Owen grumbled. âLook. Iâll take you by Serenaâs house again. See if her momâs heard anything. Sheâs probably there right now. Probably just had to stop by the library before she went home or something.â
âPrincipal Sanders told everyone to go straight home ,â Becca argued.
âYeah, and if Serena needed background info to work on a story, do you think a warning from Sanders could keep her from it?â
Becca slumped, her posture saying Owen was right.
âWeâre stopping by Serenaâs house first ,â Becca said, just as a door banged open in the back of the store.
âRuthie!â a womanâs voice thundered. âWe got honest-to-goodness paying customers in here. Gossiping with your friends is fine when we donât have any shoppers, but I told you to knock it off now that the stormâs closing in. We got to help people get ready.â
A heavyset woman appeared with a metal cart loaded with boxes and shovels and bags of ice melt and kitty litter. âCome on, now,â she urged, grunting as she reached forward to start unloading the supplies, âyou got to help me get some of this out on display.â
âYes, Mom,â Ruthie said quietly.
âHere, let me,â Owen said, trying to relieve Ruthieâs mother of a large cardboard box of canned goods. But the box teetered in his arms.
âWatch out there, pretty boy,â Chas said. âOughtta leave that to the athlete.â
âWhatever,â Owen grunted, refusing to give up the box, even as he struggled for balance. âIâm on the football team, too.â
But Chas reached out and plucked the box right out of Owenâs arms. In Chasâs hands, it seemed more like a box of matches than a box of heavy canned food. âWhatâs with you?â he teased. âYou act like you just ran about a hundred wind sprints. Your momâs groceries mustâve worn you out. Youâre even wussier than usual.â
âAre you two done with your pissing contest now?â Becca interrupted, tugging on Owenâs sleeve. âCan we go look?â
âIâm staying to help,â Chas announced, wrapping his large hand around a couple of shovels and carrying them toward a display space by the door.
âFine,â Becca snapped. âCome on, Owen,â she insisted, stomping right past Claire in a flurry.
âClaire!â Dr. Cain shouted, popping into her face. âGot some things for us. Maxine, the owner,â he said, pointing at Ruthieâs mother, âtook me into the storeroom to give me the pick of her canned goods. Been a run on them in the last couple of hours.â
Claire accepted her fatherâs plastic shopping basket. Cradling it in her arms, she peered inside to find cans of Spam and chili, pork and beans and vegetable soup.
âThat kerosene lamp!â Dr. Cain shouted, pointing. Ruthie turned to pluck it from a shelf behind the counter. âLooks like the last one, too,â he said, happily handing over his credit card. He hummed as Ruthie punched the buttons on a brass cash register that looked like it had been freed from the shelves of an antique store, not noticing the embarrassed flush that was still painted across her cheeks following her exchange with Becca.
Dr. Cain pushed Claire outside quickly, announcing, âItâs getting dangerous. I think we can make it before the storm turns the roads completely impassable, if we hurry.â
Theyâd moved so fast, in fact, that the couple whoâd clustered about the counter were still piling into the white Honda as Claire and her father stepped through the door of âBout Out.
In her haste to get in the car, Becca knocked an empty NOS energy drink can into the lot. Her voice carried across the still parking lot as she urged, âCome on. Hurry.â
Car doors slammed; the Honda revved and skidded across the lot.
Claire swore that the
Learning to Kill: Stories