Tanner chuckled. He agreed to deliver the requested items and asked Tuck for the address. He was surprised to learn the facility was in Mystic Creek. Tanner didn’t cover that area, and it was a thirty-minute drive to get there. He mulled over the fact that he would be driving for more than an hour round-trip in a Courier Express van to run a personal errand. He’d also be using company fuel, which didn’t seem right, but he supposed he could top off the tank to make up for that. He could also adjust his time sheet so he wouldn’t be paid for an hour he hadn’t actually worked.

Whistling tunelessly, Tanner made the drive to Mystic Creek. He hadn’t yet gotten over this way. The curvy two-lane highway offered beautiful scenery, tree-covered mountain peaks, craggy buttes, and silvery flashes of a river beyond the stands of ponderosa pine. To his surprise, he saw a turnoff to Crystal Falls—the actual waterfall, not the town—and he made a mental note to bring the kids up sometime to see it. They’d get a kick out of that. Maybe they could spread a blanket on the riverbank and have a picnic.

Once in Mystic Creek, a quaint and well-kept little town, he found a grocery store on East Main called Flagg’s Market, where he purchased two six-packs of beer and a whole roll of Copenhagen for his elderly friend. In the van he always carried extra box flats. He assembled a medium-size one, stuck what he now thought of as the contraband into it, and taped the flaps closed. With a ballpoint pen, he wrote Tuck’s full name, the address, and the apartment number on a Courier Express mailing slip, which he affixed to the cardboard. Done. Now he’d just drive to the facility and make the delivery. The rest would be up to Tuck.

Mystic Creek Retirement Living was in a large brick building with two wings that angled out toward the front parking lot. The back of the facility bordered Mystic Creek, which bubbled and chattered cheerfully between banks lined with greenery, weeping willows, and pines. He suspected the residents spent a lot of time on the rear lawns, enjoying the sounds of rushing water and birdsong. If he were living there, that’s what he would do.

Striding across the parking area with the box in his arms, Tanner began to feel nervous. What if someone questioned him? Pausing outside the double glass doors, he took a calming breath and then pushed inside. A middle-aged woman with red hair sat at the front desk. She fixed her friendly-looking blue gaze on Tanner’s face and smiled.

“You’re new,” she observed. “Brian usually delivers our Courier Express packages.”

Tanner nodded. “Uh, yeah. Just helping out today. I’ve got a package for Tucker Malloy, apartment twenty-three.”

She pointed to a wide hallway to the left of the counter. “About halfway down on the right.”

Tanner circled her workstation and moved past her. When he reached Tuck’s room, he knocked on the door and called, “Delivery. Courier Express.”