“I hope you know how to use that thing,” he said crisply.
“Count on it.” Gail aimed for his face.
“He"s on our side,” I advised hastily and, once she lowered the gun, made introductions.
Peter slipped into the passenger"s seat.
“Shouldn"t you be following?” Linda demanded, motioning the car far down the road.
“I"m guessing that Winch is heading home.”
“That"s Kent Winche?” Gail asked sharply as we peered at disappearing taillights.
“After he left the gym, he met a guy named Walter Fowle at the corner, grabbed keys for that Honda, and got in. I checked and it belongs to Fowle.”
“He obviously didn"t want to be seen arriving in his flashy vintage sportscar or without concealing his face.” Linda eyed Petey. “How can you be sure he"s headed home?”
“I said I"m guessing,” he said with a
