AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Trust your gut, Ginny,”her brother Lewis had told her at a dance one time, when she’d motioned him over to steal her away from a stranger getting too handsy.“You’ve got a good head on those shoulders.”
When Ginny glanced over, Martina was watching her, and Ginny remembered it had been a while since she’d said anything. “How far’ve you gotten in that book about reading books?”
It was the right choice of topic. Martina perked up, chattering about reading as discovery and how the author compared readers and authors to baseball players. Ginny strung things along with a “You think so?” and “How about that” every now and then, but mostly kept one eye fixed on those headlights that turned with them down the country roads. Yes, he was following them. She was sure of it now.
Creep.Ginny clenched the steering wheel and thought about her options. Mostly, she wanted to pull over, get out her tire iron, and yell at the guy. His type were always cowards, ready to split at the first sign of trouble. But that was probably illegal, and she was determined to keep her nose as clean as Ivory soap. Hard to save up money while sitting in jail.
We’ll just ignore him, then. Show him we aren’t afraid.
But she was taking Martina home. To the kids. She thought about little Rosa, who probably still slept with a doll, maybe even believed in those fairies she read about in books.
Across from her, Martina’s voice had slowed, her eyes drifted shut.Not for long.
“Hang on, Marti.”
And with that, Ginny floored it, taking a hard right where she should have gone left.
How fast could this little car go without the rusted bumper falling off? She accelerated even more, feeling the tires pull against the slightly muddy road.
Beside her, Martina shouted something in Italian—Ginny hadn’t known Martina could even get her voice that loud—and gripped the side of the car.
Eyes on the road. And sometimes in the rearview mirror. There was still a distant gleam of headlights, but she had put some distance between them. Confused him too, she’d bet.
A few hairpin turns, then she goosed the engine down a straightaway with a stomp to the pedal, squinting in the dark for...
Yes, that would work.
With one more glance in the rearview mirror—no headlights—Ginny turned down a dirt path, throwing the old Ford into park beside a decrepit old barn and shutting off the lights.
“That was fun, don’t you think?” she asked cheerfully, turning away from the road to see Martina with a hand clutched to her chest.
“No” was all her friend could get out.
Just went to show you couldn’t please everybody. She’d thought it was better than a Coney Island ticket. Who’d have thought her little Ford could handle like a real racer?
“What,” Martina managed, “were youdoing?”
Seeing as she didn’t want to worry Martina, Ginny had already decided not to mention the tail, but she hadn’t thought of an explanation to replace it. “Just read a novel where the hero was a racer in the Monaco Grand Prix. It all sounded so thrilling that I thought I’d try it.” Maybe a touch too simple, but it might pass.
Sure enough, Martina rubbed her temples, suddenly looking a decade older. “Next time, test stunts when I am not in your car, please.” She shuddered. “And not around Gio either.”
Martina didn’t even notice that once Ginny started up the car again, she kept glancing in the rearview mirror. No sign of Homburg Man in the dark coupe.
Ginny smiled smugly to herself. Good. And as long as Martinanever guessed what had nearly happened tonight, she’d have nothing to worry about.
The next day, Martina and the kids didn’t seem the least bit bothered by anything or anyone. Gio went on about some fellow called the Brown Bomber—a boxer, it turned out, not a plane—while Rosa read quietly beside him in the backseat. By the time Ginny dropped them off and swung around to park against the curb, she was satisfied that the mysterious Homburg Man had left them alone.
She tucked the book about books under her arm, nodding at the people she passed. There was Mr. Hostetler, from the fish fry, and Lucille Dougherty, the grocer’s wife who gave away her past-selling produce for free on Sunday afternoons. All of them enjoying a perfect May Saturday.
None of them headed inside the library. Ginny made a note to talk to Avis about recruitment skills. First step: you had to actually talk to folks and ask them to come. She was social enough, but when it came to asking a favor or making a pitch, she blushed and stammered with “If it’s no trouble” and “Perhaps you might consider.” That weakened the sell.
One person, at least, had arrived as early as Ginny: Louise Cavendish herself, stepping out of her tan roadster in a trim jacket and skirt like a princess to a ball.
Freddy, wearing his military uniform today, was helping Delphie out of the passenger seat and getting a swat and a “Ça suffit!I’m not so old I can’t step onto a curb” for his trouble. Ginny waved at the lot of them.
Delphie glared—not at her, really, just at the day in general—so Ginny didn’t take it personally. Louise nodded regally and without much enthusiasm as she mounted the steps to the library. The two of them deserved each other.
Freddy, though, waved back and waited for her to catch up.“Hullo there, Ginny! You’re bright and early. Trying to cram in some reading before we start?”
