14
The sheriff followed Woody over to Santa’s Sleigh-Land (as Marcus and I had taken to calling it in a sad attempt at humor to stave off despair), and I scooted right behind. I couldn’t see what Woody pointed to next to one of the runners of the sleigh until Tuck took a latex glove from his back pocket and picked it up. It was a hypodermic syringe.
I stepped back and grimaced as my jaw clenched. “What is that doing here?” I had memories of the warnings hung around Ocean Beach in San Francisco that cautions visitors about going barefoot in the sand because of spent needles. It was something I was used to there, sadly perhaps, but here, in my store – I felt myself asking the question again: “Why is that here?”
Tuck shouted a request for a plastic bag to Rocky, and she came over with one
