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“Hey, you’re Miranda, aren’t you?” he exclaimed. “You’re Iris Scanlon’s new driver!”
“You know Iris?” I squeaked.
“Sure, she’s a friend of my Andrea’s. I work at the shop sometimes, too, but I was, er, out that night. Jane was telling me about you. Did you really drop that marble dragon’s egg on her foot?”
“Oh, no!” I yelped, the blood draining from my face. He knew my boss, and I’d just confessed to the full complement of my professional nitwittery. I clapped my hands over my mouth. “I can’t believe—of all the vampires to run into—damn it!”
“Calm down, Jinx, I’m not going to call and tell on you. I figure you and Iris need to work this out on your own.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Really?”
“Yeah, I’m the one who arranged all of the upgrades on the transport vehicle. You think I want to tell her that her newest employee destroyed the car she’s been drooling over for three months?”
“Good point.”
“Besides, Jinx, what’s said in the El Camino stays in the El Camino.”
“Could we talk about why you’re calling me Jinx?”
“I give people nicknames, it’s sort of a thing. If it makes you feel better, my other friends are nicknamed Stretch, Jackass, and Spazzy McGee.”
“You know, I think that does make me feel better.”
“If you’re hungry, there’s Corn Nuts in the glove compartment.”
“Why would you have Corn Nuts?”
“Living friends, one of whom eats as if carbs are about to be declared illegal,” he said as I dug into the bag. “So are we going to talk about your friend who’s hiding in the back of my car?”
I cleared my throat. “Sorry about that. He was afraid you would feel threatened if there were two of us.”
“Why didn’t he just run ahead?”
“He didn’t want to leave me.”
“Well, I think that makes me like him a little bit. Would he be insulted if I asked him to move up front?” he asked.
I thought about the car-in-the-ravine incident. “No, he’s OK.”
I wasn’t exactly relishing the idea of returning to my hometown. Nestled in a crook of the Kentucky-Ohio River border, Half-Moon Hollow is one of those stereotypical Southern towns where everybody knows each other. Of the ten thousand or so people who live in the town, my parents played bridge, golfed, or went to church with at least half. There was not a lot of room for someone like me, who kept the gossip mill running like a hamster wheel. I’d left as soon as the ink was dry on my high-school diploma and had never intended to come back. And now I didn’t think I would have a choice about leaving.
The drive back to the Hollow was a strange mix of highly entertaining conversation, courtesy of Dick, and that strange “time molasses” feeling you get when you’re facing trouble. Time alternately feels as if it’s moving too fast and gives you far too many opportunities to think about the exact depth of your particular paddle-less creek.
How was I going to handle the Jason situation? Part of me really wanted to approach it with all of the class and dignity that he wouldn’t expect from me, while the other wanted to Taser him in bad places until his neighbors called the cops.
And even if Dick kept his mouth shut and Collin took the blame for the car, how was Iris going to react to my arrival? Wearing mismatched picnic clothes while bearing a bedraggled, barely fed vampire client in my wake wasn’t exactly the picture of professionalism. And I hadn’t contacted my mother in more than twenty-four hours, which meant that there was every chance she had called Iris to demand to know where I was. Maybe if I just skipped town after Iris fired me, my mom would assume that I was a missing person.
I could live in Mexico for a while. My Spanish was passable, and I enjoyed a good tamale. I groaned. I would not hide from my problems, I told myself. I would face up to what happened, tell Iris everything, dump Jason like a sack of manure, and figure everything out from there.
“Don’t worry, honey, we’re only a few miles away,” Dick assured me.
I glanced at the clock. We were running right on time.
The Mexico plan wasn’t so bad, really.
Ophelia Lambert had creeped me the hell out the night I’d had to submit to various screenings to clear me as a transport specialist. When Dick drove me to a little two-story ranch house on County Line Road, I was sure he’d taken me to the wrong place. Martha Stewart could have lived in this house. There were flipping geraniums in the window boxes on the front porch.
Iris’s bright yellow Beeline minivan was parked in the driveway. Of course, it only made sense that she would want to be present for the inaugural arrival of the Beeline transport service … which meant that I had even less time in her employ.
