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  “And there it is,” he said with no little satisfaction. “When I heard what Uncle Mark had to say and realized you kept it to yourself, even though you knew there was no love lost between my aunt and me, well, that was when I knew I loved you.”

  “Because I kept something from you?”

  “Because you didn’t use it.”

  “I would never.”

  “I know. See? I love you.”

  “I still want to punch her.”

  “Doesn’t change how I feel about you except that maybe you rose a couple of degrees in my estimation.”

  “I hardly know what to think about you sometimes.” She paused, considering. “Most of the time.”

  “That’s good, right?” He didn’t wait for her to confirm or deny. “You should know that the first few family dinners will be a little awkward.”

  Ramsey jerked her head away from his shoulder and sat up. “Family dinners? What family dinners?”

  “Aunt Kay expects me to show up to her Thanksgiving table. Christmas too.”

  “I will probably work.”

  “Ramsey. I know the Ridge is closed Thanksgiving and Christmas Day.”

  “Maybe you’ll work.”

  “She’s made adjustments for my schedule before.”

  “I thought she merely suffered you.”

  “I know. I figure the invitations are either a diabolical method of punishing me or some kind of self-flagellation on her part.”

  “Ew.”

  “Yeah. Ew.” He pulled her to him again. “There will be a whole new dynamic having you there.”

  “Hmm. Can’t wait.”

  Chuckling, he found the remote on the end table and turned on the TV. “Anything you want to see on Netflix?”

  “Die Hard if it’s available. Somehow it feels appropriate.”

  40

  Ramsey could hardly believe she was spending any part of her day off at the Ridge. She’d met Briony for the best of three racquetball games at the rec center and lost two of them, and tag-along Maggie, sensing weakness and an opportunity, challenged her to another set. After a steam and shower, she went to a salon that accepted walk-ins and asked for a cut. On a whim, she got a manicure. With her nails trimmed, buffed, and polished with a clear coat of Shine on Harvest Moonshine, she felt ready to face the thing she disliked more than robocalls: grocery shopping.

  Even though she had checked the parking lot for a pearl white Rogue and hadn’t seen one, she found herself looking over her shoulder and scanning the aisles with irritating frequency. She should have gone for groceries at Kroger or the Marketplace, had meant to, in fact, but she’d been day dreaming, literally Day dreaming, and the SUV more or less drove itself to the Ridge.

  She picked through the produce, fruits and veggies, for something in every color, hesitating only when it came to the lettuce. Was Romaine on the FDA’s hit list again? How was a person supposed to keep it all straight? After she had what she considered a balanced and conservative selection (because it was a certainty she’d end up tossing away at least a third of it), she turned her cart toward the bakery for artesian bread and a six pack of Krispy Kremes.

  She made a double pass in the meat section as she contemplated cooking something for Sullivan. After settling on chicken breasts and a small beef roast, she weaved her way up and down the aisles for staples, snagging a box of Cap’n Crunch because Sullivan had looked so pathetically put out at breakfast when he learned she hadn’t any.

  The Ridge was laid out to encourage shoppers to meander, and working there didn’t stop Ramsey from being sucked into the vortex of consumerism. Without quite knowing how it happened, she found herself in electronics when she could have sworn she was just in the dairy aisle. She wandered around, looking at gadgets that she had no use for but was intrigued with all the same. That detour set her on a path to home improvement, and although she had no projects in mind, she pushed her cart that way when she saw Mason Calabash was working in paints. Surely Paul couldn’t object if she visited Mason on her own time. And if he did, well, that was tough.

  She waited until Mason finished with a customer before she cruised up to the counter. He had a wide smile for her that faltered a little when he looked over her cart.

  “I’ll be darned,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re not working. You’re shopping. What? You don’t get enough of this place in your work life?”

  “That’s a fair but false assumption. My car kind of drove itself here.”

  “Uh-huh. Funny how that happens. Drove here one Sunday with my wife when we were supposed to be on our way to church. She let me do it too. Stayed quiet until we were in the lot and then she had a good laugh.”

