The Gardens of Digby Green: Three Smooth Moves
If that didn’t knock the bung right out of the barrel, as his uncle used to say. Digby pulled out and sped two blocks, where he turned left into an aging residential area. He parked the truck in the abandoned driveway on a vacant lot, tore the lid off the hushpuppy box, and stuffed his mouth with food.
Keziah’s hushpuppies were better than his mother’s.
He’d forgotten the Coke. With shaky hands, Digby reached for the box of fish. Grease darkened the pasteboard, and left spreading stains on the truck seat. He shrugged. Wolfing down the first piece, he looked up and down the street. The catfish in its crisp batter wasn’t quite hot enough to burn his tongue, and the cab had seen worse things.
No one had recognized him in the previous towns, and being called by name in a room that crowded, rattled him. How many had there been? They all heard his name. What if one of them had gotten his license plate? He should’ve taken care of that a long time ago.
A rusted gray truck sat in front of a brick house across the street. No one seemed to be home. Still chewing a mouthful of catfish, Digby left the vacant lot and pulled up behind the other vehicle.
“Ha. I’m in luck.”
The gray truck’s license tabs weren’t due to expire for another ten months. In a matter of minutes, Digby’s truck had Illinois plates. Whistling, he opened the tool box in the truck bed. The screwdriver went in, and a pair of Roseland Garden Supply advertising magnets came out. Affixed to the sides of his truck, they’d confuse anyone who might have seen it without them.
He snorted, then chuckled. Nothing like killing two birds with one stone… pleasing his boss, while disguising his truck in three smooth moves.
The Gardens of Digby Green is a serialized story that posts on Fridays.
Next week, part eighteen, Red-Covered Calendar.
Find a link to purchase Heartland Treasures anthology here.
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