Page 59 of Point of Mercy

She doubted she’d think of little else.

* * *

That evening, Turnerdrove them into town. Heather’s fingers tightened over the edge of the pickup seat as they passed familiar landmarks, the park with the gazebo built in memory of Roy Fitzpatrick’s death, the yellow-brick building that had once been the Gold Creek Hotel and now housed Fitzpatrick, Incorporated, the post office on Main Street and the old Rexall Drugstore still standing on the corner of Main and Pine.

“I thought Adam would like one of the best burgers this side of the Rocky Mountains!” Turner said as he eased his pickup close to the curb.

They walked into the drugstore and a bell tinkled. The ceilings were high, with lights and fans, never renovated in the seventy years that the building had stood in the center of town. Shelves were neatly stacked; row upon row of cosmetics, medications, jewelry, paper items and toys stood just as they had most of the decade. The items had changed, turned over for new and improved stock, following the trends of small-town tastes, but the shelves were the same metal inlays that Heather remembered from high school.

The soda fountain in the back hadn’t changed much, either, and Thelma Surrett, Carlie’s mother, her hair grayer,her waist a bit thicker, was still making milk shakes. She glanced over her shoulder and offered Heather a surprised grin. “Well, well, well…look who’s back in town,” she said, turning on the milk shake mixer and snapping up her notepad as the blender whirred as loudly as a dentist’s drill. “First Rachelle and now you. Don’t tell me this town has changed its name to Mecca.”

Heather grinned. “Rachelle said Carlie will be back for the wedding.”

Thelma’s eyes shifted a little, and her mouth tightened slightly but she nodded. “In a couple of weeks. Guess she got tired of those long nights up in Alaska. Uh-oh. Who’s this?” she asked as Adam climbed up on a stool.

“This is my son, Adam,” Heather said, unable to keep the pride from her voice.

“Well, howdy, partner,” Thelma replied. She tapped the brim of Adam’s hat. “Should I rustle you up some grub?”

“Three burgers, onion, fries, the works,” Turner ordered, as Thelma turned off the blender and poured a thick strawberry milk shake into a tall glass.

“I want one of those!” Adam demanded, and Thelma, handing the drink to another customer, winked at the boy.

“You got it.”

“Take off your hat while you eat, Adam.”

“No!”

“Your ma’s right,” Turner added. “It’s just plain good manners.” He lifted the hat from his son’s head.

Adam clapped his hands over hair that raised with static electricity. “Ihatemanners.”

“Me, too,” Turner said with a chuckle.

Heather felt as if she’d been transported back to high school and the days she’d walked to the pharmacy after school, tagging along with Rachelle and Carlie. Eventually Laura Chandler had joined the group and Laura had flagrantly ignored Rachelle’s younger sister. “She’s such a drag,” she’d told Rachelle. “Can’t we ditch her?”

Rachelle, none-too-thrilled to be stuck with Heather, had, nonetheless stood up for her. “It’s okay,” she’d argued, and Laura had pouted, though Carlie had never minded. Well, things had changed—turned around in the past twelve years. Laura had ended up married to Brian Fitzpatrick. Years later she’d been accused of killing Roy, the boy who, had he lived, would have become her brother-in-law.

Thelma started burgers sizzling on the grill, and soon they were eating again, laughing and talking, listening to Thelma go on and on about Rachelle’s upcoming wedding and how she hoped Carlie would find a nice boy to settle down with and marry.

After finishing their meal, they wandered through the drugstore for a while, and as they were leaving, nearly ran into Scott McDonald. Turner’s face stretched into a grin, but Heather had trouble finding a smile. Scott had been one of Roy Fitzpatrick’s friends who had been with Rachelle the night Roy had been killed. After Roy’s death, Scott had been vocal in pointing out Jackson’s guilt, and had given Rachelle a rough time thereafter.

“I want you to meet someone, Scott,” Turner said, and Heather thought she might drop through the yellowed linoleum of the drugstore’s floor.

Turner introduced Scott to his son, and Heather managed a thin smile. Scott’s eyes flickered with interest, but he congratulated Turner on such a “fine-looking boy.” He and his wife, Karen, were expecting their first in February.

“I don’t know if that was such a good idea,” Heather said, as they wandered along the streets, window shopping at the bakery, jeweler’s and travel agency.

“He would’ve found out anyway. He’s Fred’s brother and Fred works for me.” Turner slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Sooner or later it’s all gonna come out.”

“I vote for later.”

“But it’s easier now. Less to explain.”

Her chest felt tight and worry crowded her brow as they strolled down the sidewalks. Adam found a pair of cowboy boots in the window of the shoe store, and Turner eyed a stove on display at the local Sears catalog store.

The town had a lazy summer feel. A few birds twittered and traffic rolled by at a snail’s pace. The city lamps began to glow as dusk crept over the land and they walked unhurried to the park and past the gazebo erected in Roy’s memory.

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