by Colin Conway
Brody bowed apologetically.
Herbert studied him then. His voice softened, and he asked, “You really don’t know where she is?”
“No, but I can ask the company that sold me the business if they know.”
Herb nodded absently. “That would be good.”
“So you and Alice were never boyfriend and girlfriend...”
The older man’s eyes narrowed. “What is with you, boy?”
“I’m just trying to understand.”
“She was a nice woman. You best remember that.”
With that, Herb turned around and surveyed the bookstore for a moment. His shoulders dropped then, and his head slowly lowered before he shuffled toward the door.
Chapter 14
The elderly waiter seated them near the windows. “Here,” he said and pulled out a chair for Daphne Winterbourne. When she began to sit, he pushed the chair underneath her.
Brody Steele sat with a view of the restaurant. Il Cuoco Irato was full that night. There must have been thirty people there. He hadn’t seen any of these people in town the previous few days except for the three in the back corner. Those three he knew by name now—Frankie Columbo, his wife, Donna, and his daughter, Chloe.
The waiter handed Brody a menu and then gave one to Daphne. “Be back,” he said in his clipped English and moved toward another table.
Daphne’s eyes moved about the restaurant taking it all in. “This is so adorable. I can’t believe we have a place this lovely in Pleasant Valley.”
“Yeah,” Brody said, his attention stuck on the corner booth.
“Have you ever been to Italy?”
“Hmm?”
“Italy?” Daphne said and pointed to the far wall where a mural of the country’s map had been painted. “Ever been?”
“No,” Brody said. “I haven’t been outside of the United States unless you count Tijuana.”
Daphne studied him. “But I thought you were... everyone is saying that you were in the Navy.”
Brody considered telling Daphne that the Navy had been a convenient lie, but he realized if he admitted to one truth, many more would have to follow. His whole story would unravel then. He’d lied plenty in his life, but he wished his new start in Pleasant Valley would allow him to be a different man and to have different relationships with people.
“You can’t tell me, can you?” Daphne said, her voice low and conspiratorial.
“Excuse me?”
“You did something for the Navy that precludes you from telling me where you were. That’s what it is.” She tapped her lips as she thought. “What could it be?”
Brody grabbed his menu and opened it.
“The bookstore,” she muttered.
His eyes lifted to hers.
“That’s a clue, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“You’re smart. Smart guys in the military go into intelligence, right? You were military intelligence.” Daphne studied him carefully and now tapped a fingernail against her teeth. “You were a naval spy, weren’t you?”
Brody fought back a smile, but Daphne noticed it.
“Oh, my God! I knew it,” she whispered. “You’re like James Bond. He was a Commander in the Royal Navy. Did you know that?” He was about to protest, but she said, “Of course, you knew that. You own a mystery bookstore, duh? Sorry, I’m nervous.”
“It’s okay.”
“Wait,” she said, her brow creasing. “He was a spy after he got out of the navy, not while he was in. Isn’t that right?”
Brody had no idea what she was talking about, having never read a Bond novel nor having watched one of the movies, but he responded as he thought she would want. “Sounds about right.”
“I can’t believe I guessed it. Well, you don’t have to tell me anything more. I understand the duty of confidentiality binds you. That’s what they make you swear to, right? Or do you have to sign?”
“Something like that.”
Daphne smiled, then grabbed her menu. She opened her mouth in silent delight as she read each entry. Several times Daphne muttered, “Oh my,” as her eyes danced over the possibilities. When she finished, she flipped it closed with satisfaction.
“Know what you’re getting?” Brody asked.
“No,” she said and started laughing. “There’s so much to choose from. I can’t decide.”
“Why don’t you pick one, it doesn’t matter which, and I’ll bring you back again so you can choose another. I’ll keep bringing you back until you’ve had the entire menu.”
“That sounds like a sneaky way to keep getting more dates.”
“If you know about it beforehand, then it’s not sneaky, is it?”
Daphne beamed. “Well then, I’m going to have a number three.”
“What’s a number three?”
“I have no idea,” she said and giggled. “We’ll find out.”
The waiter walked up then. “Ready?” he asked.
After they finished their orders, he dutifully tucked their menus into the condiment holder and hurried back into the kitchen.
Brody noticed the teenager, Chloe, staring at him. When they made eye contact, she smiled. He nodded in return.
“Have you had any luck with the attorney?” Daphne asked.
“The attorney?”
“You were going to call the attorney and ask where Alice was living now.”
“That’s right,” Brody said. “I’m sorry, I haven’t done that yet. I will in the morning.”
She tried to hide it, but her disappointment was palpable.
“I’ll call him. I promise. I got sidetracked.”
“I understand. You’re still getting acquainted with the town, learning the ins and outs of the bookstore, meeting all sorts of new people. It must be overwhelming.”
It wasn’t said with sarcasm and snark. Daphne actually gave him the benefit of the doubt.
“Overwhelming, yes.”
“And exciting?” she asked, her face brightening.
“Exciting?”
