Mini Mystery
said. Just one more accident, and he was done. Dillon gulped. This wasn’t even an accident. The woman stepped right out in front of him. What was he to do? He decided to run for it. If no one saw, how would they ever know? Dillon put the car in the old
Dillon Coble handled his big car with ease, one hand on the wheel, singing along with the radio. He patted his billfold, placed safely in the front pocket of his coat. It had been a good night, and he’d shown those cardplayers a thing or two.
He was in such a good mood with his winnings that he didn’t even notice the woman walking along the side of the road until it was too late. He braked and tried to twist the wheel, but the car slid, then hit her.
Dillon stopped the car and ran back to where she lay, but there was nothing he could do. She looked like a broken rag doll, and all he could think about was jail. One more accident, the judge had good. When his doorbell rang a few days later, he was ready.
“Are you Dillon Coble?”
Officer Barrett stood in the doorway, imposing in a state trooper uniform. Dillon reminded himself to be smart about it.
“Sure,” he said, keeping his voice relaxed. “What do you want?”
“Do you own a—” Barrett recited the make and year of Dillon’s car.
Dillon shrugged. “So, what if I do?”
“We’re investigating a hit-and-run incident that happened two nights ago. A witness got a partial license number and a description of the car.” “Hit and run? I wasn’t in any accident.”
Barrett’s gaze never wavered. “But you do own that sort of car?”
He shrugged. “So what? A lot of people do.” Now was the time to start getting angry. Not too angry. Just enough to show he resented being questioned like someone who might just be a hit-and-run driver. Important to show he was getting annoyed but certainly wasn’t worried.
Barrett said they were speaking with everyone, looking at their cars.
“I don’t like the sound of this,” Dillon said. “Don’t we have rights? You treat us like crooks?”
“No, sir. We treat you all like concerned citizens interested in helping us clear up a matter. And it would go a long way to doing that if I could see your car.”
“You can see what I drive in the driveway.”
“That would be the truck? That looks fairly new. Did you trade in the car?”
Dillon said, “What I did with the car is my business. Believe me, if I’d hit her, I would have stopped and rendered assistance, like any concerned citizen would do.”
Barrett wasn’t to be distracted. “Is your car in the garage? May I check?”
Dillon allowed his full anger to show. “If you’d asked nice, I’d have let you look, no problem. But since you’re treating me like a crook, you can show me your search warrant.”
Barrett looked disappointed. “I’m sure we could clear this up pretty quickly—”
“Just get your warrant,” Dillon snapped.
After Barrett left, Dillon smirked. If the cops had had any evidence, they would have come with a search warrant in the first place. Now they could just wait to see if he ever opened that garage door again.
He wasn’t smirking the next morning when Barrett appeared with a warrant and a tow truck.
“You were a little too clever for your own good,” Barrett told him.