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“How is she? Chief Nicholls mentioned she’s not well.”
“Stage-four ovarian cancer. We’re coping. But she’s eighty-four. She sleeps a lot. She had her dinner early, so she’ll watch a little TV—if you hear any noise, that’s her watching her favorite crime shows.”
Barbara smiled. “Good choice.”
“Oh, she’d bend your ear about your job if I gave her a chance, but I figure you’d like to get home at some point this week! Anyway, dinner will be in about half an hour. Can I get you a drink? Beer, wine, whiskey?”
“A beer would be good,” Barbara said.
It must be hard, she thought, being a carer, especially for a parent. A lot of people struggled with the role reversal, seeing the person they had always relied on rendered so helpless. Many resented it. And it was tough the other way too. “I just hate having to be so damn grateful all the time,” the elderly relative of a friend had once told her. “I wiped his ass till he was ten years old and now he expects me to kiss it just for going to the grocery store for me.”
Rita bustled back into the kitchen. “So, I hear Tucker is back?” she called out.
As Barbara suspected, not much here got past Rita.
“Yeah, with Nicholls out of action, I needed some help.”
Rita emerged back into the room with two cans of beer.
“Right. Well, it can’t hurt, I guess.”
But something in her voice said otherwise. She handed a beer to Barbara. It was ice cold. Barbara took a swig. Damn good.
“How is Nicholls doing?”
“Out of surgery and going out of his mind already. I reckon they’ll have to chain him to the hospital bed to stop him trying to escape.”
“You tell him about Tucker?”
“It came up.”
“I got the impression Nicholls didn’t like him.”
Rita popped open her own beer. “Nicholls is straight down the line. He likes order, rules. Tucker resigned in disgrace. In Pete’s opinion, he shouldn’t be anywhere near an investigation. And twenty-five years is a long time away from duty.”
“Did no one visit Tucker in all that time?”
“Anyone who went near got warned off with a crossbow. After a while, most folk stopped trying.”
“Except you?”
“I don’t give up so easy.” Rita’s face grew more serious. “But a word to the wise—Tucker has spent a quarter of a century hiding from the world. I’m not saying the chief’s right, but you don’t come back from that without some damage.”
Barbara thought about the flask again. Then pushed the thought away.
“Something wrong?” Rita asked.
“No.” She shook her head. “Oh, I meant to say, I bumped into the good pastor on the way here.”
Rita perched on the arm of the sofa. Her feet, in large fluffy slippers, barely touched the floor.
“And what did she want?”
“She wants me to talk to the congregation tomorrow morning, answer questions people have.”
Rita nodded slowly. “You up for that?”
“Well, there’s only so much I can share, but I know the town is hurting and people want answers.”