“I think owning a bookstore must be the most wonderful thing in the universe. To be surrounded by all those stories every day. It would be like... heaven.”
Brody’s eyes caught movement at the front door. The weightlifter he’d had the earlier confrontation with at his store walked in and proceeded directly toward the corner booth. He paused as he passed their table and eyed Brody, his lip curling in disgust, then he continued to Frankie Columbo’s table.
“You know that guy?” Daphne asked.
“He came into my store.”
“What kind of books does a guy like that read?”
“Children’s books.”
Daphne snorted then covered her face with a hand.
Brody smiled at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Why?”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“You laughed. It’s okay.”
She shook her head.
“Hey,” Brody said, “can I ask you a question about Constable Farnsworth?”
“Oh, no. Emery. What did he do?”
“What’s the deal with him? He said you two were once...”
Daphne lowered her eyes for a moment. “Have you ever made a mistake that you wish you could take back?”
Brody nodded. He had made a lifetime of bad choices that he wished he could take back. Sitting across from this woman, in this town, made him especially regretful of past decisions.
“Emery is that mistake for me.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“Beyond the constable thing?”
“Speaking of which, how did that begin?”
“We started watching some BBC mysteries, and he loved hearing how everyone called the local policeman a constable. He soon began telling people that he was one.”
“How did the chief of police take it?”
“There are only two people in the police department—”
“I heard that.”
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“So calling himself constable wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s sort of hard to find good help around here.”
“Okay, so how did you two start? He doesn’t seem to be in your league.”
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away. “That’s funny. Everyone was telling me that I was lucky to go out with Emery. That he was kind and sweet. That he’s handsome.”
“He’s not that handsome,” Brody quickly interjected.
“I found him to be completely boring.”
“I can see that.”
“He always wanted to go bike riding. Sometimes for hours on end. Ugh. No, thanks.”
Brody was leaned in and concentrating on Daphne, so he missed her approaching.
“Excuse me.”
The teenager stood next to him. She still wore black jeans and her black Vans, but she now wore a turquoise blouse that softened her overall appearance. Her thick black mascara had been removed as well.
“Hi, Chloe.” Brody turned to his date. “Daphne, this is Chloe.”
The two women shook hands.
“Chloe came by my store today.”
“I wanted to say thanks for the book. I’m about halfway through it.”
Brody’s face registered his surprise. “Already?”
Chloe shrugged. “It’s an easy book.”
“Not for me,” Brody said.
The teenager chuckled.
“What book are you reading?” Daphne asked.
“Pretty Little Liars. It’s by Sara Shepard.”
“Oh, I’ve read it,” Daphne said. “Don’t you love it?”
“So far, it’s great.”
As the two women spoke, Brody’s attention drifted to the back booth. The weightlifter was whispering into the ear of Frankie Columbo, whose eyes remained on Brody. For a moment, he held onto Columbo’s gaze, not breaking away. When he finally did, he caught Donna Columbo staring intently at him. When they made eye contact, she winked slowly, then licked her upper lip.
Brody looked back to the women at his table. Daphne held Chloe’s hand. “You should read it next,” Daphne said. “You’ll love it.”
To Brody, Chloe asked, “Do you have it?”
“Have what?”
“The Talented Mr. Ripley,” the teenager said.
“Ripley?”
Daphne laughed and touched his hand. “Oh, he has it. I’ve seen it there many times. Trust me. You’ll love it.”
“I better get back,” Chloe said. “I just wanted to say hi and thanks. It was nice to meet you, Daphne.”
As they watched the teenager return to her table, Daphne said, “She seems like a sweet girl.”
“Travis seemed to like her.”
The weightlifter climbed out of the booth, allowing Chloe to get in and slide over to her father. Frankie didn’t even acknowledge his daughter as she moved closer. The teenager sat dutifully next to him, though, her look calm and disinterested.
As the weightlifter walked by on his way out of the restaurant, he averted his gaze even though Brody tried to make eye contact. The man wasn’t paying attention and bumped into the old waiter, knocking a tray of dirty dishes from his hands to the floor, the noise resonating through the small restaurant.
The waiter’s face flushed, he threw his hands in the air and spoke in hurried Italian. The weightlifter dismissively waved off the older man then glared at Brody for a moment. He then hurried out of the restaurant.
“What was that about?” Daphne asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he was late for a pump.”
After dinner, Brody walked Daphne home. She lived nearby in the 500 block of Red Street. As they strolled, she continued to talk about dinner.
“That risotto was heavenly, wasn’t it?”
“I only had one bite.” She’d let him have a taste of her rice dish.
“But don’t you think it was to die for?”
Brody shook his head. “No food is worth dying for.”
She fell silent for a moment then said, “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
He grunted a non-committal response. They had already talked for almost three hours. That was the most talking he’d done ever. In his life. He must like this girl if he was willing to engage in conversation for that long, but even that had its limits.
“Unless you’re starving,” Daphne said.
“Huh?”
