Janet Evanovich - Full Scoop

Cook hurried toward the edge of the trees. "Hell, yeah, that's the Columbiana's water tower," he said in obvious delight. "I know right where we are. My friend Jonesy, or Reverend Jonesy, as they call him," he added with a laugh, "lives a stone's throw from it."

"Great. You can stop in and ask him to save your soul before I put you out of your misery."

Cook looked worried for a moment. "He's not a real preacher, and he's as crooked as my mama's arthritic finger. He'd sell his mama if he could make five bucks. Trust me, he has spent a time or two behind bars. He's a traveling preacher. If he's not on the road he'll give us something to eat."

Carl Lee looked doubtful. "There's probably a reward out for our capture," he said. "I'm not taking any chances."

"That's where you're wrong, Carl Lee. Jonesy wouldn't turn in a con. It wouldn't be ethical. Besides, he's rich. Made a buttload of money scamming truck drivers, leading them to Jesus," he added. "And guess who showed him how to hide all that money? Yours truly, that's who. And Jonesy has connections coming out the ying-yang. He might be able to find us a ride to Beaumont."

Carl Lee seemed to ponder it. "Okay," he said.

"We'll go by and see your friend, but if he even looks like he's going to blow the whistle on us I'll bury a bullet so deep they'll never find it."

They crossed the highway and picked their way through the woods. On the other side, they found a brand-new double-wide mobile home. Beside it sat an eighteen-wheeler, the words prayer mobile painted on the side.

"What's that?" Carl Lee asked.

"That's Jonesy's traveling church," Cook said. "He holds religious services at truck stops and roadside parks. Goes all over the country spreading the Good Word," he added. "Truckers are very generous."

A man's voice called out to them from the mobile home. A shotgun poked from a window, trained on the men. Cook identified himself. A moment later a gray-haired man in black slacks, black shirt, and priest's collar appeared at the door. He still held the rifle, even as he and Cook pumped hands enthusiastically. Cook introduced him to Carl Lee.

"CNN has been flashing pictures of you boys all day," Jonesy said. "A motorist decided to take a leak in the woods along the side of the highway and almost tripped over your pal's body. They found him several hours ago; ID'd him at the scene from a couple of tattoos."

"We didn't kill him," Cook said. "He got hit by a guard during the escape."

"Anyway, some kid heard about it and called the cops. Claims he ran into you guys last night." Jonesy had to pause to catch his breath. He looked at Carl Lee. "Gave the make and model of the car and said you looked like Jerry Lewis in that professor movie," he added.

"Uh-oh, there goes your disguise," Cook said.

Carl Lee muttered a couple of four-letter words.

"Hold it right there, son," Jonesy said. "This is the Lord's house. We don't use that kind of language."

Carl Lee looked at Cook. "Is he for real?"

Cook nodded soberly before looking at Jonesy. "We don't have the car anymore. The tire blew out. We were able to ride the rim to a dirt road and push it into a ravine. Hopefully nobody will see it for a while."

Jonesy looked at Carl Lee. "I know what you did," he said, "but God loves you anyway, and so do I. I'll invite you in to break bread, but you'll have to leave your gun outside. I don't allow weapons in my home."

Carl Lee looked pointedly at the rifle.

"This doesn't count because it's for protection," Jonesy said. "A man has a right to protect his home."

Cook pulled his gun from his waistband and put it on the front step. Finally, Carl Lee did the same.

"You boys hungry?" Jonesy asked when they stepped inside. "I've got a pot of red beans and rice on the stove."

"I hear you've got a lot of money," Carl Lee said once Jonesy served up three bowls of beans and rice and thick slices of buttered bread. "How come you're not living in some fancy mansion?"

"I'm storing my treasures in heaven," Jonesy said. "There are mansions galore up there, all sitting on streets of gold. Also, I don't want the IRS asking questions."

They ate in silence. Jonesy refilled their bowls. "Where are my manners?" he said. "I'll bet you boys are thirsty."

"A cold beer would be nice," Carl Lee said, only to receive a look of warning from Cook.

"Then you've come to the wrong place," Jonesy said. "I don't allow alcohol, drugs, cussing, or poker playing." He pulled several soft drinks from the refrigerator and passed them around.

"So how are you fellows planning to make the rest of the trip without getting caught?"

Carl Lee looked up. "Cook said you might be able to hook us up with a ride."

"Depends on how much you're willing to pay," Jonesy said. "I understand you got a quarter of a mil waiting for you in Beaumont. I might be willing to help for a fair cut. First thing I'd do is get you two out of those clothes."

"What do you consider a fair cut?" Carl Lee asked after a moment.

Jonesy considered it. "Takes a lot of gas to fill up an eighteen-wheeler," he said. "I reckon twenty-five will do it."

Carl Lee's eyebrows shot up. "Twenty-five thousand! Are you crazy?"

"I'll take you right down I-20 to Atlanta, go through Augusta, turn south in Columbia, South Carolina, then on to Beaumont. All in all, I'll have you there in about seven hours."

Carl Lee shook his head. "Forget it. I can charter a damn jet for less than that."

Jonesy reached for his gun.

Carl Lee sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I meant to say 'darn.' "

Cook stared at Carl Lee in disbelief. "Take the deal, man! We don't have wheels, and now the cops have a description of you."

"I'll give you ten," Carl Lee told Jonesy.

"Fifteen."

"No."

"Okay, make it twelve," Jonesy said, "and I'll let you take a well-needed shower, put you both in a priest's outfit, rub a little black shoe dye in your hair, and ask the Lord to speak to your hearts."

* * * * *

"I'm out of here," Destiny told Vera, grabbing her purse and pushing her chair from her desk. She gave a sudden squeal that startled Vera so bad the woman dropped a file folder, scattering papers across the floor.

"It's Freddy Baylor!" Destiny said, dropping to her knees and scrambling beneath her desk. "Don't tell him I'm here," she hissed.

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this," Vera said.

A man with longish blond hair and a scruffy reddish-blond beard walked through the front door wearing ragged jeans and a torn T-shirt with the words BORN TO BREED on the front. He walked up to Vera's desk. "How are you today?" he said politely.

"Why, I'm just fine, thank you." Vera gave him her best smile.

"I'm Freddy Baylor. Is Destiny—"

"Freddy Baylor!" Vera bolted from her chair and held out her hand. "It's so nice to finally meet Destiny's new beau! Why, she can't say enough wonderful things about you. I'm Vera, by the way."

He arched both brows, but took her hand and shook it. "Destiny has mentioned me? I'm glad to hear it."

"She's wondering why you haven't invited her to go fishing."

"I had no idea she enjoyed that sort of thing. But then, I haven't had much of a chance to talk to her since she's always in a hurry."

"Oh, she's just playing hard to get," Vera said, giving him a wink.

He grinned. "Is she around, by any chance?"

"As a matter of fact, she is," Vera said. "She's hiding under that desk." She pointed. From where Vera stood, she could see Destiny clearly, but Freddy, on the other side, could not.

He chuckled. "Destiny never mentioned she worked with somebody so personable and funny," he said.

"Destiny, come out from under that desk right this minute!" Vera said, only to receive a menacing look from the woman scrunched beneath it.