Casket Case by Fran Rizer Read Free Book Online Page A

exploded into pieces, splattering both of us with wet, red mush and scratching us with broken pieces of hard rind. I grabbed my shoes and snatched Jane’s wrist with my other hand. She already had her sandals on.
    “Is someone shooting at us ?” she squealed as we ran to the parking lot and jumped into the car.
    “I don’t know. We’re just getting out of here!” I yelled as I cranked the car, threw it in gear, and took off.
    We weren’t even out of the state park before it happened.

Chapter Eight

    It stopped. Dead still. The Mustang died smack in the middle of the road. The car had never given me a minute’s trouble except for regular maintenance like oil changes and occasional new tires. Now it just sat there.
    The pony wouldn’t budge at all. Jane and I still had the jitters from the watermelon exploding all over us. The dead seagull upset me, but when the sniper hit the melon, the thought slid across my mind that the shot might have been directed at us, not necessarily to kill us, but to scare us. I wanted out of there right then.
    I slammed my fists against the steering wheel and said, “Shhhh . . . oooot!” Shame on me for what I almost said.
    “Call a tow truck,” Jane suggested.
    Buh-leeve me, I couldn’t afford a wrecker. I rang Daddy’s house on my cell phone. Since three of my five older brothers move in and out of the home place frequently, I guessed right—one of them answered.
    “Hello.”
    “Hey, this is Callie.”
    “I know who you are. After all, you are my sister.
    What’sa matter? You sound upset. Did you find another homicide victim?”
    Among my problems was the fact that he’d recognized me, since I’m the only sister, but I wasn’t sure if the voice belonged to Bill or Frank. I took a guess.
    “Bill, my car won’t start! It stopped right in the middle of the road!”
    “Do you want me to tell Bill when I hear from him?”
    “Okay, Frank. I’m sorry. You two sound alike. Where’s Bill?”
    “Said he was meeting Molly. I think they’ve gone to register for wedding gifts.”
    “Where’d they go?”
    “Probably Wally World.” He laughed, then roared like his smarty-pants answer was hysterical because he was more sophisticated, less redneck than Bill. If Frank ever remarries, he’ll register someplace classy—like Target. At his first wedding reception, he insisted on potato chips with French onion dip.
    “Can you come get us?” I asked.
    “Where are you and who’s with you?”
    “Jane’s with me, and we’re at Hunting Island State Park.”
    “That’s where you two used to go when you cut classes in high school.”
    So much for my big secret.
    “Well,” I began, expecting him to say, “A well is a hole in the ground.” He said nothing. “Can you come pick us up?”
    “What are you going to do about the car?” Frank asked.
    “I was hoping you could get it to run,” I said.
    “I’ll drive Pa’s truck, so I can tow the pony if we have to,” he suggested.
    “Where’s Daddy?”
    “He went fishing down at the pond. It’ll take me about half an hour to get to Hunting Island. No need for you and Jane to sit out there in a hot car. Go back to the beach. I’ll find you.”
    “Oh, no,” I said, “we’re not going back to the beach. Someone’s shooting a gun down there.”
    “Did you see the shooter?”
    “No, but he was shooting seagulls and then he shot my melon.”
    “He did what ?”
    “He shot our watermelon.”
    “That’s what I thought you said.” He chuckled. “Well, just sit in the car or by the road until I get there.” He laughed even louder. “Did you call the law on the shooter?”
    “No, but I will in a few minutes. I don’t know what to do about the car.”
    “Just sit in the car. I’ll take care of it when I get there.”
    “But Frank, the car is stopped in the center of the road.”
    “You were driving down the middle?”
    “No, you know what I mean. It’s in the driving lane.”
    “Put it in neutral, then you and