about it.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, Miss Donnelly. To tell the truth, I was a little suspicious when I saw the bruises on your face and that you are limping.”
“Why in the world would my injuries make you suspicious of me?” Sharon asked disturbed. “It is only common courtesy that you tell me what these questions are about.”
“You’re right, of course. I needed to determine if you were involved or knew something about the murder.”
“Involved in what?! And why would I know anything about a local murder when I’m just passing through?”
“The man in room four, Arnold Millhouse, was found dead this morning when the maid went in to clean. It is unfortunate, but it looks as if you checked in about the time it happened. It’s just standard procedure to ask anyone around for information.”
“So you think the men that I saw could be involved?”
“I have no way of knowing. I need to talk to anyone who might give us even a tiny scrap of information. I can’t be sure those men knew anything until I can question them. Can you identify the car they were in?”
“I didn’t see the car enough to identify it. It was just a dark shade parked over there in the shadows. The light from here doesn’t reach over there.”
“Did you observe anything about either man? Did either one have a noticeable accent or speech pattern? Was there an odor of any kind such as shaving lotion or something they wore? Can you think of anything more to tell me?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. The man that ran into me was polite, had a deep voice and was very tall. The other man was angry at him for stopping to help me.”
“Thank you, Miss Donnelly. Please give this officer your name, address and phone number where we can contact you. Here’s my card. Remember, no matter how insignificant something might appear to you, it may be just the break we need. Feel free to contact me at any time.”
Feeling prickles at the back of her neck, Sharon turned around to see Herman Morrison glaring at her, but his wife was smiling.
Sharon went back into the room and prepared to leave. She puzzled over Herman Morrison and his obvious dislike of her. Why? He doesn’t even know me. Why do I feel so uncomfortable to be around these people? So many troubling thoughts raced through Sharon’s mind.
She put her bag in the trunk of her car and then walked over to the restaurant. After breakfast she got into her car, clicked the seat belt in place, and pulled out to get back up on I-10. She turned toward the southeast thinking she would more than likely reach I-75 in a little less than an hour.
A little more than half an hour later the heavy rain started. First beatings from Jeremy, then the stupid fall, knock-down, whatever, last night. I sure don’t need an auto accident to finish me off. She drove carefully on her way, her heart becoming lighter as she came closer to her new home.
Sharon turned the radio on hoping to get a weather report, but static forced her to turn it off. About an hour and a half after she had left the motel, Sharon turned south on I-75. The miles had taken longer than she expected because the pounding rain had forced her to drive slowly, and even stop once until she could see more clearly.
She pulled into a service station for gas and a rest stop. The Snack Mart had cold soft drinks and snacks. She thought a sweet cake and the caffeine in the coke would give her some much needed quick energy. At this rate I’ll probably reach my new home by about ten tonight. It’s too bad I was held up until eleven before I could leave the motel this morning. I sure thought I’d make better time than this. It’s okay though just as long as I arrive safely.
I sure am glad Lynn sent me directions along with a house key and garage door opener. I can hardly wait to get there. How wonderful it will be to live near Lynn and be stress free.
The rain became a light mist and then stopped, but the sky still looked threatening As Sharon drove through the Ocala area, she decided to stop and rest. Pulling in front of a restaurant she sat quietly with closed eyes and rolled her head gently on her shoulders. Getting out of the car the muggy heat seemed to hit her like a slap in the face. Walking slowly to keep from limping, she went into the restaurant.
The air conditioning was welcome after the slow walk across the hot pavement. She found a table near a window. A middle-aged woman came to take Sharon’s order.
“Your dinners look delicious, but I can’t decide whether I want a full meal or just a sandwich. Can you give me a minute?”
“Sure, love,” the waitress answered with a British accent. “Take all the time you need. Would you like something to drink while you’re deciding?”
“Yes, please. A big, tall, cold glass of ice tea with lemon would be heavenly.”
The waitress brought the tea with two big chucks of lemon hanging on the side of the glass. Taking her pad and pencil from her pocket, she asked, “Have you decided what you want?”
“Yes. I would like the chicken salad platter and blueberry pie. Could you please heat the pie when I’m ready for it?”
“Absolutely. We’re here to please.” She smiled and walked away.
The food was delicious. Leaving a generous tip, and then paying the bill, Sharon walked toward the ladies’ room. As she passed a booth, she deftly stepped aside to avoid a man who stood quickly. He reached out to steady her as she staggered.
“Gee, I’m sorry. That was careless of me to get up without looking. Are you okay?”
Sharon broke into nervous giggles. “That’s the second time in as many days that a man has asked me that?”
He looked strangely at her and dropped her arm as if she were a threat to his life. She quickly excused herself and, blushing with embarrassment, hurried to the ladies’ room.
Back in the car, Sharon cheered. “Hurrah, Steamboat! You sure are a good little buddy.” She grinned as she patted the dashboard. “We’re almost home and you can have the rest you deserve. Me ,too. Wonder why I’m accident prone lately? Must be getting old,” she chuckled.
The trip continued uneventfully. Sharon exited off I-75 on to S.R. 54 for the last twelve miles into Zephyrhills. A few minutes before ten pm, she drove by the city limit sign. West 54 became Fifth Avenue as she drove across the little bridge over Zephyr Lake. Driving across Gall Blvd., known as Highway 301, she soon reached Eighteenth Street. Turning left she quickly covered the few blocks to her new home.
What a relief and how exciting to push the remote control for her very own garage door to slide smoothly open.
“Hallelujah! My compliments to you Steamboat. We did it.”
Remembering the floor plan that Lynn sent, Sharon stepped from the garage into the house. Turning left she walked down a short hallway to the master bedroom. With a sigh of contentment she slipped out of her shoes and then toured her new house.
Lynn had left a beautiful vase of sweet-smelling roses on a credenza. As Sharon bent to smell the flowers, her eyes were drawn to the blinking light on the telephone answering machine. She turned it on for her message.
“Hey, Sharon. It’s about
