Luck Be a Lady - Cathie Linz [22]
“I wasn’t yelling.”
“You may not have raised your voice, but it still sounded like you wanted to yell.”
Seeing Logan grit his teeth, she was tempted to tell him that wasn’t good for him, but decided that would just elicit more irritation on his part. So instead she focused on figuring out the map app on his phone. “According to this, the closest town is a place called Last Resort.”
The grinding noise from the car got louder the farther they got from the main highway and the closer they got to the town. They passed a handmade sign hammered to a leaning fence post. The sign read WELCOME TO LAST RESORT. POPULATION: NOT MANY and had several gunshot holes in it. Next up were a few boarded-up cinder-block buildings that looked like they hadn’t seen any action since the 1957 Chevy first hit showroom floors.
“This doesn’t look real promising,” Megan said.
“You think?” Logan said. He took the phone from her. “Great. We’re in a dead zone now.”
“You make it sound like zombies live here or something.” She turned to face him, only then realizing he was referring to his phone.
“What about your phone?”
She checked it before shaking her head. She inadvertently hit the music play button and “Life Is a Highway” started playing. “Sorry,” she muttered before fumbling to stop it.
Finally they came upon a small group of buildings huddled together like cold campers around a warm fire. A vintage sign with a martini at the top and a cup of coffee farther down welcomed them to JJ’s Golden Lounge and Café, which didn’t look like it had had any customers for several decades despite the OPEN sign on the dusty door.
Logan got out and came around to open the passenger door for her. Megan looked around cautiously. Another vintage sign next door proudly proclaimed that the Queen of Hearts Motel had color TV. The U-shaped building looked as if a stiff wind would send it tumbling into the surrounding sagebrush.
“Afraid to get out?” Logan said when she didn’t move to leave the car,
“Of course not.” She hopped out of the Bel Air. “I’m just sorry your aqua car is having trouble.” Her eyes widened as she stared over Logan’s shoulder. “Oh, look. We’ve got a welcoming committee.”
Chapter Five
Logan stared at the threesome, who looked older than dirt, walking toward them. His cop training kicked in as he sized them up: two male Caucasians in their late seventies, both just over six feet, wearing Western-style shirts and jeans, one with a head of white hair and the other with a hairpiece; one female Caucasian, probably late seventies, five-foot-five, one hundred twenty to one hundred thirty pounds, long platinum hair, piercing blue eyes, penciled eyebrows that were slightly crooked, huge dice drop earrings, colorful rings on eight of her ten fingers. Not exactly a threatening bunch of seniors.
They greeted him with huge smiles on their tanned faces.
He greeted them with a frown. “Is there a car mechanic in town?” His lack of sleep was catching up to him. His dark mood had gotten blacker when he’d reached for his iPhone and realized there was no service. Nothing he saw in front of him now improved his spirits any.
“What do you mean, exactly, by mechanic?” the woman said.
“Someone who works on cars.”
“Well, Chuck here has changed the oil in my car,” the woman said. “My name’s Pepper Dior. Maybe you saw my act in Vegas?” She struck a pose. “I do celebrity impersonations.”
“Show him your Marilyn Monroe,” the man on her left said. “She does a slam-bang Marilyn Monroe.”
Pepper socked the man’s arm playfully. “You’re just saying that. This here is Chuck Spicer. I’m sure you recognize him. Why, in the 1980s he was known as the Nevada King of the Infomercial.”
“If Pepper and I ever married, she’d be known as Pepper Spicer.” Chuck guffawed at his own observation.
“Nice car,” the third man noted. “Had one of them myself. Chevy Bel Air, 1957, right?”
Logan nodded.
“I had the red convertible. Allow me to introduce myself. Rowdy Goldberg at your service. I’m the mayor of this fine town.