“It seemed like they wanted to keep the line going quickly, so before you got to the table, they had someone ask if you had a peanut allergy. I noticed they had some bags with red PB on the outside, so I assume those had peanut butter. Other than that, all the bags looked the same. They had someone standing by the side of the table who had a bag and handed it to the next person in line. That way, no one was wasting time picking and choosing over the bags. The bag was handed to us and we walked a few steps more and were handed a water bottle. As we walked away, another person reminded us to throw our trash into the trash can.”
“I’ve got no fuckin’ proof other than a gut feeling that someone in that shelter line has added a bag of drugs to give out. Who, how, why, and when… Jesus, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue.”
Laughing, Evan said, “That’s not much to go on, man. But I’ll take gut instinct as something to go on any day.”
“I also think there’s a relationship going on between Dr. Tiller and Beth Washington. Again, no proof, but considering he’s married with three kids, I would think he’d want to keep that well-hidden.”
“You said he’s now the one that will be getting all the sample drugs. But what would be the purpose in getting a homeless person hooked on opioids? Supposedly, they don’t keep narcotics there. And the homeless have no money to come back and pay for anything.”
“Selling? Besides the drugs that they’re taking, are they selling them?” he wondered aloud. “When you were in the lunch line, was it the same volunteers each day?”
Evan shook his head. “I recognized a couple of repeat faces, but the others seemed new. One of them had a shelter badge on. Enrico was his name. He seemed to recognize and talk to quite a few of the people in line.”
“I’ve met him. He works at the reception desk of the shelter.” Lifting an eyebrow, he said, “Damn, I need to get back into the shelter and ask more questions.”
Laughing, Evan said, “Oh, hell, Carter. You were in the Army, then a street cop, and now a detective. You can’t possibly be afraid of Tara’s wrath.”
He dropped his chin and shook his head. “Man, you have no idea.”
20
Tara leaned on her desk and rubbed her forehead, willing the headache to go away. It was now Friday afternoon, four days after Polly’s arrest. Days of listening to her coworkers chirping and gossiping about what happened. Days of working with the volunteers giving out the bag lunches, explaining that everything was continuing as normal. Days of checking on the people receiving the lunches, making sure that they felt welcome while emphasizing that if they were ill, they needed to go into the clinic to get medication.
All of this on top of her regular duties at the shelter. Her head ached. Her body ached. But most of all, she tried to ignore the ache in her heart.
She had visited the clinic on Tuesday only to find the staff struggling with Polly’s arrest. She was surprised to find that as upset as the other clinic employees were, most protesting that Polly just wanted to help, they were all equally upset that she had been dispensing medication illegally. Kate told her that Dr. Tiller was furious and held a long staff meeting emphasizing the need to follow proper procedures to the letter.
If there was one good thing about the situation, it was that he wanted to hire Erin to assist in the clinic while she finished her nursing degree. She would not perform nursing duties, of course, but now that they were even more shorthanded, with her medic background they could use her for many of the procedures and assistance.
She leaned back in her chair and sighed, determining that nothing was going to take away her headache. Her phone vibrated for the millionth time that week. Never wanting to be out of touch from Colleen’s school or her family, she had refused to silence her phone. Her gaze shot to the screen, and she was not surprised to see another text from Carter.
Her anger at him had abated, but she had not answered. For once, unwilling to analyze her feelings, she had simply remained distant. Colleen has asked when they would see him again, and she’d told her the truth—he was very busy, and she had no idea if he would be able to come over again.
She lifted her hand and pressed it against her left breast, wondering if she was too young to have a heart attack. She watched Michael and Bethany walk past her door on their way out of the building. Wanting to get home to Colleen much more than she wanted to stay at work and pretend to accomplish something when in reality she wasn’t, she closed her laptop. Shoving her phone into her purse, she grabbed her coat and locked her office door as she left.
On the way to pick up Colleen, she tried to think of activities for the weekend that would make them both happy. Expecting her typically-bouncy daughter, she was concerned when Colleen remained quiet for most of the drive home.
Once inside, she asked, “How would you like to make some brownies with me?”
At first, Colleen shrugged, but after a moment she nodded. “Okay, I guess so.”
“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. Would you rather make cookies?”
“No, brownies are okay.”
Concerned, she watched as Colleen climbed up onto the kitchen stool and leaned over the counter. They went through the movements of mixing the gooey, chocolate goodness, but Colleen continued to give simple answers to any of Tara’s questions or suggestions. She reached across the counter and felt her daughter’s head, wondering if she was
