Page 107 of Trouble Comes in Threes

“No, not really. Like I said, he didn’t really care who they hung out with.” Then she said, “Oh, wait! There was a guy, but I don’t remember much about him.”

“Oh?” I asked, trying to contain my excitement.

“Sarah would sometimes hang out with a boy from school named Jason. His father was a deputy sheriff. I don’t think Sarah told her dad about him, and I never saw him at the house. I can see her dad not approving of her hanging out with someone whose father had the potential to arrest him.”

“Did you know Jason at all? Would his parents have disapproved?” But it stood to reason that Jason’s mother wouldn’t have been happy about his relationship with the daughter of a drunkard drug user with a record.

“They were all so much older than me, and the upper classmen didn’t hang out with freshman, so I can’t really answer that question.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “Do you happen to know any of their last names?”

“Can’t help you there either. Even if I had remembered them, perimenopause would have wiped them right out of the memory bank. Gettin’ older’s a bitch.”

“That’s okay,” I repeated. If the box was Sarah’s, and she was dead, then we’d hit a dead end anyway. “Thank you for your help…I didn’t catch your name.”

“Dawn Kempner O’Reilly,” she said. “I live up in Magnolia now. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

“You’ve been a tremendous help. Thank you.”

I hung up and mulled over what Dawn had told me. It all fit, but what did we do now if Sarah was dead? First, we needed to confirm it, although that was hardly a priority with everything else going on.

I let the kids play a bit longer, then convinced them it was time to leave. Neely Kate had said she and Jed would meet me in the grocery store parking lot at 1:50.

We arrived at Piney Rest around 1:35. The older kids were excited to be somewhere new with Nana Maeve and barely paid attention to me once we walked through the doors. I was nervous about leaving Hope, but Maeve assured me she’d be fine. I reluctantly said goodbye, then headed to the Piggly Wiggly.

Jed and Neely Kate were already there, waiting in their car. Liam was sleeping when I pulled him out of his car seat, and he sagged against me as I propped him on my hip. I felt bad that I was blowing through his naptime, but it couldn’t be helped. Jed and Neely Kate were in a heated discussion in their car as I started to approach, so I turned around and headed for the entrance of the store, texting them both that I’d gone inside and was going to start shopping.

I grabbed a cart, put Liam in the seat, and headed to the produce section. After checking the prices of some vegetables, I vowed to double the size of my garden and learn how to can. I told Liam my plans, but based on his droopy eyes, he was unimpressed.

I’d already put several items in my cart when Neely Kate approached with her own cart.

“You started shopping without me.”

I laughed. “Grocery shopping doesn’t seem like a team sport.”

She laughed, but it was forced. “Dermot’s not here. Jed said he got tied up with something else. He wouldn’t say what.”

I turned to look at her. “Is that what you were arguing about?”

Pushing out a sigh, she stopped and reached for a beet from the produce section. “No.” She grabbed a plastic bag and started to put some more beets inside. “But Jed doesn’t seem too worried that it’s just him. He said he’s only here as a precaution. In fact, he’s on the phone in my pocket so he can listen in while hanging back. He’s here if we need backup, but he plans to stay out of sight.”

“Okay.”

She grabbed a few produce items—fresh dill, pineapple, tomatoes, and potatoes—that made me question whether she’d resumed her obsession with the TV show Chopped, where chefs were given random ingredients to create a meal. Several years ago, she’d spent a month or so creating her own off-the-wall meals, but then I remembered she’d been pregnant with her twins during that time. Maybe she was doing it again with this pregnancy.

We finished with the produce aisle and moved on. Several minutes later, Neely Kate and I were heading down the baking aisle, where she was agonizing over which brand of coconut flakes to buy for her roast beef dinner—more proof she was into Chopped again—when I saw Darlene coming down the aisle toward us.

“This one says the coconuts were grown in India, and this other bag says they’re from Brazil.” She made a face. “I suppose they both traveled by boat to get here.”

“Neely Kate…”

“Maybe they flew in on a plane. Which one has a better carbon footprint?”

“Neely Kate,” I said louder, catching her attention.

She glanced up and realized Darlene was standing in front of us.

“Do you prefer Indian or Brazilian coconuts?” Neely Kate asked her, holding the bags in both hands.

---