  Ramsey nodded sympathetically. “I guess it’s muscle memory.”

  “It’s somethin’.”

  “Have you been busy this—” She stopped abruptly when she heard the low drone of unfamiliar voices and activity at the front of the store. The rumblings were mostly male voices, authoritative but indistinct. Frowning, she stepped away from her cart and tried to get a view of what was happening. There was no center aisle from where she was standing, and her line of sight was partially blocked by housewares. She looked to Mason, but he was already coming around the counter to get a look for himself, clearly as clueless as she was.

  After the initial disturbance, quiet followed. Not silence, but quiet. There was movement, more voices, mostly female now and they were hushed. Then there was the snuffling and footsteps hurrying in a forward direction. The snuffling should have tipped her to what was happening, but it was hearing the accompanying foreign language command that made it clear.

  To Ramsey it sounded as if the officer was saying, “Soo Roushgift.” She didn’t know what it meant, but it sounded serious and she backed up to the paint counter as a beautiful and all-business German shepherd rounded the endcap display of toolboxes and red plastic gas cans. She tugged on Mason’s flannel shirt sleeve and pulled him back from the aisle. He didn’t need any more encouragement than her hand on his sleeve to get out of the way. The shepherd coming toward them was giving no quarter. Neither was her State Police handler.

  Ramsey lifted herself onto the counter and patted the space beside her to invite Mason to do the same. She fully expected to be told to leave the scene but for whatever reason, that didn’t happen.

  The shepherd and the trooper were only the tip of the spear. As the dog turned toward the paint shelves and began nosing the cans, four more officers appeared around the corner. When Ramsey saw Sullivan bringing up the rear, she knew her time on the counter was coming to an end.

  He was professional about it, calling her ma’am and calling Mason sir, but he was most definite about them leaving their perch. Ramsey complied, taking her cart and moving to an adjacent aisle where she had a view that was only partially blocked by stacks of furniture. She took a position behind the kitchen chairs and tables and watched between the forest of spindle legs. Sullivan looked over once and saw her, but bless his heart, he didn’t tell her to leave.

  The trooper with the dog began passing cans to the other men and in minutes they had a pyramid of Caribbean Coast on the counter. The group split then with half staying where they were to record their find while the other half, including the shepherd, headed for the warehouse at the back.

  While a member of the task force recorded video, Sullivan opened one can after another and used what looked like kitchen tongs to fish out the plastic pouches of fentanyl. At least, Ramsey assumed it was fentanyl. The officers seemed to be pleased with the find, and the dog certainly had been excited about it.

  Ramsey spared a thought for Paul. What was his reaction? Having his store raided by the task force wouldn’t set him up well with upper management even if he wasn’t found to be complicit in the distribution and sale of the opiates.

  The officers worked efficiently, clearing the shelves, talking quietly among themselves. There was no humor here. No attempts to lighten the mood around their dark discov
ery. They were saving lives as surely as if they were delivering Narcan to an overdosed addict.

  The next time that Sullivan glanced her way, Ramsey gave him a brief grin and a finger wave before she turned her cart toward the front of the store and the checkout registers. She had just started to place groceries onto the belt when she saw Paul hurrying toward one of the exits. It struck her as improbable that he would be allowed to leave, but then she wasn’t privy to the workings of the task force. The fact that they moved in on a Saturday afternoon rather than between midnight and six was also a mystery. Maybe they wanted the community to know they were working toward curtailing the epidemic. Maybe witnesses were part of the plan.

  “Hey, Paul!” She regretted calling out to him the moment the words were out of her mouth. What did she think she was going to do? What did she think she should do? Ramsey saw Paul hesitate a beat and his head come up so she knew he heard her. She wondered if something was going on out in the lot because he kept going, never looking back. Shrugging, she finished unloading her cart, gave the cashier three bright blue Ridge totes to fill with her items, and then paid with a card. Checking out took some time because the cashier wanted to chat about the police, the dog, and what the hell was going on. Ramsey feigned ignorance, and the growing line behind her helped bring that conversation to an end.

