Buried

CHAPTER 36 | a picture tells a thousand words

📎A/N. Oh my goodness we meet again at the end of what I hope has been a fantastic weekend. Only nine more weeks until Christmas!!! NO, NO, NO... my worst nightmare !!!!

I hope you enjoy this chapter... If you do, don't forget to vote. :-)

Take care

M.

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Drew sat in his rented car and took another gulp of his luke-warm soda as he studied the comings and goings across the road from where he was parked. For a small Auto Shop & Gas Station in the middle of nowhere, it certainly did a brisk trade. Throughout the day, cars had pulled in and out of the forecourt to either fill up, drop their vehicle in for repair, or to get one of the mechanics to take a look at one problem or another.

He had taken particular attention each time the Auto Shop owner had come into view. Although he couldn't make it out from his position across the road, he knew the name tag embroidered on the greasy blue overalls identified the man as 'Ron - Proprietor'.

It has taken Drew two days to track down Mr Winslow - full-time mechanic - part-time wolf. As he didn't want to attract attention, he had found the man himself, rather than speak to the reporter or the Warden's Service. Much to his surprise, it had taken longer than expected. The only information he had to go on was the man's name and where he lived. After wasting a day combing Ellsworth - population 89, he had stumbled upon a local who had pointed him in the direction of Plymouth.

Drew checked his watch and smiled. It was nearly six - closing time. As he looked back over the road, sure enough, Ron's workers were starting to pack up for the day. He guessed they had worked there for some time as each person appeared to know exactly what they were doing. Like a well-oiled machine, they had everything cleared and back in its place within fifteen minutes and were punching out for the night. As Ron had done the previous two nights, he waved to his employees and then began to close off the till and lock up before he too headed out the door for his thirty-minute drive home.

Once Drew was confident that the others had left, and no further customers would be pulling into the forecourt, he got out of his car and made his way across the road. The tinkling of a bell could be heard as he opened the door to the small shopfront. It looked like a typical small town service station convenience store. The place, while compact was full to the brim with candy, soda pop, toiletries, tobacco and newspapers.

"Sorry were closed," Ron called out without looking up.

"I'm not here to buy anything," Drew said as he closed the door behind him, "I'm actually here to see you, Mr Winslow."

Ron stopped counting the cash from the till and glanced up. As he did so, one hand reached below the counter. "I have a gun pointed at you," he began, his eyes flashed, and his expression turned hard as they took in the reporter, "so I suggest that if you think you can waltz in here and take a man's hard earned money you can think again."

Drew held up his hands, palms facing Ron, "Woah, I'm not here to rob you, Mr Winslow," he began quickly, "I just wanted to talk to you about that hunting incident from the other day."

Ron visibly relaxed. However, his hand remained unseen, below the counter. A sweat broke out on Drew's forehead. His choice of waiting until closing time may have not been one of his better decisions. "My name is Andrew Robbins and I'm a reporter with the Boston Globe," he said, careful to keep his voice even and non-threatening as possible. "I'm here because I believe I can help you."

"Okay Mr Reporter, you have two minutes. After that... well, that depends on whether I like what you have to say or not."

Drew dropped his hands. "When that hunter shot you the other day," he began, choosing his words carefully, "he wasn't wrong when he said he thought he was shooting at a wolf. You were that wolf."