The Inn(50)

“Man,” I said. “Are those two interested in each other?”

“I don’t know, but I’m glad to see her smiling. She can’t write with her right arm in a sling and her left finger broken, and she’s been totally miserable, like she’s being starved or something.” Susan grinned. “The two of them? It’s crazy,” she said, watching the couple. “But it could be great.”

In the closeness of the laundry room, both of us leaning toward the window, I could feel Susan’s body beside mine, the warmth of her hand by my thigh. I was struck by the same feeling I’d had on the beach, as if I were enclosed in a protective sphere, sealed off from the chaos of the world. My mind was twitching with temptations. I suddenly wanted to drag her to me, squeeze her, push her against the wall. I wanted to lie in bed with her and tell her everything—how lonely I felt in the dark hours without Siobhan beside me and how guilty I felt when I looked at Susan and hope and happiness flooded through me. I wanted to let it all go and admit to Susan that I liked her and that I didn’t know what that meant. The two of us—it would be crazy. But I wanted to know if she thought it could be great. I was just about to ask her if she was still thinking about that kiss on the beach when I heard Doc Simeon clearing his throat behind us.

“Can I have a word with you, Bill?” he asked. Susan left us, and the doctor put his hands in the pockets of his immaculately ironed slacks, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“I work for Cline,” he said.





CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX





“YOU …” I SHOOK my head, tried to clear my mind. “You what?”

The old man walked past me and out onto the porch. I followed, and we sat together on the wicker chairs there, his back bowed as though under the weight of his confession.

“I’ve been retired for eighteen years,” he said, staring down at his wrinkled hands. “That’s a long time to feel like you have no purpose. Sure, it was my decision to retire. I couldn’t keep up with all the new developments and the paperwork, and sometimes people would come to me with problems and my mind would just go blank. I’d have to look up treatments in medical journals. It wasn’t right. But I’ve had nothing to work for in my life for so long now. No dreams. I went into a real depression maybe a year back and for a long time I wasn’t able to shake it. I used to watch the clock all day just waiting for it to be a reasonable time to go to bed.”

Vinny and Angelica had disappeared from the picnic table in the distance. The wind had risen, and the pines by the water stirred as the doctor talked.

“Mitchell Cline and his guys approached me at the town library,” he said. He laughed a little bitterly. “I think perhaps they were prepared to threaten me. But they didn’t need to. I accepted their offer. I was happy to do it.”

“What do you do for them?” I asked.

“I write prescriptions for painkillers,” he said. “Though I’m retired, my DEA license is still active. That’s an identifier that the pharmacies need to distribute controlled substances, and the Drug Enforcement Administration uses it to keep an eye on narcotic prescriptions. Cline probably has plenty of physicians and pharmacists on the payroll.”

“But who do you prescribe the pills to? Cline and his crew?”

“No,” the doc said. “He brings me names and details. I don’t know who the people are. They’re probably stolen identities. Homeless people, maybe. I’ve never seen anyone in person. I prescribe whatever they want. Oxycodone. Vicodin. Fentanyl. Sometimes I just get a prescription pad, sign my name on every page, give it to them, and let them do the rest.”

“You let them prescribe whatever they want?” I turned, clenched my fists, tried to resist the urge to scream. “This is why you wanted me to back off them.”

I took a step toward the doctor, telling myself not to hurt him. I felt my resolve failing.





CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN





I GRABBED THE air right in front of the doctor’s face but held myself back. I growled with fury and turned away.

“You’ve got every right to be angry with me,” he said.

“Angry?” I snapped. “You acted like it was the people of this town you cared about when you asked me to walk away from Cline. You were just trying to save your own skin!”

“I still think you should look at the people who go to Cline for help,” the doc said. “You don’t understand what they go through.”

“You would know,” I said. “You’re a part of all this!”

“I am.” He nodded. “I’m a fundamental part of Cline’s business. He and his crew take the pills they get through me and mix them and cut them with other things, then that goes into those little colorful capsules they sell.”

The doc fell silent. I couldn’t respond. It felt as though Cline himself had reached inside me and was twisting my organs, laughing in my face. He had done more than send his guys to pepper my house with bullets, execute my people in their beds. He had been in my house the whole time. In Siobhan’s house. His evil stink lingered in the halls, billowed through the rooms.

“Did he tell you to confess to me?”

“No,” the doc said. “I don’t think he knows I live here. I can’t be sure. He hasn’t mentioned it, and I saw him only two days ago. I have always dealt directly with the youngest member of his crew, a boy they called Squid. He’s gone now.”