"Christine W. Murphy - Through Iowa Glass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Murphy Christine W)

Marvin folded his hands around his cup and began again. "I was on Route
29, 'bout three miles out, on my way to jump Terlouw's Ford. Must still be
waiting. His missus left the lights on. Happens every time it rains. I've told
him a thousand times -- "
Skye eased the donut box out of his reach.
Marvin looked as resentful as a man could with a mouth coated in
powdered sugar. "I spotted this pick-up stopped on the side without lights.
Dangerous with this rain. Then, I saw this beat-up Mustang half-in, half-out
of Terlouw's corn field." He jerked his head to indicate the car behind his
tow truck.
"That's when I saw these two guys. Didn't notice me, even when my
headlights caught 'em. Must have been on something. Wired, you know? Then I
saw the driver, the guy attached to this here Mustang. Couldn't hear
everything said, but one of the wired guys yelled at the driver to get on his
hands and knees. All hell broke loose after that. Kung Fu stuff. Just like in
the movies."
Christy appeared at the table and reached for the last of Marvin's
donut. He directed the rest of his story to the girl. "The nice man fought off
the bad men and sent them running for their truck. I wrote down the license
number -- Illinois plates -- and gave it to Sheriff Harley."
Marvin puffed out his chest at his part in the excitement. By tomorrow,
he would have embellished the story with a hundred details. "Just think, it
all happened here in Close."
"Not really here," Skye protested. Close was safe. It had to be. "You
were three miles outside of town, and you said the truck was from
out-of-state."
Marvin shrugged and stood. He took Christy with him to rummage through
the donut box.
"So, where's he staying?" Skye asked.
"Who?" Marvin mumbled through a mouthful of the last Boston cream.
 "The driver, Marvin. Where is the driver?"
"Motel's full. Graduation, you know. This guy -- Alex, he said -- is
from California if you go by the car plates. He sounds sort of funny, though,
like he's foreign, and looks a bit down on his luck. Must have everything he
owns in that car. I'm taking it to the shop. Front axle's broke. Windshield's
busted. Hope he's got some money, or friends."
Marvin could be such a fool. He'd left the poor man on the street while
he scarfed donuts and coffee. "Watch Christy for me. I'll check on him."
Marvin called after her. "He was asleep, Mrs. Devries. Didn't have the
heart to wake him."
Skye looked down Main Street, all three blocks of it. Except for her
blue pick-up and Marvin's tow truck and its load, the rain-slicked street was
empty.
Circling Marvin's truck and the muddy Mustang, she noted California
plates and an expired registration sticker. The back seat was stuffed with
boxes of papers and books, thrown together as if the driver had left in a
hurry. Candy wrappers and soda cans filled the front passenger seat.
At least she could scrape together dinner for the man. She hadn't
cleaned out the pots left over from spaghetti night.
She stood on the running board to reach through the half-open window of