“There’s more. I’ve heard a rumor there are methamphetamines in the area. Have you seen any?”
“No, but that’s worrisome.” Paul had been leaning back in his chair but sat straighter now. “Meth is dangerous stuff.”
A boy ran down the hallway past the principal’s open door. “Taylor, slow down,” Paul called. “No running in the halls. Sorry, Cash, what were you saying?”
“There’s a man in the hospital from taking meth he picked up in Ordinary. In a coma.”
Paul stood and closed the door. “That turns my blood cold. Are you sure he got it here?”
“Pretty sure. There’s a problem throughout Montana. I just hadn’t suspected it was this close to home.”
“Me, either. I don’t have anyone at the school who looks like they’re taking it.”
“Yeah, it ravages people quickly. You can usually tell.”
“Listen, Cash, we have an assembly in a couple of weeks—students and parents. On Thursday. Will you come talk about the dangers of drugs? Both the kids and their parents need to be informed about this issue.”
“Good idea. What time?”
“After lunch. One o’clock.”
These kids were too young to do meth, but you just never knew… Cash stood to leave. “Call me if you hear even a whisper about meth in the school.”
“You got it. I’ll keep an eye on Austin when I can.”
“Appreciate it.”
The stores were open by the time Cash left school and he bought a thick, durable ski jacket. New, not used and worn like the stuff Austin’s mom bought him. Cash also picked up a wool hat and Thinsulate gloves.
After a stop at the New American diner for breakfast, he returned to the cop shop.
Austin slept soundly in the cell with his mouth open and drool dripping toward his ear. He had one arm flung above his head and the other dangling over the side of the cot.
Cash sat at his desk and booted up the computer. He searched data in San Francisco for Frank’s whereabouts first, but Dad had hidden his tracks. Why? Why come all the way to Ordinary to tell Cash he was dying and then drive away without leaving contact information?
Maybe because of your reaction to him? You weren’t exactly welcoming.
Yeah, and I refuse to feel guilty about that.
He dialed his mom’s number in San Francisco. Jamie answered instead, sounding peeved.
“Hey, buddy, it’s Cash. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Mom and Dad.” Yeah, Jamie definitely sounded sullen. “They won’t let me do stuff I want to do. They treat me like I’m a kid.”
Technically, Jamie was still a kid at fifteen.
Every time Cash had this conversation with his half-brother, he lost his patience. He couldn’t relate. He’d lived such a different adolescence. What he wouldn’t have given for the stable family life that Jamie had.
Cash spun the desk chair around to look at Austin in the cell.
“Jamie, at the moment I’m sitting in my office. I just put a twelve-year-old kid in the jail cell. His father’s dead and his mom’s useless.”
Austin stirred, mumbled something, then settled.
“Count yourself lucky you’ve got two loving parents who care enough to set limits.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Cash sighed. “I’m not. This kid is raising himself. I’m pretty sure he’d trade places with you without blinking.”
Cash squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Put Mom on the phone.”
A minute later, Cash’s mom came on.
“Cash, how are you, honey?” She sounded great, so much better than the woman she used to be. She’d found love and it fit her in all the right places.
“Hi, Mom, I’m good. I hate to ask, but do you know where Dad lives these days?”
“Last I heard he was still in the same old apartment.”
“He isn’t anymore.”
“He tried to contact me, but I wouldn’t take his calls.”
“He’s dying, Mom. Cirrhosis of the liver.”
She was silent for a long time then said, “That’s too bad. It isn’t a surprise, but it’s…unfortunate.”
“I didn’t tell you to bring you down, I just need to find him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess because he’s my father and he’s dying.” Austin stirred again and Cash turned around to stare through the open horizontal blinds onto Main Street. “He looked bad.”
“He’s family, that has to count for something.”
“Will you attend his funeral?”
“I’ll have to think about it, Cash, but probably not.”
“Okay.” Even if she didn’t have enough respect for Frank to attend, Cash hoped she would be there to support him.
He hung up.
On his own again.
Cash swiveled in his old desk chair to face the office again, ignoring his numb behind.
Austin sat on the edge of the cot, his hair flattened on one side of his head.
“What do you think?” Cash asked. “You learned your lesson?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” Austin croaked, his voice sounding groggy.
“Tell me what you learned.”
Austin shrugged. “I shouldn’t smoke weed?” He really didn’t get it.
“Listen, I’ve been where you are. I spent a lot of years taking care of my mom when she couldn’t take care of herself, when my dad wasn’t around.”
Austin wouldn’t look Cash in the eye.
“What would happen to your mom if you got into serious trouble, serious enough to end up in jail? You think she has any idea how to take care of herself?”
“No,” Austin mumbled.
He gestured to the cell. “If you’re not careful, one of these days this will be real.”
Austin’s eyes lit with fear.
“If I wanted to, I could cart you off to a social worker who might decide you’re better off in foster care.”
Yeah, that was fear in his eyes, all right.
