Unholy Shepherd by Robert Christian (classic literature list .txt) 📗

Manny felt a shiver go down his spine and felt all of his joints lock in unison.

Maureen took a deep breath. “You know your friend? The one that brought her boy to the crime scene last week?”

“Tasha?”

Maureen nodded her head, walked over to him and laid both of her hands on his chest while looking steadily into his eyes. “Do you know where she lives?”

There was pity in her eyes. Manny felt himself involuntarily swallow. The sour taste of vomit filled the back of his throat.

THIRTY-FOUR

“How can you not have her number?” Maureen shouted as Manny pulled on his sport coat, stuffed his cell phone into the pocket, and searched for his keys. He’d obviously forgotten that she had picked them up just a moment before and was holding them in plain sight. Some people just couldn’t handle their liquor. Her own head was pounding, but she had swallowed down half a pill, so she was confident she’d be fine in short order.

“I thought you were supposed to be friends,” she said.

“We knew each other in high school,” he said defensively, wincing with the effort of talking. “I don’t know. I got back in touch when I moved back to town, but we never exchanged phone numbers.”

“Do you have her husband’s number?”

“Ben? No, I don’t have his either.”

“Then what good are you?” Her frustration with him made her want to hit him in his stupid face.

“What do you want from me? Like I said, we aren’t close. I’ve only ever had dinner at their house once,” he said.

“Jesus, why didn’t you say so?” she replied. “Let’s go.”

Maureen looked over at Manny as they made their way to his truck. His face wore a frown. He was obviously hurt by her henpecking. She reached into her pocket and grabbed the other half of the pill that she had taken earlier, which she was saving for after they had spoken to the kid’s parents.

“Here, take this,” she said, offering it to him with an open hand.

“What is it?”

“Just a pain killer. It helps.”

He took the pill and swallowed it down. “I don’t suppose that was aspirin,” he said with a weak smile.

“It’s a prescription.”

“Yours?”

“More or less,” she replied, looking over again only to be met with his side-eyed, disapproving stare. She rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, so the prescription is forged. But I only get enough for myself. I don’t sell them or anything. It’s the only thing that helps the migraines. A half a pill, though? It’ll knock out any pain in less than half an hour and it won’t make you too drowsy, unless you drink with it. Get a cup of coffee in you, and you should be good for hours.”

“Well, in that case,” he said, allowing his amused smirk to break out on his face, “thank you very much.”

Whether it was the effects of the pill, or a psychosomatic reaction to her suggestions, Manny perked up ever so slightly as they took off down the road. He directed her south along the county highway then back east. Maureen soon found herself on a tree-lined street of mid-century ranch homes, each one looking like the last with the exception of brick or paint color.

“Slow down a little,” said Manny as he scrutinized each house in turn.

“You don’t know the address, do you?” Maureen said, easing her foot off the accelerator and tapping the brake.

“I’ll know it when I see it. I’m pretty sure it’s another block down, and I know it’s on my side.”

The homes crawled by, and just when Maureen began to think that he didn’t actually know which one they were looking for, Manny let out a sharp cry.

“That’s it. It’s the one with the railing on the steps.”

All of the houses were situated on a little hill above the street with four or five concrete steps leading to the front stoop. Maureen quickly picked out the only one with an iron railing fastened to the steps and pulled over to the curb. She slammed the truck into park and stared up at the square, red-brick house before turning to look at Manny.

“There’s no cop cars or anything around here,” she said. “Do you think they don’t know yet?”

“I’m not sure, honestly,” Manny said. “Does this street look familiar?”

“It’s a neighborhood street with trees. They all look the same to me.”

They got out of the truck and paced up and down the street. Maureen swung her head from side to side searching for something from her dream to flash inside her mind. Nothing came, but something was definitely missing.

“I don’t see the car,” she said to Manny, who was leaning against his truck, watching her.

Manny turned and labored up the steps to the front door of the house. Maureen looked on as he rang the doorbell and waited. The door remained shut, and after a moment, Manny peered into the large window to the right of the door. When that apparently didn’t yield anything, he quickly went around the side of the house and disappeared into the backyard. He emerged a minute or so later around the other side and came back down the hill.

“There’s no one home,” he said, leaning on the truck next to Maureen and staring back at the house. “And there’s no sign of fire or anything.”

“Well, maybe we should drive further into town and see if there’s something going on,” she suggested, not knowing what else they could do. She knew they needed to find the Naismiths, but if they weren’t home, they could be anywhere.

“All right, let’s get going,” Manny said.

“You good to drive?” she asked, holding out his keys. His speech was already much clearer, but he was still carrying himself as if he was in pain.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I still feel like shit.”

Maureen jumped back behind the wheel and turned the truck around, heading north. Within a few minutes, they came to the county highway and Maureen turned right, back to Main Street. Manny