“Sure am.” I smile half-heartedly.
Pam snorts and reads me my total as I load the bagged groceries in my cart and use my card to pay.
“You better watch your back,” Pam adds before I walk away, pulling me up short.
“Excuse me?” I leer at her, tightening my grip on the shopping cart.
“They killed their girlfriend, you know,” she says jeeringly.
Wow. I should’ve listened to Kat when she said that people here are assholes. I mean, that’s now how she said it, but she might as well have.
“Wasn’t their father convicted of killing her?” I try to correct her in a way that isn’t outright condescending. My question also offers her an out because if she keeps going, I’m going to lose it.
“Everyone knows they did it and framed their dad. The twins hated him.” Pam curls her lip.
I give up.
Deciding to put on a show, I cover my mouth and let out an unconvincing gasp. “Do you think they’ll kill me too?”
“Probably,” she comments, looking me up and down. “You’re pretty enough.”
I roll my eyes. “Here’s an idea. Take your judgment and shove it up your ass so far that you choke on it. But you might have a hard time getting around the pole you already have stuck up there.”
Pam’s mouth hangs open as I stomp away and out of the store.
Well, this sucks. Now I’m going to have to get my groceries in the next town over.
Leaving my shopping cart at the entrance, I loop the bags on my arms and load them in the back of my car. As I approach the driver’s side door, something catches the corner of my eye. I stop, turning to the motion.
Sheriff Jackson and Dr. Lewis Whitlock argue between parked cars only a few yards away. One car is an SUV with the words “MYSTIC RIVER SHERIFF” on the side and emergency lights on top.
Ducking down, I keep my head high enough so I can surveil them through the car windows. Scanning the parking lot, I find other people wandering into the store, but no one pays attention to the conversation going on. I had to park toward the back of the parking lot to get a spot, and the sheriff and doctor are even further back than my car.
“They found scopolamine in his blood!” Sheriff Jackson says aggressively.
What’s scopolamine?
Need to research that.
“What does that have to do with me?” Whitlock throws back, as if he’s not worried at all. His open posture and uncrossed arms are a testament to his elevated confidence.
Yet another man living his life as if the consequences of his actions won’t touch him. But if what they’re saying means what I think it does, there’s no way I’ll let Whitlock get away.
I’ll be his fucking consequence.
Sheriff Jackson’s face fades to red. “Everything! Seth Beauregard was your patient. They’re going to put it together.”
Dr. Whitlock waves off the sheriff’s concern, dismissing him. “Seth was troubled. It’s not hard to believe that he was able to break out of the hospital and go on a killing rampage. I’ll call it a psychotic break. Everyone will buy it.”
Sheriff Jackson makes a frustrated noise in his throat. “I’ve seen his bloodwork. He wasn’t even on antipsychotics. That ranger, Langston, is going to get a warrant for Seth’s medical records. He’s too smart for his own good.”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” Whitlock shrugs as if insinuating the murder of state law enforcement is an everyday occurrence.
“We?” The sheriff lets out a snide laugh. “There’s nowein this. I didn’t send Seth to the library armed with grenades.”
Shit. I didn’t want to be right about that. I hoped Dr. Whitlock didn’t recognize me, but there was always a possibility.
The muscles in my legs begin to shake from my crouched position. Sweat dots my brow from the overbearing heat of the sun. Spying is not for the weak, that’s for sure.
