45
When we stepped out my side door to the carport, I noticed a black sedan parked across the street in front of the Hendersons’ house. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
“What’s wrong?” asked Shea as she pulled on her motorcycle helmet.
“The car across the street. Something about it looks wrong.” From the Gray Ghost, I pulled out a pair of binoculars I often used for surveillance.
The sedan was an old Crown Vic police interceptor model with a searchlight by the side-view mirror. But this one had gold-plated spinners on the wheels and dark-tinted windows. I had just enough of an angle to read the license plate—LDWENDE. Patrol cars didn’t have custom plates. Someone had bought it at an auction and added the bling.
The Hendersons were a white couple with two young kids. Mrs. Hen
