by Colin Conway
“Oh no,” she said. “Every bookstore needs a cat, don’t ya know?”
“I’ve been told.”
Martha announced a total cost, and she placed the various items in a bag.
After paying, Brody asked, “Do you miss her?”
“Of course, I do, but she tended to keep to herself. Even when she participated in our knitting group, she never talked much. I’ve known her for almost forty years, and I couldn’t tell you where she came from or anything about her family. It’s funny how people are. I’ve known you one day, and I already know that you were in the Navy and just moved here from Leavenworth, and your grandmother taught you to knit.”
Brody grabbed the bag and winked at her. “I’m an open book that way, Martha.”
Chapter 12
When he returned to the bookstore, he tore down his handwritten back soon sign, tossed his knitting kit on the counter, and picked up the store’s telephone. He dialed a number he had recently committed to memory.
A friendly female voice answered. “Ace Adventures, where your next journey begins. How may I help you?”
Somewhere the phone number he was calling from was already being traced, pinpointing his exact location.
“This is Brody Steele. I’m already a customer of yours.”
From over the phone, he could hear her clicking on the keyboard. “Yes, I see it right here. Good morning, Mr. Steele. How may I help you?”
“I need to speak with Mr. Onderdonk.”
More keyboard clicking.
“Is there a problem with your current vacation rental?”
Brody smirked. The U.S. Marshals went to great length to protect their witnesses. The bogus adventure agency was just in case another pair of ears was listening. Unfortunately, it made the process of getting to Onderdonk a pain in the butt.
“Yeah,” Brody said. “My current rental is infested with bugs.”
“Real bugs?” The woman immediately realized what she said and continued. “Of course, they’re real. I’m sorry I implied anything else.” The keyboard clicking was sporadic as she spoke. “What kind of bugs do you think they are?”
“The big Italian kind.”
There was a long pause.
Finally, the woman said, “I’ll have Mr. Onderdonk check in with you shortly.”
“Thank you,” Brody said and hung up.
Thirty minutes later, he looked up from the row of stitches he’d just knitted. The bell was still swinging, its high-pitch tinkle fading after the woman entered. She was tall, thin, and platinum blonde. Her hair looked professionally done as did her breasts. She wore a blue Polo shirt, white shorts, and white sandals. Her perfect tan was earned elsewhere, likely in a spray booth.
Behind her shuffled in a teenaged girl who wore a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black Vans. Her black hair was cut short, and her black eyeliner was heavily applied.
Brody set the knitting needles and yarn on the counter and watched the two.
Travis ambled over to check on the new visitors. He stopped, assessed them both, and moved toward the girl.
The woman frowned at the cat before appraising Brody. She lifted her eyebrows with what appeared to be appreciation and stepped to the counter.
“What’s the cat’s name?” she asked. Her smile was overly inviting while her eyes were penetrating.
“You decide.”
“How’s that?” Her smile never wavered, but her eyes bore deeper into Brody.
“Supposedly, a cat reflects a human’s personality or some nonsense. So, when you’re with the cat, you get to name him, but it has to be a mystery professional.”
Her eyes relaxed, and her lips parted slightly. “That’s cute,” the woman almost whispered. “Whatever it means.” She rested her hand on the counter near Brody’s. He noticed the extraordinarily big diamond on her wedding ring.
“A mystery professional?” the teenager chimed in as she knelt and studied the cat.
Brody nodded. “Yeah, that’s part of the rule.”
“Did you create that rule?” the woman asked.
“The store’s previous owner did.”
The girl looked up to Brody as the cat slowly turned in circles for her. “What’s a mystery professional?”
“It’s the star of the book.”
The teenager smiled knowingly then. “You mean the protagonist.”
The woman rolled her eyes. “Miss Smahty-Pants ovah there.”
“I think she’s right,” Brody said. He repeated the word, “Protagonist,” trying to stick it to memory.
The girl stood and moved deeper into the bookstore. Travis followed her.
“She’s always right,” the woman whispered. “It bothahs me.”
“Why?”
“She ain’t my kid. She’s my husband’s. From the first wife.”
“Oh.”
“I’m his third,” the woman said, touching the ink on Brody’s hand. “Were you in the military?”
He pulled back slightly. “The Navy,” he muttered.
“From ovah in Portsmouth?” she asked. The way she asked made him worried that she might have some familiarity with the nearby base.
Brody shook his head. He once saw a naval shipyard in Southern California while on a run with the Dawgs. Brody figured he should say that base since it was the furthest away he knew. “San Diego,” he lied.
The woman leaned back and assessed him. She glanced around even though it was just the two of them now and said, “Oh my God, you were a Navy SEAL, weren’t you?”
“What?” Brody said. “No.” His imaginary enlistment was getting out of control.
She leaned back in and whispered, “I once dated a SEAL, and you look sorta like him. Big and handsome, I mean. He nevah talked about it eithah. He was pretty incredible, if you know what I mean.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“I’m talkin’ about in the sack.”
