1970 - There's a Hippie on the Highway by James Hadley Chase Read Free Book Online

counter. ‘Black, and lots of sugar.’
    ‘You want doughnuts?’
    Harry didn’t, but he thought the girl might and he was sure Randy would.
    ‘Four, please.’
    He watched the negro pour coffee into the wax containers.
    The smell of the coffee made his nose twitch. He lit a cigarette, coughed as the smoke bit at the back of his throat.
    The negro put four doughnuts into a paper sack.
    ‘Ain’t you afraid of lung cancer, mister?’ he asked as he pushed the sack across the counter.
    ‘Does it scare you?’ Harry asked, taking a dollar from his billfold.
    ‘I don’t smoke.’
    Harry stared at him,
    ‘So why should you care about me?’
    The negro blinked, shrugged and took the dollar.
    ‘And thirty cents.’
    Harry added the money and as he picked up the two cartons, he heard the horn of the Mustang give two sharp bleeps. He frowned picked up the sack of doughnuts and walked quickly to the door.
    Randy was sitting behind the driving wheel. As soon as he saw Harry, he made an urgent gesture to hurry.
    Harry crossed to the car and stared at Randy through the open window. One look at Randy’s pallid, sweating face told him something bad had happened. He didn’t wait to ask questions. He opened the car door and slid into the passenger’s seat and slammed the door.
    Randy sent the Mustang racing along the highway. He was practically standing on the gas pedal.
    ‘What is it?’ Harry asked quietly, ‘and cut your speed. Do you imagine you’re on a racetrack. Cut your speed!’
    Randy shivered. He passed his hand over his sweating face, but Harry’s quiet firm voice steadied him. He eased the speed down to 65 m.p.h.
    ‘She’s dead,’ he said, his voice quivering. ‘There’s blood on the blanket and she’s as stiff as a board.’
    Harry felt a little jolt inside him: a small, controlled explosion of shock. The first sight he had of Randy’s face had told him it would be bad, but he hadn’t expected it to be this bad.
    ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said, his voice even and quiet. ‘Pull up! I’ll take a look.’
    ‘We don’t stop on this highway,’ Randy said wildly. ‘The cops start patrolling any time now! I’m not going to be caught with a body! They’ll think we killed her!’
    Harry’s face tightened. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. Yes . . . if a cop stopped them and found . . . He stamped down on a tiny spark of panic and extinguished it.
    ‘You’re sure she’s dead?’
    ‘I’m sure. I knocked on the door and there was no answer so I tried the door and it opened,’ Randy gulped, swallowed, then went on. ‘She was on the lower berth, covered with a blanket. There was a smell in there that turned me over. Then I saw a smear of blood on the blanket. I nearly flipped. I called to her, then leaned in and took hold of her arm. That was enough for me. It was like catching hold of a lump of wood.’
    Ahead of them, Harry saw a turning with a signpost that read: ‘Beach. Safe Swimming.’
    ‘Turn off here,’ he said, ‘and cut your speed.’ He looked into the wing mirror. The highway was deserted.
    Randy slowed and steered the car and caravan down the dirt road. They drove in tense silence for about half a mile. The road opened out onto a vast stretch of golden sand, surrounded by shrubs and hillocks. Some two hundred yards beyond the hillocks was the sea.
    ‘Pull up here,’ Harry said. ‘The caravan will explain what we are doing. Anyone seeing us will think we’ve spent the night here.’
    Randy stopped the car by a grass-covered sand dune. He began to shake as soon as he tinned the engine off.
    ‘Get hold of yourself,’ Harry said sharply. He thrust a carton of coffee into Randy’s shakes hand. ‘Drink some of this!’
    ‘I can’t. I’ll throw up!’ Randy moaned.
    ‘Come on!’
    Randy stared with revulsion at the carton. Losing patience Harry slid out of the car.
    ‘Stay here. I’ll take a look.’
    He walked over the soft sand to the rear of the