Page 72 of Death on Gallows Path

“Are you going to tell Teague?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Fair enough.”

“Even being away, he’s involved in a case right now.”

He chuckled. “Hear you are, too. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll call back with possible days.”

Fifteen passed before a second call came in.

Again, I distanced myself from the chatting humans, though a pair of dogs trotted along with me until I stopped moving, then peeled away.

Among the days Quincy offered, I picked the first one.

Tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Possibly distracted by the prospect of meeting Quincy tomorrow, it took longer for me to realize we were not on the way to my house or Clara’s after we left the dog park than it should have.

“Where are we going?”

“The Roger,” Clara said. “Orange juice for Ned.”

The Roger is short for the local store in the Jolly Roger grocery chain.

Being out on the highway, it’s farther away than Shep’s Market, the family-owned grocery in town. It’s also less popular with most of Haines Tavern’s residents than Shep’s.

It does have one advantage. It’s open on Sundays.

That still left a major hole in Clara’s motivation for this trip.

Her husband — who likes orange juice with his breakfast — was out of town and would not have breakfast at home for a couple more days.

We were crossing the highway and onto the service road named — rather ominously, I thought — Covert Circle.

The Roger anchored a few businesses in this highway outpost. The bank branch and dry cleaners were closed, but one other enterprise was operating.

“Oh, look,” Clara said with unconvincing innocence, “The Dailey Car Wash is open. We can stop by there after I pick up orange juice. Might as well, as long as we’re out this way.”

“Oh, brother. How transparent can you get? Is William Alsup there? Who told you?”

She chuckled as we got out of the van, leaving the windows partially lowered for the dogs, happily sacked out in a jumble in the back. “I have my sources.”

Clara wheeled her mini-cart directly to the orange juice as I trailed her.

With Ned’s favored brand on sale, she loaded up, then we headed to the front.

Clara pulled in behind another shopper in line for the lone checkout clerk. All but two of the self-serve registers were — as usual — covered with fabric hoods that proclaimed they were out of order.

It’s never a good sign when it takes twice as long to check out as it does to shop.

“Want to go back and look over the dog treats, while I stay in line?” Clara asked.

“You don’t think we bought enough at Zepke’s?”

A woman came up behind us with a loaded cart.