The Mystery Megapack

the pavement.
    Mary Beth pitched her books into the back seat of the green-and-rust colored Gremlin and turned, looking out over the sea of students leaving the building. “Who?”
    “Over there, next to Jimmy’s car. Brown hair, black shirt.”
    “Him?” Mary Beth squinted, too vain to wear her glasses outside. Johnny Kachmarik still hadn’t asked anyone to Homecoming, and she wanted to be prepared, just in case. “I don’t remember his name, but he graduated six years ago with Bill. Why?”
    With a shrug, she shifted her books to her other arm. “I recognize him from somewhere.”
    She knew where. She’d never forget that face, that car.
    “Oh, yeah?” Sliding into the driver’s seat, Mary Beth buckled her seat belt. “Are you coming, or what?”
    She pulled her gaze from him and opened the door. “Ask Bill who he is, okay?”
    “He looks like a real loser, but sure.”
    * * * *
    “I saw the car!” Her voice had caught, and a large hand had pressed on her shoulder, gently pushing her back into the bed. Every part of her body hurt, and she blinked away tears. Tears were for babies; she was eleven, a big girl. She knew what she’d seen.
    “Sure, honey.” The hand lifted, and the big policeman picked up the pink plastic cup with the straw and held it to her lips. “Can you describe it?”
    She took a sip of water, flat and metallic on her tongue. “White.” She closed her eyes, but the image stood out clear against the blackness. “With a big hood and wheels.”
    “And did you see the driver?”
    She nodded once, even though her head ached. “A man. With brown hair.”
    “Okay, okay. You get some rest now.”
    His footsteps sounded loud on the linoleum as he crossed the room.
    “Will that help find the car and driver?” Her mom’s voice, a harsh whisper. When they’d wheeled her out of the ambulance and into the hospital, she saw them, her mom and her dad. Her mom had cried, big, fat drops rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. Her dad had just looked sad, like he often did.
    “Not really, but we’ll do what we can.” The policeman wasn’t good at whispering. “She was damn lucky that the car didn’t hit her head on, otherwise she’d be dead, too.”
    She didn’t open her eyes, and after a while, the policeman went away.
    * * * *
    “You’ll always be my best friend.” She had popped a handful of Cracker Jack into her mouth, and caramel sweetness had blossomed on her tongue. She crunched the popcorn as the grocery door jangled shut behind them.
    “And you’re mine.” Donna dug into the box. “For you.” Sticky fingers pressed the little charm into her palm.
    She peered at her hand. A boot. Perfect for the bracelet her mom and dad had given her for her birthday. “Thanks.” She shoved it into her pocket.
    A grin behind a curtain of blonde hair. “Race you home.” The flash of a blue tee-shirt and coltish legs starting down Fourth.
    “Hey, no fair!” She clutched the bag of potatoes her mom had asked her to get for dinner, and ran after.
    At the corner, Donna glanced over her shoulder. “Come on, slowpoke!”
    The car came out of nowhere.
    Fast, so fast there was no time to shout, no time to even take a breath. Donna’s small body hit the hood with a thud and lifted, an egret poised for flight.
    “Donna!” she screamed. Then the fender struck her left hip and side, and, for an instant, her eyes met those of the man in the car: wide, startled, scared. Then she, too, was flying, but only for a heartbeat. She fell. Her skin burned as she skidded across the asphalt, her head hitting the pavement so hard she felt as if her skull had cracked open. Pain, so much pain she couldn’t tell where it ended and she began, but she forced her head up, willed her eyes to focus.
    Donna lay sprawled on the street, yellow hair against black. And red.
    The car revved, reversed, and sped away. She stared at the sky, as blue as Donna’s shirt.
    Remember the car.
    Remember him.
    ABOUT THE AUTHOR
    Carla Coupe is a member of both Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America. Two of her short stories—“Rear View Murder” in Chesapeake Crimes II and “Dangerous Crossing” in Chesapeake Crimes 3 —were nominated for Agatha Christie Awards. Her Sherlock Holmes pastiches, “The Adventure of the Elusive Emeralds” and “The Adventure of the Haunted Bagpipes” appear in Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazine .

THUBWAY THAM’S INTHULT, by Johnston McCulley
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