“I got that.”
“Nothin’ like my husband.”
“I get it.”
The woman tried to touch his hand again, and Brody pulled back.
She ran her hand along the counter. “You own this place?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes settled back on him. “I might just have to take up readin’.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Maybe we can be readin’ buddies?” the woman suggested.
Brody searched for the teenager. Not seeing her, he hoped that Travis would knock something off a shelf so he would have to pick it up. Finally, he looked back at the woman and asked, “You new in town?”
“Kinda,” she said. “We came up to visit her fathah. We’re only here for the night, then back home. But since we found this place,” the woman leered at Brody, “we’re gonna have to come to this sleepy berg some more.”
“Where’s home?”
“Boston.”
“And your husband, he’s up here?”
She nodded.
“What’s he do?”
The woman’s smile faded, and her eyes hardened. “Why you wanna know?”
“I don’t,” Brody said. “I was just making talk.”
Her face twisted in anger. “You with the Feds?”
The big man’s heart jumped. “What?”
“You a cop?”
He began to relax as he understood that her old man must be in trouble with the law. He’d seen it before with guys in the crew. Their old ladies were as protective of them as mama bears were with their cubs.
“If you don’t want to tell me who your husband is, keep it to yourself. I’m not interested in him.”
Her eyes softened, and she reached for the back of his again. “Ya smooth talkah.”
What happened? he wondered. He hadn’t tried to encourage her interest in him.
“You were definitely a SEAL. I can tell.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have, too.” She giggled. “I can read between the lines. My husband is Frankie Columbo. Evah hear of hi
m?”
Brody shook his head.
“He’s sorta a big deal in these parts.”
“Big deal, how?”
Her smile faded, and her eyes hardened.
Brody lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Like I said, just making conversation. Keep it to yourself.”
She smiled again, happy with her small victory. “He owns all sorts of restaurants from Boston up to here.”
Brody suddenly realized who the woman might be talking about it. “Which restaurant does he own in town?”
“The little joint around the corner. Makes the best meatball sandwiches.”
“Il Cuoco Irato?”
“You mangled the way you say it, but yeah, that’s the one.”
Brody fell silent as he thought about what the woman said. She turned and looked for her stepdaughter. Not seeing the girl, she turned back to Brody.
“Ya know, I thought this was a fishing supply store before we walked in.”
Brody’s brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”
“The Red Herring. Sort of a stupid name for a bookstore. Should be a bait and tackle shop.”
Brody shrugged. “I didn’t name it. I just bought it.”
The teenager appeared then with Travis in one arm and put a paperback on the counter. It was Pretty Little Liars by Sara Shepard.
“This is a mystery?” Brody asked.
“Duh,” the girl said, drawing out the word as if he should have known the answer to his question.
“What’s it about?”
She frowned before answering. “Teenage girls up to no good.”
The woman rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Unsure what to make of the girl, Brody flipped the book over and announced the price. “Twelve bucks.”
“Ain’t there sales tax?” the woman asked.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. He hadn’t paid attention to calculating the tax on the register when Onderdonk’s people taught him the process during their two-day cram session to get him ready for life in the Witness Protection Program. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll cover it.”
The woman reached into her wallet and pulled out a credit card. When she handed it to Brody, he stared at it. The name on the card read Donna Columbo. Processing a credit card was yet another thing he hadn’t learned. The marshals gave so much information to him before arriving that it was like drinking from a firehose. He figured he would learn it sooner or later, but today was not going to be that day.
He handed the card back to Donna, who looked at him quizzically.
Brody then gave the book to the girl. “For you,” he said. “Welcome to Pleasant Valley. You can keep the cat, too.”
The teenager’s demeanor softened. She then looked at the woman who disapprovingly shook her head.
“Not a chance, Chloe. Your fathah would kill me if you brought that mangy thing home.”
The girl set Travis on the counter. “Thanks for the book, mister.”
“You can call me, Brody.”
Chloe smiled and lifted the book in appreciation.
Donna guided the teenager toward the door, then turned back to the big man. “I’m coming back, Brody. I think I finally found a reason be a readah.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he said.
She found his response charming and giggled on the way out the door.
Chapter 13
A couple more patrons came in during the afternoon. The first was a husband and wife visiting from North Bend, Oregon, as they made a loop through Maine. The husband, a roly-poly man with a genial smile, engaged Brody in conversation while his wife searched for a book. His forehead glistened from sweat and his t-shirt carried the logo for the U.S. Lighthouse Association.
Brody made the mistake of asking the man about the organization. He responded with a ten-minute explanation on the historical importance of lighthouses, their architectural beauty, and how he’d gotten involved with the association. Besides the tower in Pleasant Valley, Brody learned there were sixty-five more lighthouses scattered along the Maine coast, inlets, and islands, which earned it the nickname of The Lighthouse State.
