Joggers (2 page)

“
Are you okay?”

El raised herself on one elbow and
twisted her head around to face the voice. It was the nerd, his
white tee shirt soaked with sweat, navy blue shorts hanging like
curtains around his thighs. Size thirteen Nikes. “I’m fine,
thanks,” she said. He jogged on the spot as she got to her feet and
brushed the sand off her sweatpants, Pete prancing around them
both. The man towered over her, maybe six five or six.

“
You sure?” He pushed his
glasses up on his nose, baring his teeth as if it hurt.

She nodded, grunted. “Tripped over my
dog, I guess.” She hauled Pete up again.

“
Cute little fella.” The
man reached over and tousled Pete’s head. “A
Pomeranian?”

“
More or less,” she said
with a shrug, stepping back. “Thanks for stopping, eh?”

“
You Canadian?” he asked,
still jogging on the spot.

“
Yeah,” she said, clipping
the leash back on Pete’s collar.
A clumsy
female tourist, alone in the fog at six thirty the morning after a
murder with a massive, sweaty jogger.

“
You here on vacation,
too?”

“
No.” She tugged her
jacket down over her belly. “I’m not on goddamn vacation.” She
dropped the dog. “Let’s go, Pete.”
Don’t
antagonize the guy.
“Thanks again, eh?
Bye.”

She heard him say “Bye” to her back as
she limped away. A moment later she recognized the motel’s roof
rising above the fog and picked up her pace.

Suitcase under one arm and the dog in
the other, El tried to maneuver a hand into her pocket to find her
keys as she walked around the truck to the passenger door. She was
about to open the door when a splash of white in the pickup’s box
caught her eye and she glanced inside. White jogging shoes. Snugged
up against the back wall of the cab behind his garbage bags was the
bag man, his black and yellow toque pulled down over his ears, his
body covered with layers of newspaper. She dropped her
keys.

One angry eye opened, then the other.
He blinked twice, then his arms and legs exploded, throwing damp
sheets of newspaper in the air, groping for something underneath
one of the garbage bags, cursing and groping again.

El dropped her suitcase and ran, the
dog wriggling out from under her arm, the leash around her
wrist.

“
Fuckin’ bitch!” the man
yelled, vaulting over the side of the box. “I’ll cut you! I’ll
fuckin’ cut you. Fuckin’ bitch!”

The man and his knife were
between her and the motel, so El ran towards the beach pulling the
dog behind her. Pete was barking like a machine gun, his nails
scrabbling against the asphalt.
A clumsy,
overweight female tourist running towards a fog shrouded, deserted
beach, followed by a crazy bag man waving a knife and screaming and
wearing jogging shoes. Oh, God! Clean, white jogging
shoes!

She reached the sand. “Run, Pete!” she
tried to yell, but could only gasp. The dog ran with her now, and
they ran as best they could through the sand, toward the sound of
the surf. She watched the ground beneath her, loose sand became
packed sand, damp sand became wet sand. She saw the tracks of size
thirteen Nikes. Her feet splashed through an inch of water, white
foam rushed to meet her, cold water swirled around her ankles,
tugged at the sand beneath her soles, water to her knees slowed her
and she fought to stay on her feet, plucked a struggling Pete from
the pulling surf. She turned, unsure of whether to plunge into the
next wave or to face her attacker.

Through the fog she saw him, standing
just out of reach of the foam, yelling still, fuckin’ this and
fuckin’ that, looping the knife above his head as if he were
twirling a lasso. Then a white shape behind him, the giant nerd
with his size thirteens, grabbing the waving hand and making it
drop the knife, twisting an arm behind his back until the crazy bag
man fell to his knees, cursing.

“
Are you okay?’ the giant
called out.

El waded out of the surf, Pete soaked
and shivering in her arms. “Yes,” she said, breathing heavily as
she unclipped the dog leash. “Yes, thank you. I’m okay.” She helped
the giant tie the bag man’s hands behind his back with the leash,
then they lowered him stomach first onto the sand. The bag man
growled and swore. El placed her right foot on the bag man’s back
as he tried to pull his legs under him and get to his knees. He
swore again, but gave up trying to move. El grinned at the giant
and picked a piece of kelp from Pete’s tail.

The giant nerd pulled out his cell
phone, and El handed him the business card the cop at the wharf had
given her. “Tell the cop about his shoes,” she said, nodding at the
clean white joggers. The nerd nodded and made the call.

El hugged Pete closer, and he tickled
her chin with his quick tongue. “After we’re through with the cops,
I’d sure like to buy you breakfast,” she told the nerd.

“
You sure? I mean, you’re
not working today?” he asked. His glasses had slipped to the bulb
of his nose. From his expression, she couldn’t tell if he was
smiling or in pain.

“
Hell, no,” she said. She
planted a kiss on the top of Pete’s head. The bag man started to
swear again, so she had to raise her voice.

“
Me and Pete are on
vacation.”

THE END

If you enjoyed this story by R.E.
Donald, check out the Hunter Rayne highway mysteries for more of
Elspeth Watson’s adventures

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What readers are saying
about the Hunter Rayne highway mysteries:

“
Never thought I would
enjoy a truck driver based mystery, but I sure did.”

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A great take to bed read
for anyone who loves crime fiction in a traditional
fashion.”

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Those were the best
mysteries I've read in a long time! As soon as I finished the first
one I bought the second and felt empty when I finished it! The
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in my life …”

“…
this book caught my
attention from the very first pages and it only got better. I
recommend this book to anyone who has a love for a good
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ABOUT THE
AUTHOR

R.E. Donald is the author
of the Hunter Rayne highway mystery series. Ruth worked in the
transportation industry in various capacities from 1972 until 2001,
and draws on her own experiences, as well as those of her late
husband, Jim Donald, in creating the characters and situations in
her novels. Ruth attended the University of British Columbia in
Vancouver, B.C., where she studied languages (Russian, French and
German) and creative writing to obtain a Bachelor of Arts degree.
She currently lives on a small farm in Langley, B.C. She and her
partner, a French Canadian cowboy named Gilbert Roy, enjoy their
Canadian Horses (Le Cheval Canadien) and other animals.

Visit
proudhorsepublishing.com
or
redonald.com

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releases.