was definitely not Amish. Not with her long brown hair flowing out from under her knit cap. Not to mention her expensive-looking boots, albeit not snow boots.
“Do you have ID?”
She held up her hand toward the smashed car. “My purse is on the passenger seat.”
“No problem. We can deal with that later. Want to tell me what happened?”
A shadow crossed her eyes as if she were deciding how much to tell him. “I was pumping gas and some guy crashed into me. And took off.” She seemed bored with the retelling. It was odd. Most people would have been completely panicked if someone rammed into their car while they pumped gas.
“Do you know the guy? Did you see him or get a license plate?”
“Of course I don’t know him. And no, I didn’t get a license plate. I was too busy diving out of the way.” She twisted to get a better look at the slushy, black snow on her pants. She winced and her hand moved to her midsection. “I only saw a profile. Male. It was too hard to make out his face.”
“Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”
“I’ll be fine. I had my appendix out a few weeks ago. Landing on my side didn’t do much for my recovery.” Apparently sensing he was going to push the doctor thing again, she held up her hand. “I’m fine, really. I want to go home and change my clothes. I’m soaking wet.”
“All right.” Conner glanced around. The beeping sound of a tow truck backing up to her damaged car filled the night air. “Do you have someone you can call for a ride?”
“Um, no?” Her answer came out as a question. “I don’t suppose Quail Hollow has Uber.”
He suppressed a chuckle. “Let me take a few photos of the scene, talk to the tow truck driver, then I’ll see that you get home.”
A fraught expression tightened her pretty features. “That would be great.”
“Wait here where it’s warm.”
Grace hugged the blanket closer around her and shuddered. “That’s a matter of opinion.” Her lips tilted into a weary smile, but he didn’t miss the daggers shooting from her eyes.
* * *
For all the investigative journalism Grace had done over the years, she had never sat in the front seat of a patrol car. She had never sat in the backseat, either, for that matter. She’d come close a few times, but she had a knack for knowing when pushing law enforcement for answers had drifted from merely annoying to “let’s lock her up.”
The officer had started the engine, then climbed back out of the vehicle. She felt a little guilty about being coy regarding what happened tonight. She hadn’t just been filling her gas tank. She had come here because she had received a tip on the story she was working on. However, the sheriff’s department had been less than forthcoming with information when it came to the underage drinking party and subsequent fatal car accident.
Two could play at that game.
Besides, she didn’t want to become part of the story. If she kept her mouth shut, the hit-and-run would be a little blurb on the back page of a local paper and not part of a larger story, one that she was trying to cover. That was, if Quail Hollow had a newspaper.
Grace hadn’t dealt with this officer from the sheriff’s department before. Maybe she could pry some information out of him before he realized she was a journalist.
Just maybe...
Just maybe that would be unethical, a little voice whispered in her head.
Stifling a shiver, Grace adjusted the vent on the dash, glad the officer had turned on the heat before getting back out of his patrol car to talk to the tow truck driver and retrieve her purse from the passenger seat of her car. She plucked at the fabric of her wet pants, eager to get home and change.
When the officer finally climbed behind the steering wheel, he handed her the purse. “Warming up?”
“Thanks. Yeah.”
“Before we go, I want to see if you recall anything else from the accident. Anything else important you haven’t told me?” His intense brown eyes searched her face. She wasn’t ready to talk. Not yet.
Twisting
