Page 3 of Doctor Holliday
Cheri again.
“Hey.” She made eye contact with the angry lady from the produce aisle as she answered this call. The woman scowled, nearly vibrating with disapproval over Lucy’s use of the phone in the store.
“Come down to The Hydra,” Cheri said by way of greeting.
“Oh, man, I can’t.” Lucy hoped she sounded sufficiently disappointed. Most evenings, she would be happy to join her friend at their favorite dive bar for a drink before going home. But she was exhausted, and since she was on call, she couldn’t have a drink, anyway. “I gotta?—”
“Oh, come on. Jade and Echo are here.”
Jade and Echo. Lucy sighed. She loved her coworkers—they were good friends. But the thought of going home and curling up in the recliner with a book was so enticing.
“I’m on call,” she reminded Cheri.
“So come have a soda before you go home. Jade’s dishing about her blind date the other night.”
Lucy chuckled softly. “I have groceries I need to get home?—”
“Luce, it’s twenty-six degrees. The groceries will be fine for one soda.”
“Fine.” She groaned and laughed as she moved further down the aisle. Making eye contact with the woman from the produce aisle again, Lucy flashed her a big smile. “Happy Holidays.”
“Are you talking to me?” Cheri asked her. “Is that your new way of telling me to f?—”
“No!” Lucy yelped. “No. Someone at the store. Lemme get off the phone so I can get moving.”
Chapter 2
Thursday,December 7
Keaton
The fluorescent light above the customer service counter flickered. Keaton Thatcher muttered a string of curse words a mile long as he tipped his head back to look at the damned thing. Not even open yet, and already, the damned building was making him nuts. The hell of it? The strip mall was new construction. That damned fluorescent light hadn’t even been turned on twenty times.
He wanted to go home. Ruby wasn’t there, but he had beenheresince five-thirty this morning. It had been dark when he came in; it was dark now—fourteen hours later. His damned back hurt like he was eighty instead of forty, and he was hungry enough to eat a couple of footlong subs. Which was probably what he would be eating, because he was too damned tired to go home and fix anything.
Keaton dragged a heavy hand over the top of his head and dug his fingers into his thick dark hair. The strip mall hadbeen bustling earlier in the day, but it was quiet now. Two of the storefronts were open, and Keaton had seen a parade of customers in and out of both places all day long. Then again, it was December, and holiday shopping was in full swing. The other three stores, his included, were in varying stages of construction, so workers in yellow hard hats had come and gone all day.
Thatcher’s Home Goods was just about ready to open. The grand opening and ribbon cutting and all that ceremonial bullshit was scheduled for a week from tomorrow. But he figured he could do a soft opening sooner.
The light blinked out, leaving him standing in shadows.
“Dammit.” He could let it go. Head out and grab a sandwich or two and go home. Pop the top on a beer and kick back and find a movie on TV. Hit this fucker of a light tomorrow. But he had planned to finish stocking the shelves tomorrow. He was here now. Might as well just deal with it.
Grumbling all the way, he ducked back through the stockroom door to get his ladder. He needed to call Ruby and talk to her for a minute before he lost track of time. If he didn’t, if his ex-wife knew he was having an issue with the store, she would probably do a little touch down dance in her kitchen. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise Keaton if Alyssa had sacrificed a butterfly or a pigeon on theFuck Keaton Over altar. Or maybe she had a voodoo doll of him, and she had dreamt up this situation just to fuck with him.
Wouldn’t be anything new.
He froze when he heard a noise toward the back of the stockroom. Uncertain what it was, he looked over his shoulder, hands still resting on the ladder. Not music.
Crying.
Was someone crying?
Had to be an animal. Right? Granted, the strip mall he was in—Coastal Plaza—was on the outskirts of Eastport, in a more rural than urban setting. But on the other hand, the building hadn’t been there long—six months, tops—and Keaton had never seen any rodents in his area. No mouse traps. Besides, mice didn’t typically cry when they got caught in a trap.
Keaton waited a few moments, deciding maybe he was hearing things. Gripping the ladder again, he picked it up. This time, there was no mistaking the screech of pain that rang out from the back of his building.
What the ever-loving-fuck was that?