The Inn(24)

“We were just talking about the increasing overdose numbers,” I told the doctor. When he stopped fiddling with his ID badge, I could see his name: Raymond Locke. “You must be concerned, the way things are going. Are doctors in this hospital being investigated for writing false prescriptions?”

“If you have no other business here today, Mr. Robinson, I suggest you move on,” Locke said. “This is an emergency department, not a coffee shop.”

“I’ll need your number, Mr. Inn Owner, before you go.” Bess smiled. “You know, just in case.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR





SUSAN WAS ALREADY at her laptop when I called from the hospital parking lot and asked for Cline’s address. I could hear birds in the background and the clunk of her coffee mug on the dining-room table.

“I know you don’t want to use your Bureau connections,” I said.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m trying to do it discreetly. Hopefully I won’t get any menacing calls from my old colleagues. It’s not the kind of job you can keep one foot in and one foot out of. Once you’re out, you’re out.”

I gripped the phone hard, remembering McGinniskin’s words. You’re both out. Shame flooded me, made my face burn.

“You keep it up, and I’ll have to start charging a fee,” Susan said. I heard her tapping the keys.

“They say if you’re good at something, you should never do it for free,” I said. “Can I pay my debt in terrible dinners? What about questionable life advice?”

“You could let Effie paint the house. Local kids are going to start thinking a witch lives here.”

“Don’t talk about Angelica like that—she’s just eccentric.”

“Oh Jesus.” She sighed, then read me an address. “I’ve also got the rap sheet here. This is not a nice guy we’re dealing with, Bill. Assault. Assault. Public nuisance. Possession with intent to sell. Assault. Quite a bit of arson in his younger years. You know what arsonists are like.”

“Not really.”

“There have been a few studies on the link between pyromania and psychopathy,” she said. “Think about it. You carry a lighter around in your hand, you hold the key to big, glorious, spectacular destruction. Fires consume, dominate, kill indiscriminately. Cline set a lot of fires as a kid. He wasn’t charged in any of them, though—this is all from a psych report I’ve dug up.”

“It’s a bit like pills,” I mused.

“How so?”

“The key to indiscriminate destruction in your very own pocket,” I said. “You dole out drugs, you spread addiction like a disease. People like Cline go from town to town distributing a product that consumes, ravages, destroys.”

We were both quiet, silenced by the weight of our thoughts.

“Hey,” she said suddenly. “Dough Brothers called here looking for Marni. Said she didn’t turn up for her shift. Have you seen her? She’s not answering her cell and she’s not in her room.”

“I haven’t seen her. I’ll keep an eye out. Thanks, Susan.”

I hung up and started the car. Nick had his boots on the dash again. As we rolled toward town, we passed Living the Dream getting into his car on Washington Street. Nick’s eyes flickered over him but his expression didn’t change.

“Can we talk about last night?” I asked.

“What do you want to know?” Nick stretched and yawned.

“I want to know where you got that big-ass rifle, for one thing,” I said.

“I’ve got a couple of guns left over from the service. I keep them under the bed, but I’ll keep them in Clay’s safe if you’re worried.”

“I am worried.” I looked at him.

“Well, don’t be. Sometimes I get a bit turned around, that’s all.”

“Nick, you were standing in freezing water talking about secret agents and anagrams,” I said. “I had to spend the rest of the night chiseling my balls out of solid blocks of ice.”

“I like anagrams,” he said. “Did you know William Robinson is an anagram for Rainbow Millions?”

“You’re doing that thing you always do, trying to combat criticism by pretending it’s no big deal. I’m serious, Nick. I think you have an unhealthy obsession with Living the Dream.”

“Living the Dream?”

“The dog-walking guy,” I said.

“Oh, him. I don’t even know him.”

“That’s the point,” I said. “It’s him this time. What’ll it be next time? Cryptic messages coming through the floorboards? A midnight raid?”

Nick let his seat back, put his hands behind his head. “I ever tell you about the time we found an arm?”

I sighed.

“There was just this arm in the middle of the desert,” Nick said. “A bunch of little kids from this village were all gathered together looking at something and we thought we’d go investigate. What do you know? A dude’s arm. No sign of the dude, not in the whole village, not in the surrounding area. The arm had a watch on it and everything. Every time I put my watch on in the morning, I think about that guy’s arm and wonder what the hell happened.”