Purgatory, West Virginia
April 5
Milo parked along the curb on Main Street and tried to control his excitement. After the debacle with the attack dog, he had devoted himself to ensuring every contingency was factored into his plan. Charlotte would be arriving to do her daily marketing any moment. It was nearly time.
Milo had spent days working out a plan and setting his traps. Days plotting while the love birds fucked the shingles off the roof and played house. Days of watching them walking around town hand-in-hand with that little orphan buzzing around them like a flea. Days of happy family. They should count themselves lucky. It was more than Milo had ever had.
Everything was in place, designed, like all of his innovations, with elegant simplicity. The only real difficulty was the first step: snatching Charlotte Devlin. Milo snickered. Challenge? Hardly. As in all things, Milo had found an ingenious solution.
He checked his phone, then drummed on the steering wheel with panache. The promise of some quick cash had bought him a willing accomplice to perform a simple task. Milo was about to have his captive.
Twitch bounced in the driver’s seat of Finn’s old pickup. If and when Bud, the unreliable mechanic, returned, she would tell him to add shocks to his to-do list. Well, in the truck’s defense, some of the bouncing was self-started. She was excited to cook Finn dinner.
Sputtering to a stop in the small parking lot at the side of the market, Twitch cut the engine and sat while the truck pinged and hissed. When the engine let out a final gasp, she wrenched open the door and hopped down. Yawning, she patted her belly; baby Devlin was full and sleeping after a feast of eggs, bacon, and pancakes.
An older model Chevy Blazer pulled in a few spaces over, and a man in jeans and a flannel shirt hopped out.
“That’s some truck.”
“For as long as it lasts,” she joked.
He walked by the pickup and bumped the hood with his fist. “She’s still got some miles left in her. This is Finn’s, right?”
“How do you know Finn?”
“Seen him around town.”
Twitch wrinkled her nose. She guessed that wasn’t too unusual. The man gave her a long unsettling look then walked into the store. Inexplicably relieved, she followed. At the cart rack, he handed Twitch a basket and went to retrieve one for himself. He stopped and snapped his fingers.
“Damn, forgot the list.” The man disappeared back out the door.
She hurried into the store, passing an older man she recognized from the diner; he was reading a tearaway flier advertising piano lessons.
Browsing the aisles, Twitch gathered what she needed for her famous pot roast. Very had joked it was “famous” because, aside from her grandfather’s chili, it was the only edible thing Twitch could prepare. It was also the only thing her mom knew how to make, so, as a result, it was her dad’s favorite dinner. Despite his success, her dad had humble tastes when it came to food.
She chose a roast from the butcher and gathered the carrots, potatoes, and herbs. The little bakery section had freshly made bread and sweets. Grabbing a hearty loaf and an apple pie, she pushed her cart to the single check-out counter.
“Someone’s making pot roast.” The cashier had a bright smile, bejeweled half-glasses, and a nametag that read “Lois.”
“Yep, it’s still chilly out, so it’s a good night for it.”
“You wanna know my trick? Add a stick of butter to the broth when the meat’s about halfway cooked. Be the best you ever tasted.”
Twitch’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll try it.” She rushed back to the cold case to grab a pound of butter, passing the man from the parking lot adding items to his basket.
Returning to the register, she paid for her groceries and hurried back to the pickup. When she turned the key, she was met with silence. Not a click or rev or a growl. Nothing. She pulled out her phone to call Finn. He’d have to walk into town.
“That rattle trap finally give out on ya?” The man in the flannel shirt stopped, a grocery bag tucked in one arm.
Twitch sighed. “I think so.”
The man checked his watch with his free hand. “You need a ride back?”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’ll just call Finn.” She held up her phone.
Continuing to his SUV, he lifted the tailgate and set his groceries in the back. Her call to Finn rang through. She supposed she could ask Lois if there was someone around who could help. Maybe there was a stock boy or bakery lady who knew cars. Her brainstorming was interrupted when the Chevy Blazer stopped behind her pickup, boxing her in.
“I can’t leave a pregnant woman stranded in a parking lot. Come on. I’ll give you a lift.”