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Sarah comes out from the kitchen and hands me two big bags. “Funny, I don’t remember the police department ever placing such a large order.”
Neither do I.
Rusty pays in cash then he and Travis take the bags and leave.
“Whew,” says Sarah. “I’m glad things are slowing down some. Want to take a breather? You haven’t sat down all morning.”
Through the glass pane window, I watch Rusty an
d Travis get into their squad car and my Spidey sense slaps me up the side of the head. Or maybe its residual ache from the frying pan incident. Whatever. But something tells me to follow them, and if I’ve learned anything in the past week, it’s that I need to listen to myself.
“Do you mind if I take an early lunch break?”
“No problem. Jill and I can handle things for a bit.”
“Thanks!” I grab a sweater and Paco’s leash. He happily jumps into the passenger seat of my VW beetle.
Since Travis and Rusty are in a squad car, it’s not hard to spot them.
I stay in the right-hand lane, three cars behind, going slow but not too slow because I want to keep up.
The Whispering Bay police station is next door to city hall, but instead of turning into the parking lot, Travis keeps on driving.
I knew they were up to something!
Paco sticks his head out the window. “Get back in,” I urge in case either Travis or Rusty are looking. The last thing I want is for one of them to spot me.
The squad car takes a right into Dolphin Isles, a new residential community of cookie-cutter homes. Whispering Bay is a coastal town of about ten thousand year-long residents, mostly young families, and retirees. But there’s also a substantial vacation and snowbird crowd that rent homes in this subdivision.
Travis parks the squad car on the side of the road. I stay half a block down shielding my car behind a big palm tree. I’m confident they can’t see me.
Paco barks like he wants to ask a question.
“Shhh,” I warn. “We’re trying to stay incognito.”
He freezes like he understands, which is actually pretty cute.
I glance back at the squad car, expecting Travis or Rusty or both of them to get out, but nothing happens.
Could they be on a stakeout?
My heart speeds up at the thought. But that makes no sense. All that food for just the two of them?
I make a mental note to buy myself a pair of binoculars when I notice a jogger coming toward them. Male, mid-thirties, lean build, navy blue hoodie. He slows down and approaches the squad car. Travis hands him the two bags of food through the car window, then the man takes off jogging in the opposite direction.
After a couple of minutes, Travis and Rusty drive away.
I make sure they’re gone, then I follow the jogger.
Chapter Two
I’ve never followed anyone before, but it’s actually kind of fun. No wonder Harriet (Harriet the Spy was one of my favorite movies as a kid) was always writing down observations in that little journal of hers. Besides the binoculars, I should also probably pick up a couple of notebooks. Just in case.
The jogger goes up three streets and into a one-story stucco home on the edge of a cul-de-sac. The garage door is closed, and the driveway is empty.
“What do you think that was about?” I ask Paco.
He turns his head the way dogs do in that quizzical manner that looks so adorable.
