“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
Then Robert was back, throwing open the door against the wind and heaving himself behind the wheel. He entered talking, “… We need to find another pharmacy. This one’s no good.”
Stenko said, “You didn’t get the morphine?”
“Hell no,” Robert said. “The pharmacist in there is a redneck. I’m sure he has a gun. And he just stared at me all suspicious, as if daring me to try something. He knows, Dad. Somehow he knows… so I beat it out of there. We need to find another place.”
Stenko looked away. Robert turned the key and started the engine. “These little towns give me the creeps anyway. They all just stare at you like you’re from another planet. They’re all inbred or something.”
“I don’t think there’s another pharmacy,” Stenko said in a near-whisper.
“Maybe not in this town,” Robert said. “But there’s bound to be one in a bigger place.”
“It’s after five,” Stenko said.
She said, “Give me the gun.”
AS SHE MADE HER WAY UP the aisle with the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up and the weight of the gun sagging in her front pocket, she gathered items into a shopping basket. Shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, hair coloring, a new TracFone since the one she had was low on power. She thought about how Stenko had barked a sharp “No!” to her request, but Robert quickly warmed to it, handed over the gun, and said, “Maybe she can finally do something useful.”
The jerk. She cared more about his father than he did.
The aisles were well lit, and they led the way toward a counter at the end of the store. Behind the counter was the pharmacist. He wore a white smock and had slicked-back hair and he pretended to busy himself with some kind of tiny project hidden under the cutout opening, but he was actually watching her closely. Robert was right about that. But she was the only customer-so why wouldn’t he keep his eye on her?
She hoped no one else came into the store. Robert had agreed to tap on the horn outside if anyone showed up, but she didn’t trust him to do it. If a police car turned into the lot, she was sure Robert would drive away and leave her in there.
She could hardly feel her legs and the shopping basket seemed weightless. She tried not to keep glancing at the pharmacist as she worked her way toward him, but she couldn’t help it. There was a distinct ache in her chest that got worse as she got closer to him.
He said something to her that didn’t register.
“What?”
“I said, can I help you find anything?”
What an opening. She knew she needed to decide right then whether or not to go through with it. Her instincts screamed at her to turn and run. But the image of Stenko’s tortured face was stronger.
“Do you have morphine?” She could barely meet his eyes.
“Why yes!” the pharmacist said with sarcastic enthusiasm. “And would you like some other narcotics along with it? We have those, too!” And he grinned wolfishly, his eyes sparkling.
She was confused.
Then he reached across the counter and grabbed her wrist, squeezing it hard.
“Why do you have your hood up?” he said. “Is it so I can’t see your face? Who are you and why do you want morphine?”
She struggled and pulled back but he gripped harder.
“Please, mister…”
He reached for her face with his other hand to peel the hood back but she ducked under his arm. The shopping basket fell to the linoleum but didn’t spill.
Then she noted that the pharmacist hesitated, that something or someone had diverted his attention. Suddenly her sweatshirt was lighter because the weight of the gun had been removed. Robert shot the pharmacist four times in his neck and chest. She screamed as his grip released on her wrist and she ripped her hand back. The pharmacist sagged out of view behind the counter, leaving a snail’s track of blood on the wall behind him.
Robert said to her, “Shut the hell up and help me find the morphine.”
16
Saddlestring
JOE AND MARYBETH WERE IN BED BUT NOT SLEEPING. HE’D arrived home after nine to find-pleasantly-that she’d saved him the last of the spaghetti and garlic bread they’d had earlier for dinner. While he ate, he’d outlined his day with Nate, the governor, and Coon. She nodded as he talked, seeing where it was going and becoming frightened by the inevitability of the situation ahead. Sheridan had already packed a Saddlestring Lady Wranglers duffel bag with clothes and placed it near the front door.
After they’d cleaned up the dishes, they’d continued the discussion about involving Sheridan, in his office with the door closed. He’d thought about the situation over and over while driving home, and each time he came to the same conclusion. He was more than willing to be talked out of the idea and hoped Marybeth could come up with a better way.
If another text came in while Joe was out in the field looking for April, it would be impossible for him to coach Sheridan into getting her foster sister to reveal her whereabouts. And even if Sheridan was able to get solid information, she’d have to relay that to Joe at a distance-providing he could be reached and was not himself out of range of a cell tower-and hope he was in the vicinity of where the call came in. If those were the only obstacles, though, they could try to get around them. Marybeth could be there with Sheridan if a call came in, for example. She’d probably do a better job of coaching than Joe could do anyway.
But the fact was April had chosen to contact Sheridan. Not Joe, not Marybeth. And if April agreed to meet somewhere, it would be with Sheridan.
Marybeth talked it out, which is what she did. Joe listened. His wife came to the same conclusion he had, and they looked at each other with trepidation.
They went to bed before eleven but it was perfunctory.
OUTSIDE, A COLD WIND rattled the bedroom window. Dried leaves that had been hanging from the cottonwood branches broke loose and ticked against the glass.
Marybeth rolled over and propped her head up by folding her pillow over on itself. She said, “I wish I could think of another way than to let Sheridan go with you, but I can’t.”
Joe grunted. While he welcomed the idea of his oldest daughter’s companionship, he was terrified by the possibility that he couldn’t keep her safe. This was his dilemma. This had always been his dilemma: keeping his family safe. Although there had been some horrific events and even more close calls, for the most part he’d been successful. Except once: April.