Ramsey nodded sympathetically. “I guess it’s muscle memory.”
“It’s somethin’.”
“Have you been busy this—” She stopped abruptly when she heard the low drone of unfamiliar voices and activity at the front of the store. The rumblings were mostly male voices, authoritative but indistinct. Frowning, she stepped away from her cart and tried to get a view of what was happening. There was no center aisle from where she was standing, and her line of sight was partially blocked by housewares. She looked to Mason, but he was already coming around the counter to get a look for himself, clearly as clueless as she was.
After the initial disturbance, quiet followed. Not silence, but quiet. There was movement, more voices, mostly female now and they were hushed. Then there was the snuffling and footsteps hurrying in a forward direction. The snuffling should have tipped her to what was happening, but it was hearing the accompanying foreign language command that made it clear.
To Ramsey it sounded as if the officer was saying, “Soo Roushgift.” She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded serious and she backed up to the paint counter as a beautiful and all-business German shepherd rounded the endcap display of toolboxes and red plastic gas cans. She tugged on Mason’s flannel shirt sleeve and pulled him back from the aisle. He didn’t need any more encouragement than her hand on his sleeve to get out of the way. The shepherd coming toward them was giving no quarter. Neither was her State Police handler.
Ramsey lifted herself onto the counter and patted the space beside her to invite Mason to do the same. She fully expected to be told to leave the scene but for whatever reason, that didn’t happen.
The shepherd and the trooper were only the tip of the spear. As the dog turned toward the paint shelves and began nosing the cans, four more officers appeared around the corner. When Ramsey saw Sullivan bringing up the rear, she knew her time on the counter was coming to an end.
He was professional about it, calling her ma’am and calling Mason sir, but he was most definite about them leaving their perch. Ramsey complied, taking her cart and moving to an adjacent aisle where she had a view that was only partially blocked by stacks of furniture. She took a position behind the kitchen chairs and tables and watched between the forest of spindle legs. Sullivan looked over once and saw her, but bless his heart, he didn’t tell her to leave.
The trooper with the dog began passing cans to the other men and in minutes they had a pyramid of Caribbean Coast on the counter. The group split then with half staying where they were to record their find while the other half, including the shepherd, headed for the warehouse at the back.
While a member of the task force recorded video, Sullivan opened one can after another and used what looked like kitchen tongs to fish out the plastic pouches of fentanyl. At least, Ramsey assumed it was fentanyl. The officers seemed to be pleased with the find, and the dog certainly had been excited about it.
Ramsey spared a thought for Paul. What was his reaction? Having his store raided by the task force wouldn’t set him up well with upper management even if he wasn’t found to be complicit in the distribution and sale of the opiates.
The officers worked efficiently, clearing the shelves, talking quietly among themselves. There was no humor here. No attempts to lighten the mood around their dark discovery. They were saving lives as surely as if they were delivering Narcan to an overdosed addict.
The next time that Sullivan glanced her way, Ramsey gave him a brief grin and a finger wave before she turned her cart toward the front of the store and the checkout registers. She had just started to place groceries onto the belt when she saw Paul hurrying toward one of the exits. It struck her as improbable that he would be allowed to leave, but then she wasn’t privy to the workings of the task force. The fact that they moved in on a Saturday afternoon rather than between midnight and six was also a mystery. Maybe they wanted the community to know they were working toward curtailing the epidemic. Maybe witnesses were part of the plan.
“Hey, Paul!” She regretted calling out to him the moment the words were out of her mouth. What did she think she was going to do? What did she think sheshoulddo? Ramsey saw Paul hesitate a beat and his head come up so she knew he heard her. She wondered if something was going on out in the lot because he kept going, never looking back. Shrugging, she finished unloading her cart, gave the cashier three bright blue Ridge totes to fill with her items, and then paid with a card. Checking out took some time because the cashier wanted to chat about the police, the dog, and what the hell was going on. Ramsey feigned ignorance, and the growing line behind her helped bring that conversation to an end.
There was no police activity in the lot when she exited the store. She wondered again about Paul’s hasty exit until she saw him limping toward his car in employee parking. Limping? What had happened after he left the store? Because she was a customer today, Ramsey had parked closer than the lower forty where employees were expected to leave their vehicles. She put the totes in the back of the SUV, returned the cart to a corral, and got in. Paul still hadn’t reached his car. His gait was more of a lurch than a limp now, and as she watched, he stopped beside the trunk of another car and seemed to brace himself before he went on. Because he clearly needed assistance, Ramsey started her car and headed his way.
He had reached his Altima by the time she got to him, but he was leaning against the driver’s side door and making no attempt to open it. His right leg was bent at the knee to keep his foot off the ground. She lowered her passenger side window. “Paul? What happened? Can I help?”
His caterpillar eyebrows came together as he scowled at her. “I think you’ve already done too much. This business has your fingerprints all over it.” Grasping the handle, Paul tried hopping away from the car on his good leg so he could open the door. Pain transformed his scowl into a grimace. He swore with no regard for the ears of anyone who might be around.
“This is ridiculous,” Ramsey muttered. She tossed her keys and wristlet into the glovebox and left the SUV running when she got out. “For God’s sake, let me help you.” Without waiting for permission, she hoisted his left arm and put it around her shoulders. “Steady yourself against me. Do you want to sit? Catch your breath?”
“I need to go. My wife. I need to see Cheryl.”
“Why don’t you call her? Tell her what happened.” Bearing a fair share of his weight, Ramsey slowly inched Paul toward the SUV. “Whatdidhappen?”
“Car hit me backing out of a space.”
“Did the driver stop? Offer to help?”
“I waved her on. I didn’t know then how bad it was.”
“What is it? Your foot? Ankle?”
“Knee.”
Ramsey opened the passenger door and Paul was able to sit on the side of the seat. He didn’t try to swivel himself into the car. “Let me take you to the hospital. You need an X-ray.” She pointed to the injured knee. “Look at it. It’s already swelling.”
A single glance was all Paul needed to take it in. His pant leg was stretched over the knee. “I need to see Cheryl.”
“She can meet us at the hospital. You can call her on the way. I’ll take you. You can’t drive. C’mon. Get in. You helped me when I needed it. Remember when I got clobbered in the head? Let me help you.”
Paul swore again, this time under his breath. “I’m good. Help me to my car. I shouldn’t have let you lead me here.”
“Could you be more stubborn? Why were you outside in the first place? I’d have thought you’d be someone the police would want to talk to.”
