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“How are you doing these days, Mom? Are you getting out a little more?”
The old, familiar distance settled between them. “I get out as much as I need to.”
“What about church? Does Millie come to pick you up? I know she would.”
Bernice silently fussed with her tea bag, catching it with her spoon and wrapping the string over the bag to drain the hot liquid back into her cup.
Sara tried another tack. “How’s Kyle? I e-mail him now and then, but he never answers.”
“Your brother isn’t much of a letter writer.”
“But he’s okay?”
“Far as I know.”
Sara gave a quiet sigh of relief. Both she and her boss back in Dallas, Zach Forrester, had siblings with drug problems. His sister’s connections to that world had contributed to her death. Since then, Sara had prayed every day that her brother could stay clean. “I hope I’ll get to see him while I’m back. Does he come home much?”
“Not often.” Pain flickered across Bernice’s face. “But Minneapolis is over four hours away.”
Not that far—and not a reason to avoid ever coming home. She glanced at her watch. “How about it, Mom? Chinese takeout, or live a little and come with me to that little restaurant out on Lake Ryan? They serve great walleye at Josie’s.”
“N-no. My head is pounding.” Bernice gave an agitated sweep of her hand in the air. “I’d rather just lie down awhile, maybe have some soup later on. You go ahead.”
“Please?” It’s been twenty-five years. Can’t you let it rest?
Bernice rose stiffly and took her teacup toward the sink. It fell from her hands and shattered on the vinyl floor.
Ignoring the shards at her feet, she braced her hands on the edge of the counter. “You’ve never understood.” Her voice grew harsh. “I think you should leave. I...I just don’t feel well.”
Sara had come back to Ryansville on the pretext of visiting her family and starting a new life back in her hometown, but she’d known from the first that this would be the most unrealistic cover she’d ever had.
As much as she wished things were different, coming home was the hardest job the DEA had ever asked her to do.
* * * *
NATHAN GRINNED across the chessboard at Clay Benson. “Gotcha.”
With a deep sigh, Clay leaned back in his chair and laced his hands over his belly. His snowy brows beetled together as he studied the board. “Not yet, pardner. Day’s not over till the mule’s back in the barn.”
Nathan laughed. The retired county sheriff now seemed more like a congenial grandfather than his former boss and had become a good friend over the past few years. “That’s what I like, a man who can hope despite impossible odds. Shows real character.”
“Nope. Sheer intelligence and skill.” Clay glanced at the wall clock above Nathan’s desk. “It’s after one. I’d better skedaddle, or that barber is going to skin me bald for being late.”
“Same time tomorrow?”
“You betcha.” Clay shoved his bulk up out of the chair. “Noon sharp. Be prepared to lose your shirt.”
Careful not to disturb the chess pieces, Nathan lifted the oak chessboard from his desk and settled it on the credenza against the wall behind him. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something.”
Clay stopped at the doorway, turned. “If you’re going to harass me again about my cigarettes, don’t. I plan to outlive every nonsmoker in town by at least five years.”
That wasn’t likely. Nathan had seen Clay when he’d claimed to have “just a twinge” of chest pain, and knew Clay’s wife and their family doctor had been after him for years to quit. The grim prospects for his future already filled Nathan with a sense of loss. “You remember the Hanrahans, don’t you?”
“Hard to forget. Why? That boy Kyle back in town causing trouble?”
“No. One of them is back, though.” Nathan sat on the edge of his desk. “I ran into Kyle’s sister on Main last Saturday.”
Clay rubbed his chin. “Never had any run-ins with her. Expecting trouble?”
