cop by writing her speeding tickets for going five over. She doubted he was capable of protecting them from this deadly posse after them. “Old Finn’s talking about making you miss the parade, he’s so annoyed,” Robert said with a hearty laugh.
She ground her teeth, meeting Janson’s eyes. “It’s fine. It’s just...” she raised her voice. “Can I use your phone, Bob?”
The older man dug into his pocket and handed them a flip phone. “Here.”
Mollie stood, ducking past the golden poles decorating the interior of the trolley and snatched it from him. She handed it back to Janson who stared at it like he wasn’t sure how to work it. “Call your dad. Tell him what’s happening.”
Grimacing, Janson pressed the small buttons and held the phone to his ear. After a few rings, he shook his head. “He’s not answering. I guess he doesn’t want to talk to an unknown number.”
They had to change that. The trolley chugged slowly past Amigo’s. They could call who they needed there. Maybe her mother. She definitely trusted Mother Renee over Deputy Evans. She returned Robert his phone. “Bob!” she called out again. “Let me off at work.” Sighing, Robert pulled a heavy lever by his seat and the door flew open again, still not stopping since he was going at snail speed. She didn’t mind. It made their getaway more inconspicuous. They piled out the door, getting caught in the rough wind. He’d saved their lives with his nonchalant attitude.
The restaurant where Mollie worked was a log building painted a dull yellow adobe color with bright red trim. Amigo’s sat atop the limestone quarried from the bluff behind them and boasted the best Mexican food in town. The mouthwatering smell of beans and sizzling steak and chicken told Mollie she was late for her next shift there. This time she had a good excuse for it.
Janson led the way up the brightly colored Talavera Mexican-tiled stairs and tugged open the door just as scattered rain droplets began to drip. The charming establishment was like experiencing a little piece of Mexico with its rustic ceiling fans and knotty pine planked walls. A decorative saguaro cactus was placed next to a section with an adobe tile roof hanging over stucco pillars that gave one side of the room the appearance of outdoor dining with its comfortable booths and enormous set of windows.
Today, her boss had decorated everything as Day of the Dead. The restaurant was crammed with patrons excited to grab a bite to eat before the parade. Her coworkers passed her, their faces painted skull white; their eyes, noses, and lips hollowed out in black makeup with a few airbrush effects to make their skin appear more bonelike. The women wore crowns of red, black, and gray roses over their hair. Mollie barely recognized who was who until she saw her friends’ bright smiles and felt their hands patting against her back to congratulate her. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Mollie.” That was Marco. “Way to go!”
“The security footage looks fantastic by the way,” Janice said. “It’s kinda romantic.”
“Who was that hot guy you were with?” Madeline bumped her arm, laughing while she balanced a tray of tortillas. “Where’d you find him? Oh!” She stepped back when she saw Janson. “He’s here.”
“Uh, Janson, this is Madeline,” Mollie automatically introduced them, her mind miles away. She was more confused than anything. Somehow all her coworkers knew about her breaking into Old Finn’s property. “How’d you know...?”
Janson pointed at the big screen TV at the back of the restaurant where Channel 34, the local news station, played the footage of their pond adventure on a loop, complete with every sizzling hot moment between her and Janson, and lots of commentary. “We’re criminals,” he muttered. They were wanted for “trespassing and vandalizing.” They’d been framed! Sorta. She threw her hands over her face, wanting to hide. She’d kill Old Man Finn for this! Then they’d really have a reason to arrest her.
“All right, break it up.” Elana Faun rushed through the workers with her painted red-rimmed eyes. Of course she’d put a little more time into her costume than everyone else. Makeup was a form of expression for her. She’d transformed herself into a regular Coco Chanel at the ’20s party. “Mollie, you’re late.”
How late? Swinging around, Mollie saw it was almost ten. Her stomach twisted like she’d swallowed a python. If Janson’s stepmother had her way, his father was due to meet the