The Taking of Libbie, SD (Mac McKenzie #7)

“Isn’t that—that’s a great feeling, isn’t it? Being in love.”

I told her that it was. I don’t think she heard me, though. Instead, Tracie finished her drink and beckoned to Wayne for another. This time he gave her only a splash of amaretto to go with the 7UP. He glared as if daring me to challenge his pour and set the drink in front of her.

“On the house,” he said.

“You’re always so nice to me, Wayne,” she said.

“Are you good to drive home?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Hey,” Wayne said. “You don’t need to hang around. We have it covered.”

“See, McKenzie,” Tracie said. “I have someone, too.”

CHAPTER SIX

I woke early, a common occurrence when I sleep in a bed that’s not my own. I wasn’t in any hurry, though, so I lay on my back and stared at the hotel room ceiling, waiting for the alarm clock to catch up to me. Bright sunlight slipped through the cracks between the window and the frilly shade. Still, it wasn’t the sunlight that caused me finally to go to the window and look out. It was the silence. Even in my residential neighborhood in St. Paul there was noise: the distant murmur of traffic; neighbors opening and closing doors to houses, garages, and cars; a dog yapping. Yet Libbie woke quietly. There were few vehicles on First Street and even fewer people, who all seemed to move on tiptoes as if they were afraid of disturbing the peace. For a moment, I flashed on the old SF movie Invasion of the Body Snatchers. Show emotion and you die. I quickly shook the image from my head.

“Get a grip, McKenzie,” I said aloud.

I decided to go for a walk. Usually I run in the morning, only this was more a journey of exploration than exercise. After putting myself together, I hurried down the three flights of steps and out the front entrance of the Pioneer. I hung a left and followed First, my back to the sun. On the other side of the hotel’s driveway, there was a shop that sold collectibles. It was next to a store that sold discount items—damned if I could tell the difference between the two. There was an American Family Insurance office and an H&R Block office with an alley between them that didn’t seem to lead anywhere. Farther down the street was the Munoz Emporium I had visited on Monday, and next to that was a senior center. The senior center was actually open, but it wasn’t a place I wanted to visit, so I kept moving.

I followed First Street until I reached a sprawling grain elevator located at the western edge of the town. The name Miller was painted in black across a row of corrugated steel bins and on a sign over an office building in front of them. Beyond the elevator, there were green-brown fields that seemed to stretch to the horizon. It was an impressive vista, just not something that could hold my attention for long. I preferred people in my landscapes.

I scanned the gravel parking lot. There were several cars, SUVs, and pickups but no drivers. I was about to walk away when a door marked authorized personnel only opened and Church stepped out. He was limping slightly, and his right hand was encased in a plaster cast except for his fingertips. He stopped, slipped a cigarette between his lips, and lit it with a disposable lighter. That’s when he saw me. I gave him what Victoria Dunston called a microwave—holding my hand up and moving my fingers a fraction of an inch. He abruptly turned for the door. He slipped on his bad leg, and I thought he would go down until he managed to catch the door handle and steady himself. He gave me a hard look, spit the cigarette onto the gravel, and stepped back inside the office, pulling the door shut behind him. Chief Gustafson’s words floated back to me. Church is one of those guys who likes to plot his own revenge, so be careful.

I kept walking, heading north, until I discovered a set of railroad tracks that served the elevator. The tracks seemed to divide Libbie in half between north and south, and I wondered which side was the wrong side. There’s always a wrong side of the tracks.