Skip was driving his truck down the winding country road toward his land. He'd had a rough day.
First, he'd had to unpack the delivery trucks at Pixies. After unloading two tractor trailers of all their cargo, the compressor on the milk cooler broke down. He'd had to remove gallon after gallon of milk, storing them in the refrigerated cooler in the back of the store.
He had had to restock the canned vegetable aisles and help Dorie set up a new display of washing detergent. His back muscles were sore, and he had the dull throbbing of a headache starting as he left work. He needed a break and some alone time and the soothing balm of nature.
Something caught his eye moving in the grass on the roadside. Pulling the truck off the road, he got out and went to investigate.
He saw an injured bird, a hawk of some kind, trying unsuccessfully to fly. He went back to the truck and looked behind the driver's seat.
He retrieved an old beach towel he had used last summer while tubing the river and brought it to the bird. Slowly, he bent down, speaking in calm, hushed tones.
"It's all right, shhhhhh. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."
He gently wrapped the injured bird in the towel. He tenderly held it close to his body to prevent further injury. He went back to the truck. With the bird nestled under his arm, he drove back into town and on to MegaPark.
"Let's get you to the animal shelter and see if they can fix you up. Don't worry, it's going to be all right. Just stay still," he cooed.
Nearing the entrance to the park, he looked at the crazy clown. He could only shake his head. Why in the world somebody would think it was fun to walk into a clown's mouth was something he had never figured out.
As a youngster, Skip remembered hearing rumors this site was cursed. Kids told stories of how the Indians once roamed the area. For the tribes, this was a sacred place. A holy place.
The Indians were forced off the mountains by pale strangers who were invading the mountains like locust. The tribes had vanished, but not before they placed a curse on the white strangers and on all who came after them.
Something remained here.
An uneasy feeling.
Something you couldn't exactly put your finger on.
Something, perhaps, you never wanted to put your finger on.
YOU ARE READING
Nobody Knows Your Secret
Mystery / ThrillerIt was a heck of a shot. It was the perfect murder. Someone killed Kyle Winthrop as he lay in his bed. His mother, Claire, doesn't care much - she's too strung out on prescription pain pills. But his Grandmother cares, and she begs her good friend...
