We’ve been on the road for a while now, Richard and I. Tomorrow I’m going to suggest that we stay for a couple of days to do laundry and grocery shop. Really it’s because I want to just be somewhere for a couple of days, talk to people, see what there is to see. I’m really not supposed to talk to people at all. And I should be seen as little as possible, even with short blond hair and lifts in my shoes to make me taller.

I’m having a awful time remembering to use Hambecker’s given name, Richard. I’ve never called him Richard. Now he’s Richard Jones and I’m Betty Jones, although he never calls me Betty. He almost called me Bree a couple of times, and caught himself, so now he just says Trouble, mostly, and sometimes Pumpkin. No one has ever called me pumpkin in my entire life. I snorted the first time he said it. Richard says that’s why it’s perfect; no one would ever think of Bree MacGowan as “Pumpkin,” and it will throw them off our scent.

Last night we stayed in yet another dumpy small town camp ground. Not that all small town camp grounds are dumpy, but the one’s we stay in tend to be. We always take the spot farthest away from the office, preferably on a dead end so that people won’t randomly drive by and see us. Personally, I think we should be staying at the nicer camp grounds, socializing and being seen, because that’s the last thing that people who are trying to stay out of sight would do. Also, we’d have way more fun.

Richard says that a woman traveling around with a Chihuahua and a skunk cannot afford to put herself in the lime light. Skunks are just not common enough companions. Speaking of uncommon, you should see Hamb—I mean Richard. He’s let his hair grow. He looks like the wild man of Borneo or something. His hair is actually touching his collar, and you’ll never believe this, it’s wavy. Curly almost. Very sexy. But I won’t tell him that, he’s got a big enough head already. He knows he’s a lean mean fighting machine with mad skilz. It tends to make him cocky. Imagine if he knew how sexy he is? He’d be intolerable, I’m sure of it.

Anyway tonight we are staying on the outskirts of a big city. I’m not allowed to say which one. The campground has a pool, at least the photos on the Internet show a pool, and I’m looking forward to a swim. And if there’s a TV in the rec room I’m going to commandeer it and watch The Big Bang Theory. I need a good laugh. I’ve noticed that if Hammie makes me laugh before I go to sleep I’m less likely to have nightmares.

When I finally get to testify against Ledroit, and I’m not running for my life anymore, maybe I’ll post this journal as a blog. Not that it’s all that interesting, but at least then you’ll know how I spent my days. Mostly, I’m giving Richard a hard time, but he likes it and it keeps us from going stir crazy. I’ll tell if I got to swim and watch TV when I check in tomorrow.

Meet the author
Kate George lives in the hills of central Vermont with her dogs, children and husband. She’s the author of the Bree MacGowan mystery series; Moonlighting in Vermont, California Schemin’, and most recently Crazy Little Thing Called Dead.

Visit Kate at her website, on Facebook or on Twitter.

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