One Endless Hour

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A narrow wagon road branched off in the headlights a half mile in on the dirt road heading east from Florida's west coast. I turned the Ford into the weed-overgrown trail. "Not that way!" Lucille Grimes said sharply.

I paid no attention. After a hundred yards I stopped, pulled up the brakes, and cut the motor and lights. Then I slipped an arm around the blonde. She wriggled impatiently, thinking I had romance on my mind. I'd done it to keep her from fleeing if she suspected anything.

She was sure that her boyfriend, Deputy Sheriff Blaze Franklin, was so close behind us that he'd arrive any moment and kill me. She didn't know that I'd disabled Franklin's police cruiser and left him miles back on U.S. 19.

After a moment she lowered her head onto my shoulder, awaiting the appearance of the rear guard. Under the trees it was full dark. Much too dark to see her expression. I wished I could. It would have been interesting. Lucille Grimes, the blond postmistress of Hudson, Florida, was as good as dead as far as I was concerned. It was just a question of when and how. In a way it was too bad. She was a really talented bitch.

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