Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
RAVEN
“ A re you sure about this?” Dahlia’s voice comes through my phone.
“I’m trying to do something nice,” I hiss at her as I reach for a package of flour tortillas and drop them into my cart. “Besides, who doesn’t love burritos?”
Dahlia snickers. “Oh, everyone loves burritos. But your burritos? That’s a different story.”
“Ha. Ha.” I fake laugh bitterly.
I know I’m not the best cook, but I’m getting better. I successfully made edible grilled cheese the other day. And tonight, I want to do something nice for Griffin and Knox. They decided to officially close The Wandering Raven on Mondays, so tonight we’re all getting together for dinner.
“I take that back. Double Trouble would do anything to eat your burrito.” Dahlia laughs at her own joke.
“Oh my God!” I jump at the volume of my shriek, scanning the dairy aisle to make sure I didn’t scare anyone else as well.
Dahlia keeps laughing on the other end of the line.
Shaking my head, I search for the right cheese. “I thought the euphemism for a woman’s vagina was a taco.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s a burrito,” Dahlia argues.
“If anything, a burrito would be a dick,” I contend as I place the cheese in my cart and head for the next ingredient.
Dahlia won’t let it go. “No way. The eggplant is a dick.”
“I know an eggplant is a dick. But I swear the taco is a vag—” I choke on my dispute and drop the avocado I had in my hand. Frozen in place, my ears turn red as Florence Baker stares back at me.
I think I’m going to die right here, right now.
Dahlia tries to get my attention. “Raven? Are you there?”
Florence raises an eyebrow. “Eggplant dick. Taco vagina. Burrito blankets.” She grabs her little bag of gathered avocados and heads for the bread aisle.
This humiliation will never leave me. Years from now, I’ll be brushing my teeth, and I’ll remember this moment and cringe.
“Oh hey, I just looked it up. Whoever that was, they’re right.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I whisper indignantly into the receiver. “That was my boss from the library.”
“You mean the library that burned down?”
“It didn’t burn down. It caught fire,” I correct her.
Dahlia makes a grim but valid point. “Right. Well. I think it’s safe to assume you don’t have a job there anymore.”
“You might be right about that,” I concede.
“So, what are you going to tell your boy toys about that bitch Madison?”
“Nothing,” I hiss. “They don’t need to know.”
“Raven, babe, I know I’m not a relationship expert, but I recommend honesty. They’re going to find out one way or another.”
I rub my eyes, warding off a headache. “They’ll think I’m crazy.”
“You won’t know until you give them a chance.”
I don’t like that she’s right. I was hoping for validation, not the truth. But Dahlia isn’t that kind of person. She’s the friend who comforts but still tells you how it is.
“By the way, did you get my gift?”
I roll my eyes as I remember the way my mouth hung open when I opened the package from Dahlia. I’m still not over it. “Yeah. What the hell?”
Dahlia chuckles. “Just be happy I didn’t get you a large. I ordered one to see what it was like, and I haven’t used it. There’s no way that monster is going to fit inside me.”
My eyes widen. “You mean the one you got me isn’t a large?”
“Believe it or not. That’s the small size.”
“What…I…What!”
Dahlia sighs. “I lost track of time. I need to go. August will be home soon.”
“Give that little boy a hug for me,” I request.
“Will do. Love you,” she agrees and hangs up.
God, I miss that woman.
Placing my phone in my pocket, I push my cart around the store, finishing up shopping for the ingredients for dinner. When I’m satisfied that I have everything I need, I head for checkout.
The clerk scanning my items narrows her eyes at me, studying me and smacking her pink bubble gum.
I’ve seen her a few times at the store before, but she never says two words to me.
Her painted nails are long and decorated with rhinestones.
Her thick hair is teased in the back, forming the hump that many women strive for.
The bright red name tag pinned to her shirt says “Pam.”
“Aren’t you that new bartender at The Wandering Raven?” Pam’s nose scrunches.
“Sure am.” I smile half-heartedly.
Pam snorts and reads me my total as I load the bagged groceries in my cart and use my card to pay.
“You better watch your back,” Pam adds before I walk away, pulling me up short.
“Excuse me?” I leer at her, tightening my grip on the shopping cart.
“They killed their girlfriend, you know,” she says jeeringly.
Wow. I should’ve listened to Kat when she said that people here are assholes. I mean, that’s now how she said it, but she might as well have.
“Wasn’t their father convicted of killing her?” I try to correct her in a way that isn’t outright condescending. My question also offers her an out because if she keeps going, I’m going to lose it.
