Burning Lover

Burning Lover


He'd had the evening planned differently, but he owed Elvis Presley, Paul decided.

He'd picked up the young lady at the corner of the convenience store parking lot late that afternoon. She was shivering under a thin jacket in the crisp, northwest Iowa air.

"Thanks for stoppin', mister!"

"No problem," he'd replied. "What part of town are you heading for?"

"Town? Oh, umm...I'm really headed north."

"North, eh? Fostoria? Milford, maybe?"

"Actually, I'm trying to get to I-90 so I can head east toward Minneapolis."

"90, huh? That's about an hour north of here."

"Yeah, and I'd already be there, too, except I just had to leave my last ride here and visit the library. I'm a big-time cat lover and–"

"–and you had to see where Dewey Readmore Books spent all his time," finished Paul. "We get that a lot here in Spencer, although most folks have their own transportation."

"I caught a ride with a UPS guy on his way here—that's kind of a secret, by the way—but nobody seems to be heading any further than Milford and Spencer's bigger anyway, so I figured I'd just wait here and hope for the best."

"You're not likely to have much luck until tomorrow. Most folks in town this late in the day tend to stay here, and that includes visitors. I'll tell you what, though. You can spend the night at my place, and I'll run you up to the interstate in the morning. Now," Paul said, raising his hand to forestall the most likely arguments, "I have a couch and my bedroom door has a sliding lock on the inside. I'll take the couch and you take the bed."

"Well..."

"And," Paul continued, "if you want, you can take my picture and tag it with my name - Paul Timmons."

"I guess it'd be okay," she finally said.

"Good. We should hit the thrift store first, 'cuz Minneapolis isn't any warmer than here. You need a better coat."

"You're probably right - and my name's Anna. Thanks!"

She'd slung a full-looking backpack onto the passenger seat then climbed in. After a successful stop at the thrift store, they'd driven to Paul's house. It was on the outskirts and it wasn't big, "But it's all mine!" he'd bragged.

Anna had appeared happy enough to just chill on the couch, snacking on chips, dip and soda, and listening to the radio while they waited for the pizza guy. They'd started the evening with "Famous Piano Concertos", until she'd said the music was making her sleepy—if only, foolish girl!—so they'd moved on to "Elvis' Greatest Hits". The upbeat tunes had them both rocking back and forth in their seats, actively enough that Anna kept pushing her long brown hair back behind her ears, never really considering it was so much easier to sway to the music with her eyes closed. Paul kept an eye on her as he matched her chip for chip, albeit without using any of the dip, and thinking it was just about time to get her phone's password from her—before she closed her eyes for good.

The pizza delivery guy arrived and Paul stepped out onto the porch to keep the man from seeing inside.

"One medium, black olives and mushrooms. That'll be $14.50."

"This'll last awhile," Paul replied. "Here's $17 - keep the change."

"Thanks, sir! Call us anytime!"

Paul barely had time to get a plate, before the doorbell rang again. It was the pizza guy.

"Sorry to bother you, but my dispatcher said we were late with your order, so you're entitled to a coupon for your next order."

As Paul reached for it, the man flipped it over.

"Police - step aside for your safety" was written on the back.

"Wha–" was all Paul had time to say before three deputies swept past him, guns drawn. They converged on Anna with shouts of "Police! Don't move!"

One held her down and cuffed her as another checked her backpack.

"Bingo!" called out the deputy with the backpack. He'd completely unzipped the main compartment and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, and was now showing his prize to the third man. "Got a nine mil here! Looks like a Sig P365 to me, Frank."

"I'd say you're right on the money, Ed. Get her out of here."

As they frogmarched her out the door, the first deputy commented on her relaxed state. "Must've popped some of those pills."

Frank watched the trio leave, then turned to Paul.

"She robbed a pharmacy down in Early at gunpoint this morning, made him hand over his keys and then shot the poor guy in the leg to keep him from chasing her. Their CCTV was down, so all we had was a description. Her luck ran out pretty quick, though. She ran out of gas just south of town, and then someone at Dyno's spotted her and figured she looked enough like the artist's sketch we had on TV to call in. You'd already picked her up and left by the time we got there, but the store's surveillance video caught your license plate—I can't believe those guys still use a VCR!—and we eventually got your address."

"So...?"

"We were debating the best way to gain entry without alerting her or endangering you when the pizza guy arrived; he'll be telling this story for years! Anyway, between the pizza and the shooter getting herself stoned, I'd say you were one lucky guy, Mr. Timmons. Detectives will be by later to take your statement. Good night, sir."

"Night."

Lucky, indeed. If they'd stormed in ten minutes later, he'd still be trying to explain Anna's corpse to them. Paul reflected on happenstance and decided he'd still use the hole he'd found back in the woods. After all, he still had the kerosene and the hole wasn't going anywhere. It would just have to wait for somebody else.