Page 58 of Love You To Pieces

Even here, her smile feels disconnected, somehow, and I wonder if maybe that’s simply how she is. More pictures of her winning fair prizes for different baked goods march up and down the board, photos overlapping, until I finally see one with her standing arm in arm with a younger woman behind a table that reads Ms. Hewitt’s Baking.

The name tickles some memory in me, though I can’t quite place why I know the name. Even running through the list of surnames in my head of everyone I know, not one of them is named Hewitt, as far as I can recall. I shrug it off, moving on, until my gaze comes to a stop and my blood goes cold.

Once I see it, I can’t stop looking, and my gaze nails every single photo of the gas shop owner with her arms around both Fox and Deacon like a piece of metal being drawn by a magnet.

At the fair.

At a car dealership.

At the gas station.

In these photos, she truly looks happy. Her smile is wide, her eyes misty behind her glasses, and in one particularly glossy photo, she stands at her booth of Ms. Hewitt’s Baking with both men kissing her on her cheeks.

That’s when it hits me.

I do know her last name, and I know who she is.

Hadn’t I enjoyed her fucking baking myself?

“Shit,” I whisper to myself, casting a look toward Ms. Hewitt behind the counter. It occurs to me she’s not really saying anything anymore, just giving a few noncommittal noises. As I watch, trying to be subtle about it, I see the way her eyes flick to me every few seconds, and it’s hard not to throw everything down and run right out the door.

The cookie turns to ash in my stomach, and I toss the rest of the bar into a plastic trash bin by the counter. I manage to finish the water, knowing I really need it, but the plastic bottle goes there as well when I’m done.

I have to get out of here.

The thought echoes in my head, making my ears ring. This place isn’t safe for me, and I don’t have to be hydrated to know she probably already called Fox and Deacon to let them know I’m here.

Not wanting to let on that I’ve made the connection between them, I stride back to the shelves, picking up a few different lighters and other random things I barely look at, before heading nonchalantly for the front door.

“Where are ya goin’?” Ms. Hewitt’s voice is sharp and sudden. If I hadn’t already suspected this was a problem, I certainly would now. But I compose myself and look at her, giving her my best bemused, blank expression. Like I don’t know why she’s worried.

“Just outside,” I answer. “I don’t like leaving Pearl. I worry she’ll run off and join some pack of coyotes or something.” Truthfully, the dog looks as likely to move as I am to start a flash mob in the middle of the gas station convenience store.

Ms. Hewitt searches my face, the phone slack in her grip. “I think she’s fine out there,” she says at last, though by her tone I can tell she knows it’s a losing battle.

“Yeah, probably,” I agree. “I’m definitely the jumpy one. Just let me know when you’re done with the phone, please? We’ll be sitting on the curb by the ice makers.” My excuse comes to me on the fly, and I pat myself on the back for remembering that corner of the building isn’t visible from inside.

She looks at me, really scrutinizing my expression, but we both know she doesn’t have a leg to stand on, unless she’s hiding a shotgun under the counter.

Which, come to think of it, wouldn’t be the most unexpected thing to happen to me this week. Hell, I can’t even say I’d blame her for being armed.

It would just really, absolutely suck for me.

“All right then,” she agrees at last, her slow drawl heavy and uncertain. “I’ll be done here in a minute, I promise. Don’t go anywhere. My knees hurt too bad for me to be trackin’ ya all over God’s country, ya hear me?”

I smile at her, pretending to be the picture of obedience and politeness. “Yes, ma’am,” I tell her kindly. “I’ll be right outside. And I’ll be able to hear you if you just knock on the glass.” With that, I walk out the door, and Pearl pushes to her feet the moment I step out onto the sidewalk.

“Time to go, Pearl,” I whisper to her, voice nearly silent. But I maintain my nonchalant attitude, my voice rising as I talk to my dog about stupid, nonsensical things. All the while, I’m counting the steps, counting the feet, before I can get to the edge of the curb where the ice machine is.

And once there, I don’t hesitate.

I run.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Idon’t stop running until I’m past the range of the parking lot’s lights, though I don’t head back into the isolated darkness. No, I know there’s nothing out there for me except maybe a place to hide, but morning has to come, eventually.

Besides, Fox and Deacon know Wolf Lake a lot better than I do, and I doubt I’ll be safe wandering around for long. I need a person who’s not connected to them, or a business that has a phone I can use. While I’ve never considered the act of breaking and entering before, suddenly I’m wondering how I can get into a locked storefront without cutting my arms from shattering the glass.