Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 497(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“Etta. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Zippy. I didn’t want to have to call you. I just wasn’t sure if I was going to need some assistance with the police.”
Zippy?
Gray knelt down and looked Etta over. He seemed to be assessing her health.
“Was she given medical attention?” he asked the officer.
“Paramedics checked her out. Everything was fine, and she didn’t want to go to the hospital.”
“Does anything hurt?” he asked her.
“Nothing that didn’t hurt before.”
“You should go to the hospital anyway, Etta. Just as a precaution.”
She waved him away. “Nonsense. People my age go into the hospital for a few stitches and wind up dead a week later from a staph infection they picked up.”
“Did you hit your head or anything?”
“It was a light tap. My Henry used to do more damage hitting my noggin against the headboard back in the day. The man was a lion.”
The officer’s eyebrows jumped, and he shook his head with a chuckle.
Etta’s eyes lifted to me. “Speaking of headboard banging, who have we here?”
“This is Layla Hutton. She’s…”
I stepped forward. “I’m Gray’s attorney.”
Etta’s eyes twinkled. “Layla. It’s so nice to finally meet you, dear.” She turned to Gray. “And she’s a hell of a lot better looking than the moron who told you to take that bad deal.”
“Yes, she is,” Gray said. “What happened with the accident, Etta?”
“I was on my way home from picking up a new TV Guide. I think the postman’s stealing mine.”
Gray interrupted. “At six thirty in the morning?”
“When you get to be my age, God stops requiring sleep so you don’t have to waste what little time you have left.”
Gray took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. I could tell he was frustrated and upset, but he did his best not to show it. “Go on. Tell me about the accident.”
“Not much to tell. I stopped at the stop sign on the corner, and some geezer who should’ve had his license taken away rear-ended me.”
The cop stopped writing in his notepad and pointed his pen at Etta. “He had a license, Mrs. Bell. Unlike you.”
“Whatever.” Etta rolled her eyes.
I turned my attention to the officer. “Could we talk for a minute?”
The policeman tilted his head toward his patrol car. “Sure. Just let me call in that the ambulance is about to take off.”
It took me ten minutes to talk the officer out of issuing Etta a citation. I had to tell him she had trouble remembering she no longer had a license and promise I’d take the keys away as soon as I got her home.
I walked back to the car with the police report in my hand. “He’s gonna let it slide this time. But you have to get a license or stop driving, Mrs. Bell.”
“Call me Etta. And I had a license more years than that idiot was alive. And the eye doctor who ratted me out to the DMV, too, for that matter. I think if a person is going to take away your license or give you a ticket, they should at least have the decency to be over thirty.”
Gray shook his head. “Thank you for taking care of that. Looks like her car is still drivable. It’s just a dent in the back bumper. Why don’t I drive Etta home, and you can follow with my driver.”
“Sure.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “We aren’t going to make our flight.”
“I’ll call the airline and see if we can get on the next one when we get to Etta’s.”
As I settled back into the car by myself and let the driver know what was going on, I realized there was no livery or car-for-hire license information displayed in the back. “Umm…excuse me, do you work for a car service?”
“No, I work for Mr. Westbrook. Name’s Al, ma’am.”
Gray had only been released two weeks ago. I’d checked. “Hi, Al. How long have you worked for Mr. Westbrook?”
The driver caught my eyes in the rearview mirror. He was older with silver hair, probably in his sixties. “Off and on for eight years now.”
“Off and on?”
“Yes, ma’am. While Mr. Westbrook was…out of town…I did some freelance driving. But now that he’s back, I’m back.”
I don’t know why, but I found that interesting. Gray had been in prison for three years, out for barely two weeks, and he was already saving his old nanny from a ticket and rehiring his driver.
Etta’s house was only a few blocks from the accident. The driver pulled to the curb while Gray parked in the driveway. I got out to see what I could do to help.
Turned out, Etta didn’t need much help. She got her car door open and had climbed out before Gray could shut off the engine and run around to help her.
We walked into her house together.