China white heroin.
The sight paralyzed her, stopping her forward progress. Sweat immediately popped out on her forehead. The bag held a magnetic pull, and her eyes watered with the effort of not looking at it.
Shanae glanced up at Nessa and reacted to the expression of horror no doubt distorting her face. “Mrs. Donati? Are you all right?” She swiveled her head toward the end table.
Nessa threw herself to the ground, clutching her left calf. “Muscle cramp,” she said, drawing Shanae’s attention. How could she keep it there? And how could she get her out of the house?
Who knew what other goodies had been hidden around here for this person to find?
Nessa groaned loudly.
“Let me grab your water,” Shanae said, rising, and Nessa screamed.
Shanae turned her attention back to Nessa.
“I know this is weird, but would you mind . . . massaging my leg?” Nessa said.
“All right,” Shanae said. She lowered herself to the floor and tentatively rubbed Nessa’s calf.
Nessa looked around for a heavy object to smash the caseworker’s skull with. Would that be worse than Child Protective Ser-vices finding drugs in the house?
A deafening peal of thunder sounded right on top of a brilliant lightning flash and the lights brightened, then went out.
“Oh, that’s better,” Nessa said. She stood and walked to the end table. Nessa sat on it, hoping she wouldn’t crush the glassine bag and send a burst of heroin powder into the air. With shaking hands, she picked up her water bottle and took a drink. “I think I’m okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Shanae said, rising and sitting on the chair.
The lights came back on.
“I just have a few more questions,” the caseworker said.
“Okay,” Nessa said, straightening her phony spasming leg. She felt as though she were sitting on a blazing coal, burning through her dress and flesh. It was all she could think of during the final questions, and she wasn’t sure any of her answers were coherent. Finally, Shanae rose and turned toward the chair to pack up her questionnaire and clipboard. Nessa quickly pulled the top magazines over the glassine bag, which was intact, then turned back around.
Shanae was gazing at her, unmoving.
Nessa attempted a friendly smile.
“You probably need more potassium in your diet,” Shanae said.
“Yes,” Nessa said.
“I’ll return when your son is here to interview him,” Shanae said. “When do you expect him back?”
“On the thirtieth,” Nessa said.
Shanae made a note of it on her clipboard. “I’ll give you a call and let you know when I’m coming this time.” She pulled back the curtains and looked out the window. “The rain’s letting up,” she said. “I better get out to my car before I’m stuck here overnight.”
“Well, thank you,” Nessa said, her desperately beating heart making her vision blur.
“Don’t get up. I’ll let myself out.”
Nessa didn’t move until she heard the sedan drive away. Then she peeped out the window to be sure Shanae was gone before lifting the magazines. The glassine bag flexed, seemed to come alive and stretch. Nessa picked it up and saw that it was stamped with a red sunflower.
In big cities, dealers proudly branded their wares. She was surprised this practice took place in small--town America too. But because of this, she could use the stamp, the brand, to try to find where the heroin had come from and who had purchased it.
Nessa took a photo of the glassine bag with her phone and flushed its contents down the toilet before she could think too much about it. She didn’t want a repeat performance of Tuesday’s near--disaster hypo breakdown. When that was done, she cut up the glassine bag and flushed the tiny pieces.
How long had that bag sat here, just waiting to be discovered? She’d faithfully gone over the security camera footage and there’d been no trespassers since the new security system.
It was time to find John. She was going to find him, and then she was going to kill him for bringing this shit into her house.
Chapter Nineteen
Saturday, June 25
SINCE DALTREY WAS gone, Isabeau was going out with friends to Aggieville the next evening. “Don’t wait up for me,” Isabeau told her.
Nessa wasn’t sure she’d be home any earlier than Isabeau would. She had plans of her own.
When Nessa had caught John doing crack in their house, she’d known that somewhere was a card with his dealer’s name and phone number on it. She’d searched his pants’ pockets and found what she was looking for, holding on to the card like a souvenir, like a treasured memento. She even kept it in a special box with John’s six--inch braid—-the one she’d tossed into the Big Blue River—-and the tickets from their first concert together: Rodrigo y Gabriela at Red Rocks.