Two old pumps.
A faded red sign.
A small convenience store that smelled like coffee, motor oil, and beef jerky.
The kind of place where everybody knew everybody.
And nobody forgot a strange face.
The owner, Earl Carter, stood behind the counter.
He was in his sixties.
White beard.
Baseball cap.
Eyes sharp enough to notice everything.
“You the Ranger Sadie’s seeing?” he asked.
I stared at him.
Wolf coughed into his hand.
Trigger looked like he might laugh.
Earl nodded toward my expression.
“Thought so.”
“Did you see Gerald?”
His face changed.
The humor disappeared.
“Yeah.”
“When?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Around three.”
My pulse slowed.
“Was he alone?”
“Yep.”
“What did he buy?”
Earl looked toward the counter.
“Gas. Two cans. Bottled water. Beef jerky. Bread. Batteries.”
Wolf’s jaw tightened.
“Anything else?”
