The truck made it through the turn, straightened, and began heading toward the hill.
Before Pine began to climb, though, I had another short hill to go down, with Ninth Street at the bottom. Another stop sign. I leaned on the horn again, hoping to warn any oncoming traffic well ahead of their arrival.
No one was coming, and I breezed cleanly through.
Thank God this hadn't happened in Seattle. I'd have been creamed in no time, I thought as the truck reached the bottom of the hill and began to climb.
Perfect.
The Toyota continued up the hill, slower and slower.
Creeping.
Inching to a stop.
I let out a whoosh of breath I'd been holding in my lungs for who knew how long. I was going to be okay. Really okay.
The truck started rolling backwards.
Of course, the brakes didn't work in that direction, either. I swore and concentrated on steering in reverse. Went back through the intersection of Ninth and Pine, and a little ways up the hill I'd just come down.
Again the truck slowed to a stop, and paused, hanging on the verge of movement for a small eternity. My empty hope that the ordeal was over fell away like dust as the truck began rolling forward.
A teenaged boy driving a beat-up Honda came up from behind and veered around me. He gave me a questioning look, but at least he didn't yell or make rude gestures.
And then I was rolling backwards. The seesawing between one incline and the next felt like something out of an irritating slapstick comedy. Finally, the Toyota barely crept along. Slower.
And slower.
And stopped. Really and truly stopped.
Smack dab in the middle of the intersection of Ninth and Pine.
Nice.
Trembling with relief, I unhooked my seat belt and reached for my cell phone.
A horn blared. A really, really big horn followed by the shrieking of brakes. My head jerked up. Fear trilled through me. A semitruck bore down, trailer slewing as the driver desperately tried to stop. It was going way, way over the tidy twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit, and it was about to go over me, too.
In one motion I opened the door and dove out of my little pickup. The grit of the pavement barely registered against my palms as I rolled to my feet and ran. The terrifying crunch of tearing metal sounded behind me. Over my shoulder, I saw the driver of the big rig had managed to slow down, but it still pushed my little Toyota pickup over, crumpling it in slow motion like so much cardboard.
The five-gallon bucket of baking soda in the bed of my truck erupted into the air. The sun shone through the dusty cloud, giving the whole mess a romantic, surreal effect.
The driver leapt from the semi and ran to me. 'Oh, God, lady. Are you okay?' He peered at the wreck. 'Was there anyone else in there?'
I shook my head, curiously unable to speak. I looked down at my hands, fluttering at the ends of my arms like leaves in the wind. Oh, wait a minute. No wonder: my whole body was shaking like that.
People began spilling out of houses up and down the street. The eerie ululation of sirens grew louder. I crossed my arms over my chest and eyed my poor little truck, still not quite believing what had just happened.
A patrol car screeched to a stop. An ambulance was next, accompanied by a fire truck. But no one was going to be able to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
I started to giggle.
The truck driver looked at me with alarm.
'Sorry,' I gasped. 'It's just so-' The laughter erupted again, cutting off my words. A paramedic hurried over.
'She doesn't seem hurt,' the truck driver said, deep concern in his voice. 'But she started laughing like that a few moments ago.'
'Just a little hysteria,' the paramedic said, reaching for his bag.
'Nuh uh,' I managed to snort out.
'You'll be okay in a little bit,' he said.
'Sophie Mae? Is that you?'
Tears streaming down my face, I turned to see Detective Robin Lane, hands on her perfectly proportioned hips, surveying the scene.
'Oh, yeah,' I choked. 'It's me.' I sniffed and rubbed the back of my hand across my cheek.
She peered at me, then asked the paramedic. 'What's wrong with her? Is she on drugs?'
A giggle sneaked out, and I clamped my hand over my mouth.
'Nah, I don't think so,' the paramedic said. 'It's just a nervous reaction to almost getting killed.'
The urge to laugh disappeared completely.
I had almost been killed. Oh. Wow.
'What happened?' Lane asked.
For the first time since my old pickup had gone to Toyota heaven, I was able to speak like a normal human being. 'My brakes wouldn't work.'
Her forehead furrowed. 'Just went out? All of a sudden?'
'Completely.' I went on to describe what I'd done, and how I had finally brought the little truck to rest. 'Then this guy plowed into me.' I gestured toward the trucker.
'Hey lady, it wasn't my fault your vehicle was in the intersection like that.'
'You were going too fast,' I said, my voice wavering a little. 'And you darn well know it.'
He stubbed his toe into the ground and looked up at Robin through the fringe of hair that had flopped down on his forehead. I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
The paramedic poked and prodded at me a little, then pronounced me physically fit. He was recommending that I go to a hospital to make sure when Barr strode up and put his arm around my shoulders.
'Robin called me. What happened?'
I sighed and told the story all over again.
'I'm taking you home,' he said. 'Stay here, and I'll be right back.' He went to where Robin was questioning the truck driver further and spoke to her. She started to shake her head, but he shook his own once, firmly, and returned to where I stood waiting. In seconds he'd bundled me into his car and we were driving away.
'Thanks for rescuing me,' I said. 'Just drop me at the house, and you can get back to work.'
'You dope,' he said, the tenderness in his tone belying the words. 'I'm taking the rest of the day off.'
Wow. Barr Ambrose didn't 'take the rest of the day off' lightly. If it took the demise of my vehicle and me almost dying for it to happen, then so be it. I'd sit back and enjoy.
But when I looked over, I saw the muscles working along his jaw. He was really upset.
TWENTY-FIVE
MEGHAN WAS APPALLED WHEN she heard what had happened, and commenced fussing and feeding. The three of us settled into the living room with tea and spice cake. Brodie waddled between us, urging us with his brown eyes, fox-like ears, and occasional corgi talk to share our baked goods while we discussed mechanical issues.
'The emergency brake wouldn't work either?' Meghan asked.
I shook my head. 'Nope. And I tried to downshift, but it seemed like it was stuck in gear.' I turned to Barr. 'Was Scott Popper's patrol car ever checked out, you know, to make sure nothing mechanical was wrong with it?'
'It's still in the wrecking yard. I wanted to get a little more information before calling his accident a homicide,' he said.
'There are an awful lot of cars killing or nearly killing their occupants in this case. There's Scott's wreck. There's what happened to me today. And there's the wreck that killed Ariel and Rocky's parents about ten years ago.'
Meghan's brow furrowed. Barr looked thoughtful, then chagrined.
'What?' I asked when I saw his expression.
'I was thinking what happened to your truck today had nothing to do with the murder.'
Which murder, I almost asked. I was starting to think we were dealing with more than one. So what was Barr talking… hey, wait a minute.
I stood up quickly, and Brodie gave a sharp bark of surprise. 'Hang on. Are you saying you think your ex sabotaged my truck?'
Meghan's gaze whipped from me to Barr. 'Oh, you can't. She wouldn't. That's crazy.'
I began to pace. 'Well, your mom said Hannah was a little crazy, as I recall.'
