The Bitterest Pill

Nine

By one that afternoon, Jesse had spoken to all the teachers on the list except for Heather’s cheerleading coach, Brandy Lawton. He figured he would catch up with her eventually or just put in a call to her. Some of the teachers he did speak to said they had noticed the same things about Heather Mackey that Maryglenn had alluded to, that she had seemed withdrawn and distracted. But others hadn’t noticed any change at all. Oh, not at all, Chief. Heather was still the enthusiastic, intelligent young woman I have always known her to be. They were all very troubled by her death, some so much that they broke down during the conversations. And they all mentioned Heather’s circle of friends: Megan, Darby, and Richie.

As he rode back to the station, the ringing of his phone interrupted the Terry Jester song coming out of his speakers.

“Jesse?”

“Who else you think is answering the phone in my car, Molly?”

“Jesse, I’m curious. Do you have any of the bats from when you played ball?”

“I do. Why?”

“I’d like to borrow one to smack you over the head.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “What’s up?”

“The ME called. He’s released the body to the family. The tox screen isn’t back, but the state crime lab called him. There was enough of a sample in the hypo to test. COD is cardiac arrest due to an overdose of—”

“Heroin and fentanyl,” he said.

“Why do I bother?”

“Because you love me.”

She laughed. “No, that isn’t it.”

“Because if something happens to me, you get to be chief again.”

“Bingo.”

“You might want to remember that the next time you’re tempted to smack me over the head with a Louisville Slugger.”

“Point taken. So, Jesse, how did you know about—”

“ODs like Heather’s are rampant. The stats are scary bad, Crane.”

“I’ve seen them.”

“Now they’re not just stats anymore. Heather was one of ours.”

Molly tried to talk, but Jesse could tell she was choked up. There’d been a lot of that today, and there promised to be more of it in the days to come.

“Fentanyl is fifty to a hundred times more powerful than heroin,” Jesse said, giving Molly time to compose herself. “It kills even longtime addicts. Someone like Heather, a new user... She had no chance. Any word on the funeral arrangements?”

“That was the other thing I was calling about,” Molly said, her voice less shaky. “Selectman Mackey’s sister called and said since the body has been released, the viewing would be tomorrow night. Are you going?”

“We are, if your husband can spare you.”

“He can spare me. What will I be there for?” Molly asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

“People are comfortable around you, Molly. You’re a cop, but you’re also part of the fabric of Paradise.”

“So are you, Jesse. You even said it before. Heather was one of ours.”

“That’s how I feel, but it’s not how I’m always perceived.”

Molly couldn’t argue with that. Small-town people are slow to trust outsiders, and she guessed that no matter how long Jesse had been police chief, no matter how many times he had proved himself and his loyalty, some folks would always see him as an outsider. And with all the downstaters moving in, the locals weren’t exactly in an accepting frame of mind.

“I hope this is an isolated incident, Jesse.”

“C’mon, Molly, you’re too good a cop for hoping. You know how this works.”

“I guess I hope it’s not another high school kid.”

“If it means anything, I hope so, too. But where did hoping ever get us?”

“You think we’ve got a drug problem in town?”

“Every town has a drug problem. What I don’t want is a drug network operating in Paradise.”

“A drug operation in Paradise?” Molly was skeptical.

“Heather got the hit somewhere.”

“But we’re such a small town. What have we got to offer to a drug operation?”

“Small towns have small police forces, and we’ve got proximity to Boston.”

“I guess.”

“I’m going to grab some lunch.”

“At Daisy’s?”

“Uh-huh. You want something?”

“How are things with you and Cole?”

“We’ve kind of settled into... I’m not sure. A kind of truce, I think. When I was in the hospital after the old meetinghouse explosion, I thought we had something. But he’s still angry at me, even though he knows the truth of what happened between me and his mom.”

“Then the problem is his, Jesse, not yours. Tough thing for a parent to not feel responsible for everything and every feeling your children have.”

“Yeah. When did you get past it?”

“Never. I don’t think good parents ever do.”

“So you don’t have all the answers, Molly?”

“Nope. I just have more of them than you do.”