The big man yawned as the husband continued to prattle. He didn’t bother to cover his mouth, hoping the out-of-state man would read his boredom and stop talking. Unfortunately, the customer continued to chatter about lighthouses and the importance of maintaining a link to their storied past.
Brody looked for the wife, hoping that she would have a question about a mystery book that he wouldn’t be able to answer. She was nowhere to be seen, though, so he was stuck listening to the blathering husband.
The lighthouse lesson was so dull, and he felt his eyes crossing. He wanted to yell at the man to shut up, to leave him alone, to walk into the ocean and become shark bait. The old Brody, Beau Smith, would have done just that. No, that’s not true. The bookkeeper for the Satan’s Dawgs would have physically removed this annoying Weeble from the store.
Except he couldn’t do that now. That was against the marshal’s rule of blending in. Therefore he had to accept his current suffering. Brody Steele was a bookstore owner, and bookstore owners had to deal with these types. This was the penance the fates forced him to pay for being a rat, for turning against his crew. Brody had been to prison, and this continued tale of lighthouses was worse than that.
The cat walked out, saw the babbling rotund man, and made a hasty U-turn back into an aisle. Even Travis didn’t want to hear the man.
Please, cat! Knock something over so I can pick it up.
But the tom was now suspiciously careful.
You traitor, Brody thought.
“So that’s what brought us to Pleasant Valley,” the husband said, wrapping up his long-winded monologue. “Now, after my wife picks a book, we’ll move along to visit the various towns up and down the coast.”
“There’s a woman from Alabama doing the same thing.”
The husband’s face brightened. “She’s touring all the lighthouses, too?”
“No,” Brody said with a dismissive snort. “She’s just traveling along the coast. She’s got a day’s head start on you though.”
The husband blinked several times, not understanding what Brody was saying.
“If you hurry, you can catch her.”
“Why would we want to do that?”
Brody shrugged. “Seems more fun than looking at stupid lighthouses.”
The husband’s jowls shook as he started to say something then stopped. Then he started and stopped again. Finally, he turned in a huff and stomped into an aisle. In a moment, he reappeared, leading his wife by the hand through the shop. She glanced at Brody with an apologetic look.
“Enjoy your lighthouse tour,” Brody said to them.
The wife rolled her eyes before following her husband dutifully out of the store.
“So, it’s true?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re claiming to be the new ownah of this here place.”
Brody crossed his arms and studied the frail, older man. It was the same gentleman who had sat next to him at the breakfast counter. He wore a short-sleeved yellow shirt, washed-out blue jeans, and gray running shoes. A faded Boston Red Sox hat sat cockeyed on his head.
“I am the new owner,” Brody said.
“No, you’re not. Alice Walkah would nevah have sold this place.”
“Says who?”
“Says me. Herbert Paxton.”
“Herbert?”
“It’s a family name, wiseacre. People call me Herb.”
“I’m Brody,” he said, sticking his hand out.
Herb eyed it with disdain. “Don’t go trying to make friends with me now, boy. I know you’re up to something.”
“I’m not up to anything.”
“Alice Walkah is a decent woman. If you swindled her out of her business, I’ll find out.”
“I didn’t swindle her out of anything.”
“How much did you pay for this place?”
“Oh, it’s my concern, boy,” Herb said. “It most definitely is my concern.”
Brody raised an eyebrow. “Was she your girlfriend?”
“No,” Herb said defensively.
The big man smiled. “Ah.”
“Don’t ‘ah’ me like you know anything.”
“I know enough to see that you liked her and are worried about her.”
“You’re darn right, I’m worried about her. You stand behind that counter like you own the place—”
“I do own the place.”
“And you ain’t told me where she is.”
“You haven’t asked.”
Herb stopped talking then and glanced around, his brow crumpled as if in thought. Finally, he said, “You know where she is?”
“No.”
“Well, why did you make me think you did?”
“I only said you didn’t ask. Did she ever say anything about seeing a foreigner?”
“What do you mean ‘see a foreignah’? This town gets tourists all year long. She was bound to see foreignahs.”
“I meant, was she dating someone from another country?”
Herb shook his head in bewilderment. “What’s your problem, boy?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Alice wasn’t seeing anyone. She was heartbroken ovah the death of her sweetheart, Gilbert Griffiths.”
“How long ago did he die?”
“I don’t know,” Herb said. “Maybe twenty years.”
“Twenty years? People can get over something in that time.”
The older man smirked. “You Navy boys are really something.”
“Why does that make you mad?”
“Because she’s a lady, and you talk about her like she’s one of those girls who likes to go out with sailors.” He bobbed his head, pleased with his verbal jabs.
Brody remained silent. Herb was clearly agitated about his insinuation that Alice was seeing someone.
“Tell me something,” Herb said, “how did a squid like you supposedly buy this business?”
“I bought it on the Internet.”
“The Internet?”
“It’s a thing they do with computers now.”
“I know what the Internet is, smart aleck. Just because you were a military man, doesn’t mean I need to take any sass from you. I was in the Army, you know?”
