Page 71 of Forgotten Path
“Noted.”
“Do you have backup?” His tone turned serious.
She blew out a long, exasperated breath. “I’m waiting for the police chief to return my call. But he’s taking his sweet time.”
“Call one of the FDLE guys, then. Don’t go in alone.”
The concern in his voice was cute, if unwarranted. “I’ve done this a time or two, Medina. And the site is protected by a crusty security guard armed with a baton and a walkie-talkie. It’s not a criminal stronghold.”
“You don’t know, Felicia.”
“I do know, Vick. But don’t worry. I’m not going in without backup. And the blessing of the local PD. I guess I’m going to have to drive into town and drag him out here myself.”
“Now that, I have no doubt you can do.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. And seriously, thanks for the call and the intel. It’s going to help me nail Joel’s killer.”
“I know. Everybody knows you’re not going to come back empty-handed. Just be sure to come back in one piece.”
“Roger that.”
She ended the call and picked her jacket up from the hood, burning her palm on the hot metal in the process. She might as well drive into Oyster Point and find this big food drive that Lucinda had mentioned. It was either that or roast to a crisp.
She allowed herself a longing look at the truck before she slid behind the wheel of the rental car and started the engine. “You’d better be right here when I get back,” she told the pickup before she punched the police station’s address into her GPS unit.
In most small towns, the PD was at or near the center. Odds were she’d stumble onto this food distribution site if she aimed for the police station. If not, someone there could tell her how to find the chief. Satisfied with her plan, she bumped the sedan off the shoulder and back onto the highway, sparing another glance at the muddy truck in her rearview mirror before she rounded the bend.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-SEVEN
As Craig shoved his phone into his shorts pocket and trudged back into the church basement, his mouth was dry and his heart pounded so loudly he was convinced someone would hear it. Fred couldn’t possibly expect him to—what?—tackle his gran or something if it looked like Brianna was going to talk to her. Sure, hesaidto do whatever it takes. But that was an exaggeration, right? Hyperbole, that was the word. It was hyperbole.
His reassurances did little, if anything, to calm his nerves, but the thought of the two hundred dollars he’d just earned had a strong soothing effect. So he decided he’d focus on the money.
Just be cool.
He tried to look casual, whatever that looked like, when he returned to the bagging station.
Steffi glanced up from her phone. “Hey, we finished filling these bags, and your grandmother left Clara in charge of the kitchen and disappeared with Dr. King and Dr. Owens. So, what do we do now?”
He scrunched up his forehead. “What do you mean they disappeared?”
Brianna jabbed a thumb toward the hall that led to the row of Sunday school classrooms. “They were in the kitchen sorting vegetables, but it was chaotic. People kept going in and out, so your grandmother said she was taking a short break, and they went into the nursery.”
“Oh, uh, we should take these bags out to the tent, I guess.” He forced himself not to turn his head to peer into the glass window set in the nursery door.
“Wait,” Brianna said as he hefted a bag under each arm.
“What?”
“You obviously don’t want your grandmother to know you’re working for Fred Glazier.”
“So?”
“So, you must know what you’re doing is wrong.” Her tone was neutral, but he bristled as if she’d accused him of something heinous.
“And what’s so wrong about trying to earn money?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” Steffi jumped in. “But … come on, Craig. Everyone knows Glazier’s a creep.”
