Gregory Mcdonald - Son of Fletch

Fletch

Fletch Won

Fletch, Too

Fletch and the Widow Bradley

Carioca Fletch

Confess, Fletch

Fletchs Fortune

Fletchs Moxie

Fletch and the Man Who

Son of Fletch Fletch Reflected

Flynn

The Buck Passes Flynn

Flynns In

Flynns World

Skylar

Skylar in Yankeeland

Running Scared The Brave

Safekeeping

Who Took Toby Rinaldi? (Snatched)

Love Among the Mashed Potatoes (Dear M.E.)

Exits and Entrances

Merely Players A World Too Wide

The Education of Gregory Mcdonald (Souvenirs of a Blown World)

GREGORY MCDONALD

Son of Fletch

Gregory Mcdonald is the author of twenty-six books, including eleven Fletch novels and four Flynn mysteries. He has twice won the Mystery Writers of Americas prestigious Edgar Allan Poe Award for Best Mystery Novel, and was the first author to win for both a novel and its sequel. He lives in Tennessee. His Web site is www.gregorymcdonald.com.

Mister Fletcher?

In the hard rain, Fletch had stopped the Jeep at the roadblock on the narrow county road. It was raining so hard he and Carrie had almost failed to see the sputtering warning flares as they came down the twisting, rock-walled road through the gap.

When the Jeep was stopped in front of the two county police cars parked as a wedge facing them, their headlights lit, a great bulk of a man wearing a yellow slicker, dark, wide-brimmed hat lumbered toward them. He was lit by the Jeeps headlights but more backlit by the high beams of the police cars.

Ha! Carrie had said. Fletch, I told you not to leave your popcorn bucket on the floor of the movie theater! Theyre out lookin for you, now theyve cotched you, and theyll put you under the jailhouse for sure.

Who is that? Fletch asked.

The rain pounding on the canvas roof of the Jeep made them speak loudly.

Rondy, Carrie answered. You know him. His uncle is Biggie Wilson. You been huntin with him, that time you all treed the Carter boy cause he has the natural smell of possum.

Fletch opened the Jeeps door, as that was easier than unzippering the window.

Hiya, Rondy. Hows your Uncle Big Stuff?

Hes just fine, Mister Fletcher. Rondy flashed his light around the interior of the Jeep. He leaned to look directly behind their seats. Evenin, Carrie. You folks doin all right?

Carrie said, Happier than worms wrigglin in warm mud.

Rain was pouring off the brim of the deputys hat. Plenty of warm mud around.

Whats happening, Rondy? Carrie leaned forward in the passenger seat and spoke across Fletch. The sheriff misplace his spectacles again?

Some villains decided to take themselves a little vacation from the federal penitentiary up in Kentucky, Carrie.

Cant blame em, Fletch said. Weve been advertising Tennessee as a vacation spot. Take yourselves off to Tennessee. Isnt that the slogan?

Weve been told to welcome tourists all right, Mister Fletcher. Its just that were concerned these particular fellows, being wards of the government, a federal responsibility, might stay out so late they just might miss their breakfasts.

Cant let that happen.

No, sir. They left home without any pocket money, is what has us worried.

Fletch smiled. Armed and dangerous?

We dont know if theyre armed yet. If not, they sure will be soon enough. Dangerous for sure.

Also dressed in yellow slickers, wide-brimmed hat, black rubber boots, carrying a flashlight, Sheriff Rogers came up and joined Deputy Wilson at the Jeeps door.

The jeans on Fletchs left leg were getting soaked.

Mister Fletcher. Miss Carrie.

Howdy, Sheriff, Carrie said. Dont Francie let you take a shower-bath at home anymore?

Says I keep leavin wet towels on the bathroom floor. So she sends me out every time theres a hard rain. Shes been complainin about wet towels on the floor thirty-two years now. The sheriff grinned. Funny how some women never change.

Nor should we, sniffed Carrie.

How long since you all been gone from the farm?

Few hours, Fletch answered. Went to St. Ives, had supper, saw a movie. Left home about what, five-fifteen?

You got guns at home, Mister Fletcher?

Sure.

Anywhere an intruder could find them?

Sure.

Loaded?

No. The shells and cartridges are kept separate.

Thats good. Maybe we should send Rondy here home with you.

Rondy frowned at the little space in the back of the Jeep.

Well be all right. How many villains are you lookin for tonight?

Four. The sheriff fished a wet piece of paper out of his pocket and held his flashlight on it under the Jeeps roof.

One murderer, one attempted murderer, one kidnapper, and one serving heavy time on drug charges.

Shoot, Fletch said. I thought Rondy said these were bad dudes. You have their names there?

Rainwater ran down the sheriffs face despite his wide-brimmed hat. Kriegel, Faoni, Leary, and Moreno. The sheriff accented the first syllable of the last name. Putting the paper back into his pocket, he said, Cant figure why theyre coming through here.

Headed south, I suppose, Fletch said. Alabama border. Lose themselves in Florida.

Except theyve drifted sideways, the sheriff said. This isnt a direct route to anywhere for them, far as I can figure.

How do you know theyre here?

Told they were comin this way, for sure. Then Ms. Mobley spotted them running along the ridge just before sunset. The sheriff waved toward the west. Guess we can believe her, all right. In her sixties, Mary Ann Mobley was considered the sharpest-eyed hunter in the county. Couldnt get to em, of course, in all this dampness. The sheriff craned to look at the Jeeps shifts. This a four-wheel drive, Fletch?