Page 59 of Don't Let Go

“Well, I haven’t had a fine cherry pie in a while,” McQuade answered. “I’ll have to do that. Thanks, son. Now… don’t let us keep you any longer.”

We didn’t move though. McQuade’s posture made it clear thatwewere not going to be the ones who surrendered the ground. Deputy Wilson here would be the one who walked out.

The standoff, or what it was, lasted for another thirty seconds. Deputy Wilson could not hold McQuade’s gaze, he kept shooting a glance at me or Remy then tried to go back to McQuade.

The beads of sweat on his forehead increased and one slid down his cheek. Finally, he jerked off his hat and waved it at himself like he was too warm. “Well, if you have any questions… I’ll be around at the sheriff’s office most likely. We’re a tight little town.”

“Sounds good.” McQuade still didn’t move or back off. The deputy retreated a step, then another, before he finally turned on his heel and stalked out of the little store. The discordant jangle as the door slammed echoed through the place.

“Nicely done, Sugar Lips. Maybe I should call you Sugar Tongue.”

I choked and even Remy wore a hint of a grimace, but McQuade was all smiles. “We’ll discuss that later.” The unspoken “Sugar Bear” hung off the end of the sentence.

“I look forward to it. I’m picking up all the new mics. We need to add more cameras. So let’s finish up in here gentlemen and you should probably buy something since you chased off the deputy.”

Yeah, I feltrealbad about that. Not rolling my eyes, I lifted my chin toward McQuade. “You find anything we need?”

“A couple of items,” he said, his thoughtful gaze sweeping the place. I didn’t wonder too much about what he saw. The store itself was tidy, if dilapidated and aged. The linoleum had definitely seen better days. The shelves had taken on a gray cast, though they’d likely been a cream color at one time.

Whoever looked after this place definitely cared about it. The stock was stacked in neat rows and it was all managed with a kind of rigid tidiness I could respect. Yet, all that work couldn’t erase the weathering of time marching through the space.

If they made enough to keep it operational, it didn’t likely leave much over for improvements. Probably had to make due with what they had and for years, just cleaning probably did it.

The cracks in the linoleum betrayed more than just age. It betrayed fading to obscurity. Shaking off that melancholy, I headed toward the produce section. It wasn’t the best, but it all looked fresh.

There was no meat counter, but the sign said you could leave a message for the butcher about the cuts you needed. He only came by twice a week. Small towns gave me the damn hives. Remy continued in my shadow, though he paused at a display and pulled a snow globe off the shelf.

Weird place for one. The circle left behind on the glass said it had been there a while. It was mostly dusted, but you couldn’t get it all if you didn’t move the items. The piece inside the snowglobe was a miniature Texas and a tree.

Remy thrust it at me and I gave a little shrug. Sure, why not. A couple of new shoppers came in as we gathered some random items—bread, Ding Dongs, aboxof exceptionally cheap wine, batteries cause they were always useful, and a couple of paper maps that were at the register.

The clerk glanced from me to McQuade, but his gaze just slid right over Remy. For his part, Remy just kept quiet and his gaze wandering. No doubt he’d heard the part about “Robbie” not being able to talk.

When the clerk rang up the total, I didn’t say a word about the markup on the items, kid was not that slick. I just peeled off a few twenties and paid for it in cash. I even dropped some pennies into the little dish for those who might be short.

Items bagged up, we made our way out. Not even four steps along the path that would take us toward the beauty shop and barbers, I could feel the eyes on us.

More, I started tracking the placement of people. A guy hung out on the porch of one business, rocked back on two legs of his chair. Another worked on a car on the street—or at least he pretended too. He had the hood up and was unscrewing the carburetor cover.

The little town was being awfully precious about their secrets. A man left the sheriff’s office across the street, strolling out slowly. His hat was low, hiding his eyes, and he was dressed in the same shitty brown. He was older and boasted a paunch that came from one too many beers while eating a bit too much grease.

Deputy Wilson’s daddy no doubt.

“Boys,” Patch exhaled softly, the whisper of her voice like a blast of fresh air in the growing oppression of the hot and humid air. “We have three cars incoming, and there’s a fourth one that just pulled into the diner and parked right next to the SUV.”

“We got their attention,” McQuade said with a satisfied smile.

We had at that. But even as I kept my head on a swivel, there was a question chewing on me. It was almost lunchtime. Why couldn’t we hear kids playing over at that school? And where were the women? Kids meant women, right?

“Come on,” McQuade said, slapping me on the shoulder. “I’m in the mood for some cherry pie.”

“Be careful,” Patch admonished.

“I’m always careful,” McQuade said, adding a little swagger to his steps as he led the way back up the street. If we were gonna be watched, he was apparently determined to put on a show.

“No,” Patch said. “You’re not. But I’ve got eyes on you.”

That… that relaxed a lot of the tension this place had pulled taut in me. We had Patch’s back and she had ours. This place might hold the next clue to find the bastards after her.

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