Page 39 of First Surrender
“What?” I ask way too loudly.
“She checked out yesterday morning. The leftover room balance will be refunded to your card.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
“Uh. No, I don’t think so. I don’t usually ask those kinds of questions,” the clerk sounds startled, probably because I’m using my cop voice on her.
“Right, I’m sorry. Have a good day.”
Where the hell did she go? And why hasn’t my deputy checked in with me to tell me that she’s disappeared?
He’s my next call. “Stew, what’s Miss Halstead doing?”
“Well, she’s hanging out in her hotel room I reckon,” Stewart draws, sleepily.
“Uh-huh. Would that be the hotel that she is no longer a guest of? Since she checked out yesterday!”
“Uhh. I guess so?”
“Get back to the office. I’m docking your pay for today unless you get on the road and accomplish some real police work.”
“Yes, Sheriff.”
I rub my head, cursing myself for ever taking this job. What was I thinking? I know what I was thinking but did I have any suspicion that it would turn me gray prematurely? No.
Where the hell are you, Nat?
Instead of calling her which would be the sensical thing to do. I dial Lawson Elementary and confirm Dec’s attendance. He’s where he is supposed to be, so she’s not far. That’s a guarantee.
I’m finally diving back into my suspect names when my office door flies open. I’m about to reprimand whoever just did that when I take in a disheveled Roberta, looking at me with concern.
“What is it?”
“It’s your mother.”
Chapter Nineteen
Natalie
Why are tampons so expensive? Even the generic ones without all the pretty wrapping are hardly cheaper than the name brand. I could start using a diva cup but I am not messing with a cheap one if that’s the case. It will suction out my uterus or something.
I’m about to pick up the smallest box of generic tampons when raised voices reach my ears. It’s the middle of the afternoon and the drugstore was relatively dead when I came in, so it’s not hard to hear the commotion. Mirrors along the highest part of the wall show me the reflection of the rest of the store.
The altercation is taking place in the pharmacy and the owner of the raised voice is eerily familiar-looking. When the pharmacist takes his turn, raising his voice back at the gray-haired woman who I now recognize, I can’t stop my feet from moving.
“My pills. I need my pills. You have them back there, I know it.” Ms. Malec cries out, smacking both of her frail hands on the counter repeatedly. It’s not loud but it screams desperation.
“I have no idea what you are talking about, ma’am. We have no pills for you, you’re causing a scene. You’ll be trespassed if you don’t leave.” The man is middle-aged and his scowl is hardened by those years.
“Please, I need them. I need them.” She begins to cry, obviously confused, and his dismissal is only making her more upset.
“You aren’t getting anything from me. Go,” he scolds her like a child and that’s enough for me.
“She’s only trying to get help. You don’t need to be rude,” I accuse the balding pharmacist.
“Please, she’s the rude one.”
“Excuse me? She has issues with her memory. I’m sure the medication she’s asking for is related to it but you’re being too much of an ass to check. Right?”