Gently, he tugged Logan to the cash register. From the other aisle, the kids whispered and laughed. Humiliation crashed like a rockslide in Logan’s stomach. Even when she was defending him, Brandon wasn’t on her side.
He gave the gift shop cashier his card. “Sorry for the trouble.”
The cashier shook her head.
Wordlessly, Logan gathered her decorations and made her way out of the store. If it had been Alejo, he would have stood up to them. Or he would have been proud of her for saying something. But Brandon had done nothing. Logan couldn’t look at him.
She climbed into the car and buckled up, searching for the right words, but only came up with, “What was that?”
Brandon thrummed his fingers over the steering wheel without turning on the car. “It’s not worth arguing.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“It wouldn’t matter.” Brandon fixed his glasses. “Those kids … you saw the blond one? She’s a Barton. The Bartons own everything in this town. The lumberyard, the ranch, all the restaurants, all the parks. They’re in charge of the whole thing.”
“She doesn’t scare me,” Logan scoffed. “I can handle redneck Barbie.”
Brandon shook his head. “Not her. It’s her mom that’s the problem.”
“Whatever.”
“It’s best to just … do what they say.”
Logan rolled her eyes. “Even if what they say is wrong?”
“I get that it’s hard. But this is just temporary.” He fired up the Neon and crawled away from the curb, leaving Snakebite in a cloud of exhaust. After a moment of aching silence, he sighed. “We’ll finish the show, then the three of us can leave for good. It won’t be that much longer. Sound like a plan?”
Logan grimaced. She swallowed the argument brewing in her chest and nodded. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”
7
What’s Done In The Dark
“We had salmon and asparagus last week,” Tammy Barton said, neck strained so that she could see her weight-loss app over her reading glasses. “Low calorie, but no flavor. Let’s try the stir-fry this week. I can make a big batch of that. It’ll be good for lunches.”
“I hate stir-fry.” Ashley longingly eyed a packet of instant mashed potatoes. “I can make my own dinner.”
“When you buy groceries with your own money you can.”
Ashley groaned. It had only been a few days since her argument with Brandon Woodley and his daughter at the gift shop, but it still scratched at the back of her mind like a dog trying to come inside for dinner. Defusing the fight was the right thing to do, but the way the girl had looked at Ashley—angry and wounded—wouldn’t leave Ashley alone.
Her mother compared boxes of brown rice, silently weighing the pros and cons of long grain and short grain. She was on a health kick that meant only fresh veggies and seafood were suitable for dinner. Even before the diet, she had been a nightmare to shop with. Before Tristan’s disappearance, Ashley would’ve avoided it at all costs. But lately, she didn’t want to be alone. Things had felt different in Snakebite for months, even beyond Tristan’s disappearance. The sun felt different, relentless and hot as rage. Something boiled under the surface of their little town.
Snakebite Mercantile was mostly empty this early in the day. Carrie Underwood swirled from a single overhead speaker, echoing from the green-and-beige-checkered linoleum. Somewhere behind them, shopping cart wheels squealed. A man turned the corner into the dry foods aisle, shopping cart suspiciously loaded with nothing but microwave meals, Cheez Whiz, and a jar of pickles. When Tammy spotted him, she tensed, tossing the long-grain rice in her cart like she meant to make a quick getaway.