sighed heavily. Then fished her ring of keys out of her bag. She found the one marked CS, then let herself in.
Grabbing a couple of boxes, she began to work her way through the aisle. Dry cereal, pasta, eggs, canned goods, toilet paper, flour, sugar. She dumped one box on the counter, filled the second.
She was hauling over a fifty-pound bag of Dog Chow when the door opened, and Nate walked in.
"They're closed," Meg huffed out as she set the bag on the floor by the counter.
"So I see."
"If you see they're closed, what're you doing in here?"
"Funny. That was my question."
"Need stuff." She walked behind the counter, picked out a couple of boxes of ammo to add to her box.
"Figured that, but generally when people who need stuff take it from a closed store it's called stealing."
"I've heard that." From under the counter she took a large record book, flipped through. "I bet they arrest people for that down the Lower 48."
"They do. Regularly."
"You intend to implement that policy here in Lunacy?"
"I do. Regularly."
She gave a quick laugh—the fog to Hopp's foghorn—found a pen and began writing in the book. "Well, just let me finish up here, then you can take me in. That'll be three arrests for you today. Gotta be a record."
He leaned on the counter, noted that she was neatly listing all the items in her two boxes. "Be wasting my time."
"Yeah, but we got plenty of that around here. Damn, forgot the Murphy's. You mind? Murphy's Oil Soap, right over there."
"Sure." He walked over, scanned the contents on the shelves and picked up a bottle. "I saw you last night, out my window."
She wrote down the Murphy's. "I saw you back."
"You're a bush pilot."
"I'm a lot of things." Her gaze lifted to his. "That's one of them."
"What else are you?"
"Big city cop like you should be able to find that out quick enough."
"Got some of it. You cook. Got a dog. Probably a couple good-sized dogs. You like your own space. You're honest, at least when it suits you. You like your coffee black and plenty of butter on your popcorn."
"Not much of a scratch on the surface." She tapped the pen against the book. "You looking to scratch some more, Chief Burke?"
Direct, he thought. He'd left out direct. So he'd be direct back. "Thinking about it."
She smiled the way she had in the hall, with the right corner of her mouth lifting before the left. "Charlene jumped you yet?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm wondering if you got Charlene's special welcome to Lunacy last night."
He wasn't sure which irritated him more, the question or the cool way she watched him as she asked. "No."
"Not your type?"
"Not so much, no. And I'm not real comfortable discussing your mother this way."
"Got sensitivity, do you? Don't worry about it. Everybody knows Charlene likes to rattle the headboard with every good-looking man comes through here. Thing is, I tend to steer clear of her leftovers. But seeing the way it is, for now, maybe I'll give you a chance to scratch."
She closed the book, replaced it. "Want to give me a hand loading this stuff into the truck?"
"Sure. But I thought you flew in."
"Did. A friend and I switched modes of transportation."
"Okay." He hauled the dog food bag over his shoulder.
She had a brawny red pickup outside, with a tarp, camping gear, snowshoes and a couple of cans of gas already in the bed. There was a gun rack in the cab, loaded with a shotgun and a rifle.
"You hunt?" he asked her.
"Depends on the game." She slapped the gate of the truck bed into
place, then just grinned at him. "What the hell are you doing here, Chief Burke?"
"Nate. And I'll let you know when I figure it out."
"Fair enough. Maybe I'll see you New Year's Eve. We'll see how we socialize."
She climbed into the truck, turned the key. Aerosmith blasted out about the same old song and dance, and she pulled into the street. She headed west, where the sun was already sliding behind the peaks, turning them flaming gold while the light went soft with twilight.
It was
Grabbing a couple of boxes, she began to work her way through the aisle. Dry cereal, pasta, eggs, canned goods, toilet paper, flour, sugar. She dumped one box on the counter, filled the second.
She was hauling over a fifty-pound bag of Dog Chow when the door opened, and Nate walked in.
"They're closed," Meg huffed out as she set the bag on the floor by the counter.
"So I see."
"If you see they're closed, what're you doing in here?"
"Funny. That was my question."
"Need stuff." She walked behind the counter, picked out a couple of boxes of ammo to add to her box.
"Figured that, but generally when people who need stuff take it from a closed store it's called stealing."
"I've heard that." From under the counter she took a large record book, flipped through. "I bet they arrest people for that down the Lower 48."
"They do. Regularly."
"You intend to implement that policy here in Lunacy?"
"I do. Regularly."
She gave a quick laugh—the fog to Hopp's foghorn—found a pen and began writing in the book. "Well, just let me finish up here, then you can take me in. That'll be three arrests for you today. Gotta be a record."
He leaned on the counter, noted that she was neatly listing all the items in her two boxes. "Be wasting my time."
"Yeah, but we got plenty of that around here. Damn, forgot the Murphy's. You mind? Murphy's Oil Soap, right over there."
"Sure." He walked over, scanned the contents on the shelves and picked up a bottle. "I saw you last night, out my window."
She wrote down the Murphy's. "I saw you back."
"You're a bush pilot."
"I'm a lot of things." Her gaze lifted to his. "That's one of them."
"What else are you?"
"Big city cop like you should be able to find that out quick enough."
"Got some of it. You cook. Got a dog. Probably a couple good-sized dogs. You like your own space. You're honest, at least when it suits you. You like your coffee black and plenty of butter on your popcorn."
"Not much of a scratch on the surface." She tapped the pen against the book. "You looking to scratch some more, Chief Burke?"
Direct, he thought. He'd left out direct. So he'd be direct back. "Thinking about it."
She smiled the way she had in the hall, with the right corner of her mouth lifting before the left. "Charlene jumped you yet?"
"Excuse me?"
"I'm wondering if you got Charlene's special welcome to Lunacy last night."
He wasn't sure which irritated him more, the question or the cool way she watched him as she asked. "No."
"Not your type?"
"Not so much, no. And I'm not real comfortable discussing your mother this way."
"Got sensitivity, do you? Don't worry about it. Everybody knows Charlene likes to rattle the headboard with every good-looking man comes through here. Thing is, I tend to steer clear of her leftovers. But seeing the way it is, for now, maybe I'll give you a chance to scratch."
She closed the book, replaced it. "Want to give me a hand loading this stuff into the truck?"
"Sure. But I thought you flew in."
"Did. A friend and I switched modes of transportation."
"Okay." He hauled the dog food bag over his shoulder.
She had a brawny red pickup outside, with a tarp, camping gear, snowshoes and a couple of cans of gas already in the bed. There was a gun rack in the cab, loaded with a shotgun and a rifle.
"You hunt?" he asked her.
"Depends on the game." She slapped the gate of the truck bed into
place, then just grinned at him. "What the hell are you doing here, Chief Burke?"
"Nate. And I'll let you know when I figure it out."
"Fair enough. Maybe I'll see you New Year's Eve. We'll see how we socialize."
She climbed into the truck, turned the key. Aerosmith blasted out about the same old song and dance, and she pulled into the street. She headed west, where the sun was already sliding behind the peaks, turning them flaming gold while the light went soft with twilight.
It was
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