CROW’S NEST,
by John M. Floyd

Amos Garrett had switched off his dashboard radio, ejected Willie Nelson, and plugged in Tammy Wynette when he looked up and saw the little white car pulled over on the grassy shoulder of the road just ahead. He was surprised a bit to see an unfamiliar vehicle on this little backwoods two-lane, especially this late in the day, and surprised more than a bit by the tall brunette in sweater and jeans he saw standing there with both fists on her hips, staring down at her back right tire.

Amos pulled over as well, cut his engine, and climbed out of his pickup. Like his truck, Amos had been around awhile—he was pushing seventy-five, and happily married for almost fifty of those years—but he still appreciated an attractive young lady when he saw one. Besides, his mama hadn’t raised him to pass up a damsel in distress.

“Flat tire?” he said to her.

She gave him a sad smile. “I was told this was a shortcut. Thanks for stopping.”

“Name’s Amos Garrett.” He stuck out a hand, and she shook it.

“Wendy Lake,” she said.

Amos grinned. “You’re serious?”

“Sounds like an apartment complex, right? It gets better. Maiden name’s Wendy Valli.”

“Like Frankie Valli?”

Her eyes widened. “You remember him?”

“Sure—The Four Seasons. ‘Big Girls Don’t Cry.’”

“Well, this one did, when she got out and saw this tire.”

Amos chuckled. “It’s no problem. If you’ll pop the trunk I’ll change it for you.”

“Can’t. I don’t have a spare. My no-account brother borrowed it, a month ago.” She stayed quiet a moment, thinking, then said, “Oh well. My cell phone’s in the car, and my insurance includes roadside assistance. I’ll just call them and—”

Amos shook his head. “Not out here, you won’t. No reception.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. It’s the reason my wife and me don’t own cell phones. But we got a landline, and my house is less’n five miles from here. Come on, you can call from there.”

She hesitated. “Well… maybe I better wait with my car.”

“I wouldn’t do that, missy. Not today.” Amos took off his hat and sighed. “Look, I mean you no harm—but there are folks around who might. I just heard on my radio that two guys named Lee Montana and Victor something—Edwards, I think—just escaped from the state pen and stole a lot of money from a real-estate outfit not far from here.”

“Real estate?”

“The Blackthorns. It’s a long story. My point is, it’s almost dark, and you don’t need to be out here alone in the middle of nowhere.”

She studied him a moment in