Dreamland(49)

She wasn’t a prude—she’d smoked weed in the past—but she hadn’t liked the way it made her feel, so it wasn’t her thing. There wasn’t a whole lot—not like the bricks she’d seen in movies—but to her, it seemed too much for a casual user. Raising her eyes, she also noted the number of other paint cans on the shelves and couldn’t help wondering if any of those contained marijuana, as well. In the corner was a low step stool. After putting it in place, she checked the other cans one by one, feeling the liquid slosh when she shook them. She breathed a sigh of relief; the last thing she needed was to be found in a house filled with drugs. If kidnapping didn’t put her away for life, then the drug charges definitely would. She brought the baggie to the kitchen, wondering whether the people who’d lived here before—no doubt the same ones who’d painted the kitchen the god-awful orange—had either forgotten about the drugs or left them behind on purpose because they hadn’t wanted to be caught with them. Either way, it explained why the house had been in move-in condition; just as she’d assumed, the former residents were likely on the run. It also explained why the owner hadn’t asked too many questions and was more than happy to take cash. She was used to tenants with issues she’d rather know nothing about.

But Tommie shouldn’t be living in a home with drugs, that much Beverly knew for sure. She pulled a coffee mug down from the cupboard, mashed the buds into tiny grains, then filled the baggie with water and washed all of it down the sink drain. She turned on the garbage disposal for good measure. As for the pipe and lighter, she simply threw them into the weeds as far from the house as possible, knowing that even if Tommie did eventually find the pipe, he wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what he was seeing. She also decided that it would be a good idea to check the rest of the house, just to make sure Tommie didn’t find anything he shouldn’t.

It was only when she returned to the kitchen to start her search that she realized there was a paper bag sitting on the counter. She gasped.

Tommie’s lunch.

She must have forgotten to put it in his backpack. The clock on the wall showed it was already approaching half past ten. She didn’t know what time he usually ate at school, but she knew she didn’t have much time, and she raced upstairs. She quickly donned the wig and the hat and grabbed her sunglasses but didn’t bother with either foundation or the Ace bandage, since all she was going to do was drop it off with the secretary. She’d be in and out of the school within a minute.

But how to get there?

The school was miles and miles away, too far to walk, which meant that her only hope was to catch a ride with a Good Samaritan. Like the old lady in the station wagon, or the carpet salesman who smelled like Old Spice. There was never much traffic on the gravel road out front, but maybe she would get lucky.

Seizing the lunch bag, she trotted out the door and toward the road, turning in the direction of town.

She walked for six or seven minutes, glancing over her shoulder periodically, until she finally spotted a car coming up behind her. If she simply held her thumb out, she feared, the driver would ignore her; instead, she began waving her arms, the universal cry for roadside assistance. As expected, the car slowed, coming to a stop a short distance from her. The woman behind the wheel of the compact silver SUV was in her thirties, with her blond hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. Beverly walked toward the driver’s side, watching as the window lowered.

“Thank you for stopping,” Beverly started. “I know this might sound crazy, but I forgot to give my son his lunch and my car won’t start,” she babbled, holding up the bag. “I really need to get to the school and was hoping you could give me a ride. Please. It’s an emergency.”

The woman hesitated, momentarily confused, and Beverly couldn’t help feeling that she seemed familiar, like someone Beverly had seen on television. It was evident that the woman had probably never picked up a stranger before, and Beverly could almost see her mind clicking through the options.

“Oh, ummm…Yeah, I guess I can do that,” the woman finally offered. “I’m sort of headed in that direction anyway. You’re talking about John Small Elementary, right?”

“That’s it.” Beverly nodded, feeling a surge of relief. “Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.”

Before the woman could change her mind, Beverly rounded the car and climbed in. The woman seemed to study Beverly in a way that made Beverly want to make sure her wig and hat were on straight.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Beverly.”

“I’m Leslie Watkins,” the woman said. “I think I’ve seen you at the school. My daughter Amelia goes there, too. Fourth grade. What grade is your son in?”

“He’s in first grade,” Beverly said, knowing she’d only been to the school once, when she’d enrolled Tommie.

“With Mrs. Morris or Mrs. Campbell?” She gave Beverly a tentative smile. “I volunteer at the school a couple of times a week. I know pretty much everyone there.”

Which explained how the woman had recognized her, Beverly realized. “I’m not sure exactly,” she said. “I should know, but we just moved here, and with all the chaos…”

“I get it,” the woman said easily. “Moving is always stressful. Where are you from?”