The Hayloft. A 1950s Mystery

said you were going to Carter. We’ve got miles to go yet.”
    The driver didn’t slow down. The passenger turned his head to the front and said something to the driver in a low voice. The driver said a couple of words back, but I couldn’t hear any of it.
    The passenger turned around and beamed his smile at me again. He said, “You may be wondering about us. We met in the army. We shared one of those two-man tents. You develop a lot of closeness when you live together in a tent.” He laughed. “We’ve been together ever since.”
    I needed to get out of here. But at fifty miles per hour I didn’t have too many options. And there weren’t any traffic lights along this stretch of highway. I continued to carry on a light conversation with the man, trying to hide my alarm, looking for an opportunity.
    As we finally approached the intersection where I wanted to get out, I said, “There’s my stop. I’m having dinner at my aunt’s house. My whole family’s going to be there. They’ll be mad at me if I don’t show up.”
    The driver slowed down a little and for a few seconds I thought he was going to stop. But he was just checking for cross traffic. He sailed right on through the intersection.
    “Hey,” I said, “That’s my stop. Let me off, please.”
    “Don’t worry,” the smiling passenger said. “You’ll like Rochester.”
    I looked through the front window. Ahead was a traffic light. It was red. Here was my opportunity. I tried not to telegraph what I was thinking. I smiled back vaguely at my tormenter. The driver slowed down, and it looked as if he were going to have to stop. Then the light turned green.
    We had slowed to under ten miles per hour, but the cars ahead of us started to move. I opened the door as the driver downshifted into second gear.
    “What are you doing?” the passenger asked.
    He reached a hand back and tried to grab me. I eluded his grasp and jumped from the car. I hit the ground and rolled in the direction the car was going. I stopped on the shoulder and lay there for a couple of seconds. But I had to move over, because I might be in the path of other cars. I came up to an all-fours position and crawled completely off the road. A Studebaker went by, but its occupants ignored me.
    I felt real pain again, including in my sore hip. I struggled to my feet and uttered a groan. I definitely had scratches on my legs and arms, and my jacket was torn in several more places. I didn’t see any blood on my pants, and this was no time to check and see how bad my injuries were. I could still walk, at least.
    I hobbled back in the direction of the turnoff to Carter. It must be a mile down the road. When it was safe, I crossed the highway. I contemplated sticking out my thumb, but it was too short a distance, and I was leery about accepting another ride on the highway.
    I came to the cross street and headed toward Carter. Now it was safe to hitchhike again. I still had a few miles to go, and time was flying. I could tell by the sun that it was approaching noon. I suspected that whatever Ed had planned was going to take place soon.
    Traffic was sparse on this two-lane country road. I walked as fast as I could. I was limping, and I felt as if I weren’t making any progress. Moving my legs but staying in one place. The first two cars passed me by. Then one slowed as it passed. I could see that there were two girls inside. They wouldn’t stop. I turned and continued walking.
    The car moved slowly for a hundred yards and then stopped. I approached as fast as I could, expecting the driver to take off, but it just sat there with the engine running. It was a two-door Dodge. A girl got out of the passenger side as I approached and looked me over. I slowed down, not wanting to look aggressive. I was afraid she would jump in the car, and they would drive off.
    She must not have been alarmed by what she saw, because she waited until I came up to the car and then said, “You can get in the backseat.”
    I pulled the seatback forward and climbed into the back, wincing. On top of everything else, I had apparently hurt my back. A sharp pain went through it when I bent over to get into the car. I sat down in the cramped space and pulled the seatback into position. The girl got in and closed the door. It wouldn’t be as easy to get out of this one, but I would rather be trapped by two girls than two guys.
    As the car started up, I realized that they must be on their way to church. The girls were