  There was no police activity in the lot when she exited the store. She wondered again about Paul’s hasty exit until she saw him limping toward his car in employee parking. Limping? What had happened after he left the store? Because she was a customer today, Ramsey had parked closer than the lower forty where employees were expected to leave their vehicles. She put the totes in the back of the SUV, returned the cart to a corral, and got in. Paul still hadn’t reached his car. His gait was more of a lurch than a limp now, and as she watched, he stopped beside the trunk of another car and seemed to brace himself before he went on. Because he clearly needed assistance, Ramsey started her car and headed his way.

  He had reached his Altima by the time she got to him, but he was leaning against the driver’s side door and making no attempt to open it. His right leg was bent at the knee to keep his foot off the ground. She lowered her passenger side window. “Paul? What happened? Can I help?”

  His caterpillar eyebrows came together as he scowled at her. “I think you’ve already done too much. This business has your fingerprints all over it.” Grasping the handle, Paul tried hopping away from the car on his good leg so he could open the door. Pain transformed his scowl into a grimace. He swore with no regard for the ears of anyone who might be around.

  “This is ridiculous,” Ramsey muttered. She tossed her keys and wristlet into the glovebox and left the SUV running when she got out. “For God’s sake, let me help you.” Without waiting for permission, she hoisted his left arm and put it around her shoulders. “Steady yourself against me. Do you want to sit? Catch your breath?”

  “I need to go. My wife. I need to see Cheryl.”

  “Why don’t you call her? Tell her what happened.” Bearing a fair share of his weight, Ramsey slowly inched Paul toward the SUV. “What did happen?”

  “Car hit me backing out of a space.”

  “Did the driver stop? Offer to help?”

  “I waved her on. I didn’t know then how bad it was.”

  “What is it? Your foot? Ankle?”

  “Knee.”

  Ramsey opened the passenger door and Paul was able to sit on the side of the seat. He didn’t try to swivel himself into the car. “Let me take you to the hospital. You need an X-ray.” She pointed to the injured knee. “Look at it. It’s already swelling.”

  A single glance was all Paul needed to take it in. His pant leg was stretched over the knee. “I need to see Cheryl.”

  “She can meet us at the hospital. You can call her on the way. I’ll take you. You can’t drive. C’mon. Get in. You helped me when I needed it. Remember when I got clobbered in the head? Let me help you.”

  Paul swore again, this time under his breath. “I’m good. Help me to my car. I shouldn’t have let you lead me here.”

  “Could you be more stubborn? Why were you outside in the first place? I’d have thought you’d be someone the police would want to talk to.”

  “Goddamn it, Ramsey.” Paul twisted his head around to get a glimpse of whatever was going on back at the store. “Get me into my car!”

  Paul’s sharp order and lack of explanation made Ramsey set her teeth. This had bad all over it. She followed his lead and also glanced back at the store. The police cars hadn’t moved. She stepped away from the door and gestured to him to get out. “You’re on your own, Paul. I’ll take you to the ER, but I’m not taking you anywhere else. Not even to your car.”

  Ramsey set her teeth harder, this time because of the voice that came suddenly from behind her.

  “You may as well do as she wants,” said Jay. “She has a knack for getting her way.”

  “Who the hell of are you?” Paul asked, jerking his chin at the stranger.

  Simultaneous to Paul’s question, Ramsey pivoted to face Jay and demanded to know what the hell he was doing.

  Jay smiled smoothly, supremely unaffected by the twin laser-like glares focused on him. “Jay Carpenter,” he said, addressing Paul. “Ramsey’s husband.”

  “Ex,” she said immediately. “Ex-husband. Take a hike, Jay. I’m busy.”

  “I see. Looks to me as if you could use some help.”

  “He doesn’t want any.”

  “Sure, he does. The man’s too proud to say so.”

  “No,” said Paul. “Not too proud.”

  Ramsey smirked at Jay. “See?” She turned to Paul. “Step out.”