“Everyone knows they did it and framed their dad. The twins hated him.” Pam curls her lip.
I give up.
Deciding to put on a show, I cover my mouth and let out an unconvincing gasp. “Do you think they’ll kill me too?”
“Probably,” she comments, looking me up and down. “You’re pretty enough.”
I roll my eyes. “Here’s an idea. Take your judgment and shove it up your ass so far that you choke on it. But you might have a hard time getting around the pole you already have stuck up there.”
Pam’s mouth hangs open as I stomp away and out of the store.
Well, this sucks. Now I’m going to have to get my groceries in the next town over.
Leaving my shopping cart at the entrance, I loop the bags on my arms and load them in the back of my car. As I approach the driver’s side door, something catches the corner of my eye. I stop, turning to the motion.
Sheriff Jackson and Dr. Lewis Whitlock argue between parked cars only a few yards away. One car is an SUV with the words “MYSTIC RIVER SHERIFF” on the side and emergency lights on top.
Ducking down, I keep my head high enough so I can surveil them through the car windows.
Scanning the parking lot, I find other people wandering into the store, but no one pays attention to the conversation going on.
I had to park toward the back of the parking lot to get a spot, and the sheriff and doctor are even further back than my car.
“They found scopolamine in his blood!” Sheriff Jackson says aggressively.
What’s scopolamine?
Need to research that.
“What does that have to do with me?” Whitlock throws back, as if he’s not worried at all. His open posture and uncrossed arms are a testament to his elevated confidence.
Yet another man living his life as if the consequences of his actions won’t touch him. But if what they’re saying means what I think it does, there’s no way I’ll let Whitlock get away.
I’ll be his fucking consequence.
Sheriff Jackson’s face fades to red. “Everything! Seth Beauregard was your patient. They’re going to put it together.”
Dr. Whitlock waves off the sheriff’s concern, dismissing him. “Seth was troubled. It’s not hard to believe that he was able to break out of the hospital and go on a killing rampage. I’ll call it a psychotic break. Everyone will buy it.”
Sheriff Jackson makes a frustrated noise in his throat. “I’ve seen his bloodwork. He wasn’t even on antipsychotics. That ranger, Langston, is going to get a warrant for Seth’s medical records. He’s too smart for his own good.”
“Then we’ll deal with it.” Whitlock shrugs as if insinuating the murder of state law enforcement is an everyday occurrence.
“We?” The sheriff lets out a snide laugh. “There’s no we in this. I didn’t send Seth to the library armed with grenades.”
Shit. I didn’t want to be right about that. I hoped Dr. Whitlock didn’t recognize me, but there was always a possibility.
The muscles in my legs begin to shake from my crouched position. Sweat dots my brow from the overbearing heat of the sun. Spying is not for the weak, that’s for sure.
Whitlock gets in the sheriff’s face, spittle flying from his mouth. “Is that what you think? You thought I put Seth up to that? That wasn’t me. What reason would I have to destroy the library and terrorize the assistant librarian?”
Assistant librarian. That’s me. So maybe he hasn’t recognized me. But if he has, would he confide in Sheriff Jackson? He could be playing dumb. He could be masking his guilt with animosity. But if he really didn’t…
“If it wasn’t you, then who?” Sheriff Jackson pushes Whitlock back with a light shove.
Dr. Whitlock’s eyes grow cold. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
“You do that. In the meantime, I’ll be figuring out the personnel issue,” Sheriff Jackson replies indignantly. He leaves on that parting shot, hopping into his police vehicle and speeding away.
Not very mindful of a police officer to be speeding through a parking lot, but whatever.
Whitlock watches the sheriff leave and climbs into his own car, a dark sedan, and exits the same way. I follow suit as well, hurrying into my car and locking the doors.
My chest rises and falls dramatically as I pull out my phone and search scopolamine on the internet. The first result tells me that when scopolamine is used in its powdered form, it can be used to brainwash people.
I’m no medical expert, and I know not everything on the internet is factual, but if this is true, it means that Seth didn’t know what he was doing.
A sense of dread fills my chest as I worry that Seth isn’t going to be the only one dosed with scopolamine.
Information gathering has been slow-moving, and I can’t let Dr. Whitlock continue treating patients.
But now I know that Sheriff Jackson and Dr. Whitlock are in on something together. Something that requires people to work for them. Maybe the pills or something else?
That may be the in I need—the key to the downfall of Dr. Whitlock.