that Tony was working late and she had no real hope of seeing him for anything more than a few minutes over the next week didnât help her mood. Something just wasnât right with their relationship. She glanced at the Krazy Kat clock on her wall and realized it wasnât even eight oâclock yet and she was starting to feel anxious about going to bed. This would be the fourth night in a row she didnât sleep well, unless she took her usual dose of Ambien. And thatâs what she wanted to do in the worst way. Sheâd had to take Xanax the last few days as pressure mounted with the discovery of two bodies being linked to one killer. The Xanax helped her get through the day; it was the Ambien that helped her get through the night. And in two or three hours sheâd have to make a decision: go another night with almost no sleep and drag through the day, or pop an Ambien and feel pharmaceutically groggy until ten oâclock in the morning. The choices werenât great. She wondered how Stallings functioned so well with as little sleep as he got each night. There was more than enough evidence of his nighttime activities like crawling around different neighborhoods looking for the right lead on a missing person or the tiny piece of forensic evidence that would help identify a killer. Patty also knew he spent a lot of time tracking down leads on his own missing daughter. That was something he couldnât talk about around the sheriffâs office because heâd never been assigned to the case. He never would be; it was his own daughter. But he spent a lot of time on the computer and talking to missing persons detectives all across the country, hoping to find some clue as to what had happened to Jeanie after the Friday she walked away without a word to anyone. Poor John Stallings had a lot more to deal with than Patty did and she felt like he was a pretty good example. He was calm and patient, didnât drink, and never took pills.
Her new attitude had caused her to not renew any of her pain-pill prescriptions and now here she was in the early evening, anxious, alone, worried about sleeping, and in pain. Maybe she shouldâve thought this out a little better.
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Buddy had cheated and used a mold to blow the glass containers for his work of art. He used a mold so each container would slip into the slot it was made for. Right now he had an extra two containers with lids and rubber gaskets ready to go. Some were a rich blue glass, others a Coca-Cola bottle green. Any of them would make lovely sea glass if they washed up on one of Floridaâs sandy beaches. He had to have a clock directly above his workbench or heâd lose all track of time when he worked on his glass sculptures.
He ran up and took a quick shower in his apartment and changed into a nice pair of jeans and a button-down shirt. At exactly eight oâclock he heard a car door and the unmistakable rumble of feet on the staircase to the apartment. He felt a sense of dread as he padded to the door across the expensive hardwood floor he had put in two years ago. Somehow having Donna standing in front of her sister made him feel a little better. Buddy almost leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, but once again Cherylâs scowl forced him back. He allowed them to step into the entryway directly in front of his small kitchen.
He started to get annoyed but remembered what the doctor had told him and took a deep breath. At least this time theyâd made an appointment and hadnât scared anyone off. He didnât have enough time left to waste potential candidates for his work of art. Cheryl had already cost him a great addition. Even though they had an appointment and were exactly on time, the thought of that woman invading his home pissed him off.
He thought about the precious hours he had spent with Jessie and how he wouldâve felt if they had interrupted him. He had gotten to know the sweet girl from Ocala