(Turns out the supposedly all-American Jeep secretly had a Japanese transmission.) So Duane had picked her up and brought her over in his van.
Her apartment building was about three miles away.
She supposed she could walk the distance in less than an hour.
It’d probably be a very exciting hike, she thought.
If I don’t get jumped, robbed, raped or shot, a tree’ll probably land on my head.
But she had no intention of making such a hike.
Not with Duane unaccounted for.
Turning to the right, she headed for the Speed-D-Mart.
This is probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, she thought.
Hell, it’s only two blocks. What’s the alternative, sit around and wait for him?
As she walked along, the wind pushed against her and flapped her clothes. Every so often, it flipped her skirt up. A couple of times, it hoisted her blouse as high as her breasts. She stopped and tucked her blouse snugly down the waistband of her skirt. Then she shifted her purse strap to her other shoulder so the strap crossed her chest. That took care of half her problem; the wind continued to fling her skirt.
And each time it did so, it threw debris against her bare legs.
Just before the end of the block, she came to an alley. She knew this alley well, having walked it often with Duane. Decently lighted, it passed behind several small shops, a couple of private schools, and finally the laundromat and Speed-D-Mart. On the other side of the alley were the back fences, carports and garbage bins of several houses and apartment buildings.
Pausing, she studied the alley. Wrappers and leaves were tumbling along its pavement. Pages from newspapers were performing low-level aerial acrobatics. A black cat scurried out of the shadows, raced across the alley and scooted underneath a parked car.
She saw no people.
Between here and the mini-mart, however, were a great many places where someone might be lurking.
The alley was a lonely place.
If she ran into trouble…
“Not a chance,” she muttered, and continued on to Robertson Boulevard. A major north-south route through west Los Angeles, Robertson usually had heavy traffic. Tonight, only a few cars were rushing by.
Still a lot better than the alley, Sherry told herself.
She turned right. Hands against her thighs to hold her skirt down, she followed the sidewalk past the fronts of a carpet shop, an antique store, a pawn shop, a Jewish girls’ school—all shut for the night.
The errant page of a newspaper blew against her left shin and stayed. After taking a few steps, she reached down and plucked it free and it flew off down the sidewalk.
Each time headlights approached, she looked over at Robertson to see if they belonged to Duane’s van. And to make sure they weren’t from a car packed with gangbangers.
At the corner, she stepped off the curb. The street to her right was littered with half a dozen palm fronds as large as human bodies. No cars were coming. She hurried to the other side, then walked past an auto-repair shop, a place that sold exercise equipment, a flower shop, and a private pre-school. All were closed for the night.
As she passed the pre-school, the Speed-D-Mart’s parking lot came into sight.
Chapter Four
The lot provided parking for the Speed-D-Mart and the all-night laundromat that shared the building.
It had spaces for at least a dozen vehicles.
All were empty except four.
Duane’s white van wasn’t there, but Sherry knew that he liked to park in one of the two spaces around the far side of the convenience store. Those spaces couldn’t be seen from here.
Eyes fixed on the area beyond the corner of the Speed-D-Mart, Sherry continued up the sidewalk.
And saw the right rear corner of a van.
Her heart lurched.
Picking up her pace, she cut across the parking lot. With each stride, more of the van came into sight.
A dealer in collectible books, Duane used his van for business but left it unmarked. The side of this vehicle was plain white, the same as his.
The bumper sticker would tell the tale.
Duane’s van sported a single sticker: I’D RATHER BE READING.
So far, Sherry couldn’t see whether this van carried such a slogan.
Finally, she stepped behind it.
I’D RATHER BE READING.
His, all right.
Now we’ll find out what’s going on.
Hopeful but nervous, Sherry hurried to the front of the van and peered into the driver’s side window.
The seats were empty.
He must still be in the store.
She stepped around the rear of the van and headed for the Speed-D-Mart’s entrance. As she neared the door, a man came shuffling