Guest Post/Virtual Tour ~ Jean Henry Mead

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While traveling a northern Arizona highway, Senior Sleuths Dana Logan and Sarah Cafferty watch in horror as a pick up truck chases a Mercedes convertible past their motorhome, ultimately forcing the car off the roadway and into a ravine. Dana applies the brakes and pulls over to offer aid. She discovers the body of a beautiful young woman in the Mercedes when gunshots ring out. Stunned, she and Sarah realize they’re the targets! The bullets disable their motorhome and a long-haul driver comes to their rescue, giving them a lift into Flagstaff, where they can arrange for repairs to their RV. The idea of resuming their trip home is back-burnered, however, when the first person they spot at the truckstop is their shooter. Coincidence? Dana thinks not. Quickly, the women scheme to turn the tables on the woman’s killer, and the chase is on… Sometimes hunters, sometimes the hunted, Dana and Sarah delve into the shooter s identity and activities. They find more than a few surprises, and soon realize they have stumbled into a plot that not only endangers them, but puts national security in the crosshairs.

Lulled by a lack of traffic and the steady beat of rain, Dana was in danger of nodding off when a convertible roared past, followed by a late model pickup. The heavy downpour obscured her view, but they appeared to be coupled like boxcars. Why were they driving that dangerously close, and why so fast in the rain?
An I-40 highway sign signaled an approaching curve so she clicked off the cruise control and slowed to forty-five. Taillights had vanished and she glanced in both side mirrors. The earlier truck traffic had also disappeared and no headlights were visible in either direction. Darkness was closing in on her.
Sarah groaned from the passenger seat, apparently still asleep. Must be the anchovies. Her friend had insisted on stopping for pizza at a Kingman roadside cafe. Dana groped for the Tums. As she rounded the curve, she noticed two sets of brake lights not far ahead. The motorhome swayed as she stepped into her own brakes and skidded on the pavement. Road signs had warned of animal crossings. The convertible might have swerved to avoid hitting a deer and gone off the mountain road. Dana pulled onto the shoulder as the pickup following the convertible screeched back on the pavement. Why hadn’t the driver stopped to help?
Bolting upright in the passenger seat, Sarah said, “What’s happening?” Her voice was thick with sleep.
“We’re about to find out.”
Headlights angled upward from somewhere off the road, illuminating a huge digger pine. It had to be the convertible. Dana opened her door and climbed down. The steps were slick with rain and she nearly lost her balance. She heard the passenger door slam as she started down the embankment. Chilled and miserably wet, she slipped and landed in a bed of pine needles. Why hadn’t she grabbed the flashlight? Dana glanced up at her friend, who stood shivering on the shoulder. “Sarah,” she yelled, “Call 911 and hurry.”
The smell of gasoline was strong, despite the heavy rain. The convertible had missed several pine trees but a boulder had stopped its forward motion. Both doors were locked. Peering through the driver’s window, she could see nothing more than shattered glass, a dime-sized hole centering the web design. She then heard several backfires and a ping of metal as though the convertible had been struck by a rock. Realizing it was a gunshot, she dropped to her knees in the mud.
Sarah!
Slipping and clawing her way up the slope, she crawled onto the shoulder. A pickup was parked behind the RV. The driver had a nervous foot. A moment later another set of headlights emerged from the curve down the road. Tires squealed as the pickup roared off. As it passed, the RV’s headlights caught a dark red truck, which appeared to be a newer model. When Dana glanced in the passenger window, Sarah was crouched between the seats, the cell phone clutched in her hand. She took her time unlocking the passenger door.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m not sure.” Sarah patted her chest, breathing heavily.
“What happened?”
“He shot up the motorhome.”
“Did he shoot at you?”
“I don’t think he saw me. He only seemed interested in wounding Matilda.”
Dana hated the name Sarah had christened the RV, but that was the least of her worries. Grabbing a flashlight, she climbed back down the steps. A quick inspection revealed inside tires still inflated but the outer ones in the back were flat. She heard an engine shift down and was caught in the glare of headlights. Signaling with her flashlight, she was relieved when the big truck slowed and pulled in behind the motorhome. The driver seemed to be endlessly checking gauges before descending from the cab. Once on the ground, a warm, plump hand gripped hers in greeting.
“The name’s McCurdy,” the husky voice said. ”Everybody calls me Big Ruby.”
At nearly six feet, she was Dana’s height although nearly twice her girth.