“Next time I catch you with drugs, I’m going to have to charge you. What life dished out to you isn’t fair,” Cash continued, “but you have to keep moving forward. Don’t be tempted by this shit, Austin. By the easy way out. When you don’t feel strong enough to face it on your own, you call me. Got it?”
Austin finally looked up and Cash was humbled by the gratitude on his face. “Yeah, I got it.”
“You want out?”
“I wanna go home.”
Cash nodded. “Okay.”
He unlocked the cell door and Austin walked past him.
“Give me your jacket,” Cash said.
Austin recoiled. “You’re gonna make me walk home without my coat?”
He frowned. “’Course not. I bought you a new one.”
“Why?”
“Because the one you’re wearing is falling apart. Besides, it’s not a winter jacket.” Looking at Austin, Cash realized he’d misinterpreted the question. As far as he could tell, Austin had meant either “what do I have to do for it?” or “why do you care?”
“Because,” he said as he handed Austin the new one, “I’m your Big Brother. It’s my responsibility to watch out for you.”
Austin took off his old jacket and handled the new one with reverence. He should. It had set Cash back a bit.
Austin’s reaction was off. He should have been excited, kid-happy about getting new stuff, but instead he remained subdued and wary as though he expected Cash to take it away. Or as though he couldn’t believe he deserved it.
“Those are yours, too.” Cash nodded toward a hat and gloves.
“I slipped
some granola bars into the pocket of the jacket. There’s a twenty for lunch. Don’t lose it.”
Austin put on the hat and gloves. He cleared his throat and said, “Thanks,” with a small smile. Cash thought he detected a sheen in the boy’s eyes before he turned away toward the door.
Cash stopped him. “Does your mom go through your pockets?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Best go spend that money at the diner now, maybe buy something for dinner, too, then hide it when you get home.”
It didn’t feel right warning a boy against his mother, but this was real life, not Leave it to Beaver. Austin had to look out for himself.
“I got a place in our shed where I keep things. Mom doesn’t know about it.”
“Good. Don’t think I’m going soft on you just because I’m giving you stuff. Next time I’ll have to charge you. Got it?” His stern “cop” voice seemed to make an impression on Austin.
“Yeah, I got it.” Cash could tell he did. Finally.
“I’ll see you later tonight.”
“’Kay,” Austin mumbled and left, the tips of his long hair sticking out from under his new hat.
Cash picked up the old jacket and searched the pockets for contraband. Nothing. Not a single thing, not even an empty gum wrapper.
Man, he hated distrusting Austin.
He didn’t believe that marijuana led to heavier drug use, but Austin must feel the heavy burden of his life. Any escape from the situation would appeal, no matter the source.
Cash had to find that source. Where had Austin picked up the marijuana?
Just out of curiosity, he emptied his own pockets. Keys. A wallet with enough bills in it to make him feel secure. Change. The remainder of a bag of cinnamon hearts he’d bought the other day.
Austin had so little. Pitiful. Just plain pitiful.
He threw on his jacket and ran out of the office after Austin.
“Hey,” he called, and Austin stopped and waited for him.
“Let’s go to Sweet Talk. I feel like candy. How about you?”
Austin perked up. “I like candy.”
In Janey Wilson’s candy store he ordered chocolates and whichever candies Austin indicated he might like. With a mom on welfare, Austin didn’t get a lot of treats in his hard life.
By the time they were ready to leave Cash had a replacement bag of cinnamon hearts for himself and Austin’s pockets were full to bursting. Now Cash felt good, as though he’d completed the job.
They strode to the door, Austin with the slightest of smiles. Man, it would feel amazing to see Austin really smile, or grin, or laugh.
The bell above the door tinkled and Cash looked up. He stopped. So did Austin.
Shannon Wilson entered the shop and, for a minute, Cash couldn’t breathe.
Her eyes took in every corner of the shop and everyone in it before she relaxed and concentrated on Cash.
Once out of cop mode, she looked as radiant as the sun rising on a May morning. She wore a short ski jacket and blue jeans tucked into slouchy boots, and that pretty blond hair in a ponytail again. She wasn’t a cop now. She was just a woman. All woman.
“Hey,” she said, and slid her hands into her jacket pockets. “Do you have a sweet tooth?”
For you. Stop that! “Yeah.” He put his hand on Austin’s shoulder. “So does my Little Brother. This is Austin.”
Shannon smiled and Cash could feel Austin hunch his shoulders. “Hey, Austin.”
Austin stood on his toes and whispered in Cash’s ear, “Can she come tonight?”
No, no, no. Cash didn’t want that, but Austin did.
“You want to invite her? Really?”
Austin nodded.
“Okay.” If that was what Austin wanted, he’d take the chance and ask. “Friday nights I take Austin to the movie theater over in Monroe. You want to come with us?”
He held his breath. Don’t disappoint the boy.
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
Cash glanced at Austin. He’d put on what Cash called his shuttered look.
She must have noticed it, too, because she said, “Can I take a rain check? I’m probably still going to be here next Friday. I could come then?”
