Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses (A Tara Holloway Novel Book 8) by Diane Kelly Read Free Book Online Page B

these,” I told the clerk, gingerly placing them on the counter next to the cash register along with a bag of Skittles. “And a scratch-off.”
    When I returned to the car, Eddie smirked. “You trying to look like a motorcycle cop? Or a fighter pilot?”
    “I’m just trying not to go blind.” I handed him the scratch-off. “Here. A little something to thank you for driving all the way out here with me.”
    Eddie took the lottery ticket from me and fished a penny out of my cup holder to rub off the adhesive. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner!” He waved the ticket in the air. “I won fifty bucks.”
    “Damn. Should’ve kept that ticket for myself.”
    “Too late now.” Eddie slid the ticket into his wallet and glanced over at me. “You gonna share those Skittles?”
    “You’ve got fifty bucks. Go buy your own.”
    He snatched the bag out of my hand, poured a dozen or so of the colorful candies into his palm, then held the package out to me.
    I snatched it back from him. “You stink.”
    “I’ll split my winnings with you. How’s that?”
    “Better.” I could use the $25 to upgrade to a nicer pair of shades once we returned to Dallas.
    We made our way through the small town of Kemp, then turned south on State Highway 274. As we ventured down the country road on which the sanctuary was located, I noticed the fence erected on the left side of the road was made of thicker wires than most and stood at least a dozen feet tall. No doubt the fence contained something that was either unusually big or could jump awfully high. With the trees impeding our view onto the property there was no way to tell.
    I gestured to the fence. “What do you think is in there?”
    Eddie cocked his head. “King Kong? Bigfoot? Dinosaurs replicated from mosquitoes stuck in tree amber?”
    I had my doubts whether anything like Jurassic Park would fly in Texas, where playing God with DNA was considered a sin as treacherous as rooting for a team other than the Cowboys.
    The GPS app on my phone interrupted our conversation. “In one-half mile the destination will be on your right.”
    Eddie and I turned our attention away from oversized fictional creatures and back to the road in front of us. Other than trees, barbed-wire fencing, and an occasional gate, there wasn’t much to see. A couple minutes later, the disembodied voice announced, “You have arrived at your destination.”
    I stopped the car and Eddie and I looked around. There was no mailbox. No numbers indicating an address. No sign marking the sanctuary property.
    “You see anything?” I asked.
    He pointed. “Just that rusty old gate up there.”
    Thirty feet ahead a wide gate with a loose top hinge hung cockeyed from a rotted wooden post. A dirt road led back from the gate onto the property, turning left behind a copse of scraggly trees and disappearing from sight. No animals could be seen, nor was there any structure visible.
    I turned back to Eddie. “Could that be the sanctuary?”
    “Only one way to find out.”
    We drove up to gate. I honked my horn three long times to get the attention of anyone who might be on the property. Venturing onto a rural property unexpected and unannounced was a good way to end up with buckshot in your ass, especially in Texas. Our residents loved their guns. After all, it was two guys from the Lone Star State who’d gone into a Chipotle restaurant waving their semiautomatics in a flagrant display of their rights under the state’s open-carry law. What a couple of shit-for-brains dumbasses. They were lucky someone with the sense to keep their weapon concealed hadn’t assumed they were there to rob the place and plugged them full of lead. If I’d been working the counter, those two would’ve taken a ladle of scalding refried beans to the face and a knee to their nards.
    Hooonk. Hooonk. Hoooooonk.
    Eddie and I waited a full minute with no response. I tried again.
    Hooonk. Hooonk. Hoooooooooonk.
    Still nothing.
    “Do we risk it?” I