Page 15 of Backwater Justice

“I want you to listen to me. You take her to the Inn in Salem. Put her in the storage room in the basement. The one with the bars on the window. And get someone to keep an eye on her. Ya hear me?”

“You bet, boss.” Bart checked the fuel indicator. “What about the pills?”

“Put them back in the box, you idiot.”

“I mean, should I deliver them?”

“With a bound and gagged teenager in your truck?” Dickie’s volume was rising again. “You’ve got to get rid of her first.”

“Got it, boss.” Bart was happy the call had ended, even though Dickie had hung up before Bart finished his sentence. He grabbed a trash bag from the back and scooped up the pills, picking the small glycine bags from between the girl’s legs. He actually felt creepy about doing it.

Once he was sure he’d accounted for all of the white tablets, minus the two half-melted ones and the two down her throat, he peeled off the dirt road and got on the interstate, keeping a constant eye on his new package.

Bart maintained the speed limit and followed all the laws of driving, using his blinker when changing lanes and constantly checking his rearview mirror. Beads of sweat were running down his face. His palms were clammy. He thought maybe some of that dope had gotten into his system from handling the pills. He strained his brain for the word:trans-derema? Transdermo?Whatever it was, he thought it might be affecting him. He cranked up the air conditioner and took a swig of the remaining water from the bottle. He looked over again. She was out cold.

* * *

An hour later, salty sweat continued to run from his forehead into his eyes. He kept wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. He needed some relief and reached over the seat with one arm to grab another bottle of water from the back of the cab. He used his back teeth to open it and then poured some on his head. Several drops splashed on the girl. She let out a soft moan and bobbed her head. Bart was about to have a freakout, but she settled down in a few seconds. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this rattled. Hardly anything rattled Bart. That’s why Dickie had him on his crew. But this? This was a unique kind of trouble. He might have a checkered past, but it had never included assault—or kidnapping, for that matter. Yep. Jacking a car was one thing, but jacking a teenager? Something entirely different. He could go to jail for life.

CHAPTERNINE

Salem

Myra and Annie dropped their luggage at the hotel and walked to the hospital, where they met up with Patricia and Benjamin. She looked haggard; he looked concerned. Myra sensed Benjamin was withholding something, but she’d get to that later. First things first—say hello to the patient. Patricia and Benjamin waited outside while Myra and Annie approached Mill’s bed.

Milton Spangler was attached to several ports of dripping liquid, a heart monitor, and oxygen. Except for the slight color in his face, he looked like a corpse. Myra tried to hide her shock. Annie, on the other hand, leaned in and said in a loud whisper, “Milton Spangler. What on earth are you doing here?” He smiled. A good sign. He motioned for Myra and Annie to sit, but neither obliged.

Myra took his hand. “Mill. How are you feeling?”

His voice was raspy, but he managed to speak. “Better, but I feel like a pincushion. People keep jabbing, stabbing, and poking me.”

Annie jerked her finger in the direction of the heart monitor. “Looks pretty steady.” Then she smiled.

Milton motioned for Myra to get closer. “Something isn’t right, Myra. The doctors said there was no damage and kept asking if I’d ingested something.”

“What on earth could it have been?” Myra squinted at him.

“They don’t know. That’s why they’re doing all that blood work. It’s a wonder I have any left.”

Annie leaned in. “Do they have any idea what caused the heart attack?”

Milton shook his head. “No. And I didn’t eat or drink anything out of the ordinary.”

Annie and Myra’s cynical minds went to the same place.Poison?But who would do that? And why?

Mill slowly and quietly explained that he’d been about to have a meeting with Oliver and Benjamin when he collapsed. He had just taken a few sips of his brandy. Myra and Annie shot glances at each other.But who? Patricia? Doubtful. Oliver? Maybe. Benjamin? Never. Or could it be someone else?

* * *

Annie’s first reaction was to get her hands on the glass Milton had been using, but it was most likely in the dishwasher if not back in the cabinet. Couldn’t hurt to ask. But who? Benjamin. She’d have to trust him, and vice versa. Annie looked at Myra. “I’ll be right back.”

Annie went into the hallway, where Benjamin and Patricia were seated. “Patricia, why don’t you go visit Milton and Myra.” Patricia was zombie-like as she stood and moved slowly into Milton’s room. As soon as she was out of earshot, Annie motioned for Benjamin to walk with her.

“What’s up, Countess?” Benjamin was attempting to be cheerful.

“This may sound out of the ordinary, but is there any way that the glass your father was using might still be in his study?”

Benjamin gave her an odd look. “It’s possible. I don’t know if the staff cleaned the room or not.”

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