“Food is worth dying for if you’re starving. You’d fight for it if you were hungry, wouldn’t you?”
Brody didn’t answer as words now escaped him. Even though it was almost ten o’clock, he wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite. He had enjoyed the evening with the beautiful Daphne Winterbourne, but he just wasn’t a man built for long conversations. It was time to end the night.
“Here’s my house,” she announced.
They stood under a streetlight, so he had trouble making out the color of the house. However, he could see the white picket fence and the brightly colored flowers that peaked through the slats.
“I had a lovely time,” Daphne said.
“Me too.”
“I hope we can do it again.”
“We will.”
She stood on her tiptoes, and he bent down, closing his eyes. He opened them after she kissed him on the side of the cheek.
He watched as she ran up the sidewalk to her house. When she disappeared inside, he thought to himself that Daphne was nothing like the girls who used to hang out with the motorcycle club. With those girls, he would have skipped the dinner date and taken them straight to bed.
However, tonight felt more fulfilling even if he was mentally spent from all the talking.
When the front porch light clicked off, he headed home.
Chapter 15
The air was humid, and the moon was almost full. A horn from a boat signaled in the distance.
Thoughts of his date were still in his head when Brody thought he heard the shuffling of feet. He spun around, but no one was there. He remained still for a moment, listening.
I’m hearing things, he thought.
He soon dismissed his concerns and continued home. As he walked, he listened for small noises, but he didn’t pick them out any further. Instead, he heard a boat horn again. This time it sounded like it came from elsewhere in the ocean.
Nearing the bookstore, he knew he wasn’t yet ready for bed, so he kept walking and headed toward the shore. The more he walked, the better he felt. He’d gotten over the earlier suspicion that someone was following him, and now his thoughts floated back to Daphne, the town, and his new life.
By being sent to this community, he had an opportunity to reinvent himself, to become a better man. He hadn’t initially intended to have those thoughts, but they sort of snuck up on him. Brody wasn’t going to ignore them, though. He was going to embrace them and see where they led.
The lighthouse stood proudly on the edge of the beach, illuminating the shore. Brody noticed a dark form on the water and squinted. It appeared to be a small boat that was motoring slowly away from the Pleasant Valley beach.
Across the channel were New Hampshire and another lighthouse. Was the boat heading in that direction?
When the boat disappeared into the darkness, Brody watched the lighthouse in the distance. Its light rotated gently in circles until it suddenly stopped and focused on one area of the channel. Was the lighthouse guiding the little boat safely to the harbor?
If so, what was it carrying?
And why couldn’t they just drive it up Interstate 95?
Sneaking anything across the channel didn’t make sense.
A horn sounded in the far distance.
Brody turned to leave the beach, and a shadowy figure sprinted up Main Street.
Someone had been watching him.
He instinctively crouched, his senses now on high alert. As he began the trek back to his apartment, every corner presented a new danger, and every storefront was an opportunity for someone to lunge out. Brody wished he had a gun or, at
least, a knife. Even as Brody Steele, he wasn’t allowed to own a firearm. U.S. Marshal’s rules. But a knife, that he could own.
Earlier, he perspired due to the night’s humidity. Now, he was sweating profusely due to intense concentration. Each time he moved, he remained in a crouch, moving purposively from door to door, his eyes scanning the quiet streets. When he made it to his block, he strode into the alley and stopped.
Walking up the steps to his apartment was a fatal funnel. If someone was atop them, they could shoot down, and he’d have nowhere to go. Or the reverse was true as well, if he was ascending them, they could attack him from the bottom of the stairs, and he’d have nowhere to flee.
Brody wasn’t going to allow himself to be scared though. Caution was one thing; scared was out of the question. Sensing that the area was clear, he hurried to the steps, took them two at a time until he was in front of his apartment door. It only took him seconds to step inside.
When he relocked the door, he finally relaxed. A nagging thought finally made its way to the forefront of his mind.
What was really going on in Pleasant Valley?
Chapter 16
It was a fitful night of rest. For a long time, he felt on the verge of sleep, his mind drifting from thoughts of the Satan’s Dawgs to Daphne Winterbourne to Frankie Columbo and back again.
He wasn’t apprehensive about Columbo. It was something else. It was the understanding that the man didn’t belong in Pleasant Valley any more than he did. Brody knew his purpose for being in this idyllic town but didn’t understand why Columbo chose to be there.
What did Pleasant Valley provide him?
It was apparent why he thought about Daphne. She was pretty and smart, the type of woman who would never have paid attention to Beau Smith, bookkeeper for the Satan’s Dawgs. Throughout the night, he wondered how she would react to the news that he had been a member of an outlaw motorcycle club, that he had been one of their leaders, that he had killed men who had crossed them.
Then he thought about the Phoenix-based club. They were part of a tight-knit, but loosely affiliated network of motorcycle clubs across the nation. Word spread through them like wildfire when it concerned rats. He wouldn’t be able to safely go anywhere in the country where there were motorcycle clubs. His life would forever be spent looking over his shoulder.