Austin nodded, fast and hard.
When they left the shop, Austin was smiling, first time Cash had seen that in a long, long time.
CHAPTER FOUR
MARY LOU MCCLOSKEY ran her errands about ninety miles west of Ordinary where people didn’t know her.
Last week, she’d gone shopping one hundred miles east instead.
She picked up a couple of packages of a cold medication containing ephedrine at the local drugstore, showing a fake ID to make the purchase. She’d bought the ID from a biker. Since she was making meth for them to sell, they’d been accommodating.
Before heading home today she’d pick up more cold medication in a town ten miles west, also. She shopped different towns every week, miles and miles apart so no one could ever connect the dots.
That, along with what she ordered through her husband’s pharmacy and what she’d ordered online to be delivered to her parents’ old farmhouse, put her in good shape.
* * *
WHEN SHE FINISHED with her purchases, she didn’t head straight home. Instead, she drove to her parents’ farm. They were dead now, killed in a car accident two years ago.
They’d left the property to Brad in the will. Why? This wasn’t the 1900s. They should have trusted her to take care of this place just fine on her own. But no, they’d left it to her husband as though she were too dim-witted, too gently-bred, too female to be of much use. She would have loved having a piece of land in her own name.
She was the one with the brains. She was the one who’d excelled in school, who’d adored math, science, everything. But she was the one who stayed home to care for the children while Brad had a career, while the town looked up to him, while he made money and she went to him every week for handouts.
They’d raised her to be sweet, to be demure and supportive of her husband, but she was smarter than Brad.
Her parents had never seen that.
She stepped into the RV parked a dozen yards away from the house and turned on a light. A sense of satisfaction ran through her. She was a businesswoman. A clever one.
In the small narrow space, she’d made the sweetest little chemistry lab.
She’d seen photos of meth labs, had done a lot of research before building her own. In every photo the labs had been a mess. Not hers. Hers was clean and tidy and perfect, everything lined up exactly as it should be. Three large plastic jars with lids sat beside an eyedropper, coffee filters, glass dish and funnel.
Her ingredients were precisely lined up in a row along one wall. Iodine. Red phosphorous. Ether. Hydrochloric Acid. Sodium Hydroxide. Methanol. On hooks in the wall, she stored her clean tubing.
She placed her purchases on the end of the table and opened the windows. She dressed in protective clothing and secured a mask around her mouth and nose before starting on her next batch of meth.
First she washed her cold medication tablets in ether to get rid of the red dye covering them and to break the pills down to pure ephedrine.
Then she crushed them into powder and put it into a jar with methanol. Before she started shaking the jar, she checked her watch.
Too bad so many parts of this process were slow and tedious.
She wouldn’t have time to clean up after herself today. Her days were a bit longer on Fridays because the boys stayed after school for sports, and she picked up fried chicken and chips for dinner, so no cooking. Even so, she was cutting it real close today.
She’d have to come back on Sunday to clean up. Time to start coming up with an excuse for not attending church
services.
* * *
SHANNON PULLED ON a red leather skirt that showed too much leg and too little modesty. Ditto for the black tank top that displayed too much cleavage. She covered it with a fake fur jacket and checked herself in Janey’s full-length mirror.
Her legs looked long and sleek thanks to her six-inch stilettos.
Ruby lipstick made her lips look full.
Dressed and ready for the biker bar in Monroe, she still had to press her hand to her stomach to settle the butterflies roiling there.
She knew men. She knew bars. She knew alcohol. The three could be a deadly combination. She’d had plenty of experience dealing with all three in her career. That experience, and her training, would get her through tonight.
Sheriff Kavenagh wanted her to leave this alone, to let him take care of it, but that wasn’t in her nature. Tom was her brother. She was going to Monroe.
Not ideal going alone.
It is what it is, she told herself.
She’d been in—and handled—tough situations before and had survived.
Not without backup.
True, so she had to be smart. She stuffed her gun into her purse before heading to the bar.
Meth wasn’t called Biker’s Coffee by accident. It made sense for her to look at the biker gang first, but she couldn’t exactly walk out to the farm where they crashed and ask to see where they were cooking the stuff.
She drove to the bar in the next county wishing she’d rented something sexier to drive than the Fiesta she owned. It didn’t make a ballsy statement, wasn’t really in character with the clothes.
She cruised a long square of rural roads around the bar to check out escape routes.
A couple of cop cars were parked off the small highway on a side road just yards away from a flashing neon sign. No doubt waiting for Friday night trouble at the biker bar. Perfect. Backup was close.
When she arrived at the bar, the first thing she noticed was the neon sign flashing red and yellow beside the highway—sASSy’s. Great. A strip joint. Not her cup of tea, but so what? She was here to work.
The lot was full to the gills with hogs and pickup trucks. The only available spot was a dark corner around back, which she didn’t care for. Nothing about this evening thrilled her except the possibility of catching a lead.
No Ordinary Sheriff Page 5