Snow Blind - Lori G. Armstrong [67]
“You always were logical. Things ain’t the same with you gone. We all miss seeing you. I know Tom does, too.”
Again, I didn’t know how to take that. I stood. 234
“Thanks again.”
“I’ll walk you out.”
I waved good-bye to Twee and collected my belongings. I warmed up my truck and stared at the jail portion of the building for the longest time. Must’ve smoked half a dozen cigarettes before I dialed my stepmother to tell her that her husband was a jailbird. 235
Martinez had meetings all night so I ended
up at the Sturgis McDonald’s for an early supper. I slipped into my usual spot, the back corner booth. My mind was a million miles away when the hair on the back of my neck prickled.
Someone was watching me.
I casually looked at the guy on the other side of the aisle. He paid more attention to the classified ads on the table in front of him than me. My gaze moved to the construction worker on the other side of the garbage container, shoveling French fries in his mouth at an alarming rate. The only other customer was a harried pregnant woman and her three young children. Maybe I’d imagined the freakish sensation. Although, enough crappy things happened to me to justify my bouts of paranoia.
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As I refilled my coffee, the man with the classified ads left and roared out of the parking lot in a green Chevy Blazer. Something about him felt wrong. I lingered inside, eyeing the screaming kids in the play area, wondering if I’d been born without a maternal longing. Or maybe it’d been beaten out of me. I liked children; I just didn’t want any of my own.
I climbed in my truck. With no reason to rush home, I meandered through Sturgis. Billboards for Ratt, Poison, Rob Zombie, and Joan Jett were still up around town, although the concerts ended with the Sturgis Rally in August.
I’d motored past the formerly named F.O. Jolley Funeral Home, when I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw the same Blazer from the McDonalds. On a whim I stopped at Lyn’s Dakotamart to buy two packs of cigarettes, a loaf of wheat bread, and a twelve-pack of Diet Pepsi. Didn’t see the guy get out and lurk in the frozen food aisle and he didn’t appear to be idling in the parking lot when I returned.
But as soon as I merged on I-90, he snuck in behind me again. At a discreet distance, sure, but this guy sucked at surveillance.
Yeah? Do you know how long he’s been following you, smarty?
My paranoia gave way to annoyance.
If I stopped anywhere else he’d know I was onto him. I went straight home, scooted into the house, and locked all the doors. With the lights off, I peeked 237
out the front window. That Blazer crept past my house every thirty minutes for the next four hours. On one hand I was pissed. On the other hand I was . . . even more pissed. I’d told Martinez to call off his watchdogs. If he wanted me protected at all times, he oughta be here to do it himself. I rocked at pegging Hombres muscle; it infuriated me I’d missed this slimeball, even when he didn’t look the part. So what if it wasn’t one of Martinez’s guys looking out for me?
My dad’s smart comment surfaced: Ain’t you afraid the Standing Elk family will be gunnin’ for you for revenge for killin’ their cash cow?”
No. It was the Hombres. It had to be. I couldn’t think beyond that.
I set the alarm, and brought my Sig Sauer to bed with me instead of tequila.
The next morning I craved sugary, chocolaty donuts and stumbled to my truck for the short jaunt to the Kum & Go. Within two blocks of leaving my house, a babysitter appeared. Not in the same vehicle. At least they were smart enough to change it up. My new shadow drove an older model Toyota 4Runner.
Enough. This ended today.
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I opted not to call Dad to see what his bond ended up being and who he’d called to bail him out. The curious part of me wondered how Trish explained to the kids why he’d spent the afternoon wearing orange coveralls and paper shoes. Part of me wondered if Brittney would call