“Wow, your black outfit gets a lot of use.” Helen smiled as she stepped out of the moving truck.
“At least my clothes make sense. What are you wearing?” I shook my head at the sight of Helen in a green camouflage flannel with a bullet-proof vest over the top. Black leggings hugged her legs like a sausage casing, and she wore tan, steel-toed work boots.
Bryce jumped from the driver’s seat and laughed. “She talked my dad into getting her the vest. She told him she needed protection because of the rising crime rate in our town.”
Helen scoffed. “You can make fun of me all you want, but if shots fly this time, I’ll be ready.”
The truck Bryce drove into the driveway had white spray paint over the Mountain Movers Sign. The black letters underneath peeked through enough to make them readable.
