The Butcher of Pepper Hill [An Interactive Story]

30

The representative who answers for Roadside Assistance, Khadijah, is nice; she seems genuinely concerned about your situation. You do your best to explain your location to her so she can direct the person who'll come to change your tire.

"It'll take about 45 minutes for him to get there," Khadijah says.

"Great," you say with a sigh. "I'll just...wait."

"I'm sorry," she replies, real regret in her tone. "I'm afraid you're sort of—um—"

"In the middle of nowhere. I know. It's not your fault. I really appreciate your help."

"If he's delayed, please give us a call, all right?"

"Will do."

"Is there anything else I can help you with today, Ms. Moore?"

"Nope. Thanks, and have a great day."

"Thanks for calling Roadside Assistance. Have a safe day!" She disconnects the call.

Looking up and down the deserted gravel road, you briefly entertain the notion of walking along the road to try to find the crime scene, but it'll probably be quite a walk, and you don't want to leave your car unattended in case the Roadside Assistance person comes while you're away.

The trees surrounding you make it seem darker than it really is. There aren't a lot of forests in Iowa, so this sort of wooded area feels oppressive in contrast to the wide-open spaces and never-ending fields that are more what you're used to.

You make sure the doors are locked and then settle back into your seat and tap open a mobile game on your cell phone. You've got plenty of battery. No harm playing for a while while you wait.

It's probably half an hour before anything disturbs the silence and the cheerful blips fro your phone. The sound of tires crunching on gravel sends a shock of fear through you, but when you glance up into the rear view mirror, you see what is clearly a service truck rolling up the winding gravel road.

Yes! This must be the first time in the history of automobiles that help has arrived ahead of schedule.

Randy, the Roadside Assistance guy, is a man of few words. He doesn't ask you to get out of the car, and you don't offer. In the space of another 30 minutes, the tire has been changed. You roll the window down just enough to accept the paperwork Randy has for you. You sign it and pass it back, and he tucks the receipt for his services back through the slitted window.

"Thanks!" you call, watching up walk away and rolling the window back up.

Well, it's late now. You're hungry, you really have to pee, and you doubt you'll be able to get to the crime scene and back before night falls. There's not much that's appealing about visiting the ditch where Mathilda was found when it's dark...but you did drive all the way out here.

What do you think? Go to the crime scene, or go home?

You've come this far, why not drive a little farther and visit the crime scene? You don't like to make wasted trips. [[Go to Chapter 38.]]

You've had enough excitement for one day...time to go home. [[Go to Chapter 52.]]