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Otis drove a giant quad cab four-wheel-drive Dodge Ram with gargantuan tires. It looked like something a teenage boy would fantasize about, but by the time he was old enough to afford one, would know it would be silly to drive around in such a thing.
Sandra drove a minivan. She loved her minivan. It was helping her rear three children, but she didn’t think it could compete with Otis’s rig.
While Otis backed out through the eighteen inches of snow and ice, Sandra and Peter stood staring at the minivan’s miniature tires nearly submerged in snow. The precipitation had stopped, but it had done its damage. She didn’t think they could possibly follow him. Then she remembered Gloria’s shovel. She turned back toward the theater, where everyone else was huddled inside the open door, watching them. “Gloria!” she hollered. “Where’s your shovel?”
“What?” Billy hollered back.
“Gloria has a shovel!” Sandra screamed at the top of her voice, which still wasn’t very loud. She wished she had her ref whistle, though, short of tweeting out her message in Morse code, she wasn’t sure what good it would do in this situation.
“Shovel!” Peter screamed. He was much louder.
“What?” Billy hollered again. Billy could be loud too.
“Never mind that,” Bob said, suddenly appearing beside her. He waved his arm in the air and all the snow that was around her tires flew to either side of their car.
“Whoa,” Peter said. “That was awesome.” He headed for the van.
“Yeah, well, I can’t do it for the whole road, so you’re going to have to drive with caution.”
Before he’d even finished his sentence, Sandra was in the driver’s seat, putting her key in the ignition. “It’s okay. The plow truck went through at least once before the snow turned to ice. We might well go off the road, but at least we shouldn’t get stuck in the road.”
Peter climbed into the front seat.
“No, sir, mister! You’re not twelve yet. Get in the back.”
“You let me before!”
“That was a special occasion!”
“Mom! He’s getting away!”
“Get in the back!”
With a dramatic sigh, Peter climbed into the back, and Bob appeared in his place.
“Buckle up,” Sandra said to both of them and then eased her van out onto the road, grateful she’d had the foresight to back into her spot when they’d arrived at rehearsal. It seemed as though that arrival had taken place years ago.
“You don’t have to do this,” Bob said. “You don’t have to risk your life to catch him. Everyone in the theater is out of danger now that he’s gone. Well, everyone except the two of you.”
Sandra glanced in the rearview mirror. “He’s right. I never should’ve let you come, Peter. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.” She slowed the van down.
“Mom! I’ll be fine. Come on! You’re losing him.”
She sped up a little, but not much. She didn’t want to let him get away, but she wasn’t willing to drive faster than thirty-five miles an hour to catch up to him.
“At least he left us a trail,” Bob said.
“Yep.” His tire tracks were the only tracks on the road. “If he pulls onto another road, we’ll certainly know it.”
“Are there any other roads?” Peter asked.
“Yes, there are some camps up here, and there are old logging roads—”
“Why would he pull onto an old logging road?” The “You’re crazy, Mom” was implied.
Sandra didn’t like his tone. “Because he’s a murderer! And he’s trying to get away from us.”
Bob laughed. “I doubt he even thinks we’re following him.” Bob’s mirth surprised her. He seemed to really be enjoying this. Maybe she wasn’t the only one forming an addiction to sleuthing.
“Good. Let him think he’s gotten away.” Up ahead, yellow lights flashed through the trees. “Is that a plow?”
Neither of her passengers answered her, but the answer became clear ten seconds later when they came around a corner and there it was: a giant ugly county vehicle hogging the whole road. She yanked the car to the right to get out its way.
“Uh-oh,” Peter said, and Bob grabbed the handle over the window.
“It’s fine,” Sandra said, in complete control of her vehicle. “I know how to drive.”
“I never doubted you,” the angel said.
Behind the snow plow followed two police cars with flashing blue lights.
“Uh-oh,” Bob said.
“They’re a little late,” Peter said.
“Yes, that too. But I meant uh-oh that Otis’s tracks are gone.”
Sure enough, Otis’s tracks had disappeared. He had obviously swerved to drive on the freshly plowed, sanded, and salted half of the road, and Sandra followed his lead. “That’s okay. We’ll still get him. Bob, grab my phone. It’s in the cup holder. I doubt we have a signal yet, but we really should call the police and tell them the murderer is headed back toward town.”
“No, no signal yet.”
“Okay, keep checking. You should have one soon. And Peter, keep your eyes peeled for where he might have turned off. I doubt he will turn off, but if he does, I don’t want to miss it.”
“You got it, Mom.” Peter turned and pressed his nose against his window.