  Paul lowered his good leg to the asphalt, got his balance, and brought the other leg down. The simple act of adding toe weight to the injured leg made him groan. Beads of sweat appeared on his upper lip.

  “That’s what I thought,” she said. “Don’t be an ass. Get in.”

  Without an invitation, Jay stepped forward and grasped Paul’s left leg and lifted it into the car. As Paul was forced to swivel sideways in the seat so that he began to face forward, Jay supported Paul’s right leg behind the knee and eased it inside. He closed the door as Paul leaned back against the headrest. “You’re welcome,” he said to Ramsey. “Sometimes you have to stop arguing and just do what you need to do.”

  Ramsey offered a grudging thank you. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Is that Dudley?”

  “No. That’s Paul Shippensmith. He’s the top manager here. My boss.”

  “Oh. I guess that explains you trying to take care of him.”

  “Being a human being explains it. There’s nothing in it for me.” She started to go around him to get to the driver’s seat, but Jay caught her arm and held her up. She stared at his hand on her elbow and then at him. “What do you think you’re doing? Let me go.”

  “Get in behind your manager. I’ll drive.”

  “You’re crazy. I’m not going to do that.”

  Jay’s voice dropped to a deeper timbre. “Does he know about your twenty-three million? I bet he doesn’t.” He raised his free hand and made a knocking gesture with his fist, making his intention clear. “Should I tell him?”

  “I didn’t think I could despise you any more than I do, but somehow you’ve made that happen. Let me go. I’m getting in.”

  “Good decision. Keys?”

  “They’re in the car.” She tore her arm out of his grip and climbed into the back seat behind Paul. “Jay’s going to drive us to the ER,” she said, mustering credible calm.

  Paul grunted acknowledgement, but when Jay got in behind the wheel, he repeated his demand to be taken home.

  “I’m easy,” said Jay. “I’ll take you anywhere you want to go, though I have to say that my wife isn’t wrong about you needing to go to the hospital.”

  “Ex-wife,” Ramsey said, then wanted to kick herself for taking the bait.

>   “Cheryl will take me.”

  Ramsey considered reminding Paul that his wife could meet them at the ER, but she decided to save her breath. As Jay pulled out of the lot, Ramsey looked back at the store to see if there was any outside activity. Nothing. She wanted to ask Paul about his hurried exit from the store. Did it have something to do with his wife, or was it the police presence that was the impetus for him leaving? She wanted to know, but Jay’s presence and Paul’s pain kept her quiet. To keep her mind off what was happening back in paints, Ramsey gave Jay turn by turn directions to Paul’s home.

  When they were about a mile from his house, Paul handed Ramsey his phone and asked her call Cheryl and let her know about his impending arrival. His wife was standing in the driveway still talking to Ramsey when they arrived. Ramsey ended the call and gave the phone back to Paul. Almost immediately her phone rang. She reached for it in her back pocket but before she got it to her ear, Jay thrust a long arm between the front seats and managed to knock it out of her hand. The phone fell on the floor and skittered under Paul’s seat. Ramsey unfastened her belt with the intention of retrieving it, but Jay had other ideas.

  “Leave it,” he said. “If it’s important, there’ll be a message. Help with Paul.”

  The phone rang three more times. It was a generic ringtone. She’d never set up a personal ring for Sullivan because she couldn’t settle on the right one. “O Canada” was in the running because of the Dudley Do-Right connection, but she wondered if it was disrespectful. The Canadians never offended anyone, so she wasn’t sure it was a good choice.

  “Who was it?” asked Jay.

  Ramsey was already getting out of the car. “I don’t know. I didn’t look.” She slammed the door shut and let that be the last word as she greeted Cheryl.

  Paul’s wife had walked out of the house without a coat. She was wearing fuzzy pink house slippers, charcoal gray yoga pants, and a faded blue tee that she had tied in a knot above her waist. She hardly seemed to notice that she was shaking with cold. Her teeth chattered as she peppered Ramsey with questions.