by Colin Conway
“As I’ve told several people—”
“Yeah, yeah. I heard. You were in the Navy, and you bought a bookstore. Yada yada yada.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to use yada that way.”
Columbo’s lip curled. “I’ll use it any way I see fit.”
Brody lifted his hands in mock surrender. “You’re the customer.”
“There you go being a jerk again.”
“You’re not a customer?”
“No, you rat.” Columbo’s hand went toward his pocket.
Brody was too far away from the man to make a play for the gun. If he hid in one of the aisles of books, it would only be seconds before the mobster found him. He had only one chance, and he took it.
“Shhh,” Brody said, bringing a finger to his lips.
Columbo froze, his hand stuck in his pocket, presumably around a gun.
Brody tapped his ear then made a circular signal in the air. The heavyset man didn’t understand what he was trying to communicate.
“What are—?”
Brody hushed the man again and brought his finger back to his lips. He moved slowly toward the counter and lifted the telephone receiver. He pointed at the earpiece, then made the circular motion again.
Columbo understood then. He jerked his head a couple of times toward the rear of the store, indicating he wanted Brody to go out to the alley.
The big man shook his head then slowly hung up the phone.
They stared at each other in awkward silence for a moment until Brody said, “You’re Frankie Columbo, right?”
The mobster’s eyes lit up with anger.
“I met your wife a couple of days ago when she brought your daughter in for a book. You own the little Italian restaurant, right?”
Columbo removed his hand from his pocket.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “And I’ve seen you around with that girl from the grocery store. The pretty one. She looks... fragile.”
Brody’s face flattened. Now, they had both scored a point.
“I came by looking for an associate of mine,” Columbo said. “Perhaps you’ve seen him?”
“Who is that?”
Columbo smirked. “Seriously?”
Brody shrugged and shook his head at the same time, feigning ignorance.
“He’s a very stocky man, likes the weights.”
“Oh, him. Yeah, he was here a couple of days ago.”
“He didn’t come by last night?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I sent him for a book, and he never came home.”
“And you thought he would still be here? He’s that slow of a reader?”
Columbo’s nose crinkled. “I had to start looking for him somewhere.”
“The store closes at five,” Brody said. “If your friend came by after that, the cat may have eaten him.”
“The cat?”
“Like I said, he’s a menace.”
“You did say that.”
Something fell in the back of the store.
“The cat?” Columbo asked.
“See for yourself. Just keep your fingers curled in. He’s likely to nip one of them and drop you into Lake Massabesic.”
“What’s that?” Columbo asked.
“The lake, it’s across the border into New Hampshire.”
“I know where it’s at, meathead, but no cat is gonna do that—nip off a finger. Even one that’s a menace.”
“If you say so, but I’m not going to test him.”
The heavyset man rolled his eyes, which caused Brody to smile. The mobster then glanced around the store. “This shop. It seems like it fits the talents of a bookkeeper.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what you did before you came to town, right? You were a bookkeeper.”
Brody stared at him, refusing to answer.
Columbo waved his hand around. “You keep care of books. You’re a bookkeeper.”
He didn’t believe the smile on the mobster’s face. It was thin and practiced and hid something cruel behind it. Up until recently, Brody had lived in a world full of those smiles.
The heavyset man absently picked at something in his teeth. “If you see my associate, make sure you send him home. Safe.”
Columbo headed toward the door. He turned around and said, “If he’s not safe...” He patted the gun in his pocket. “You get my point.”
Brody definitely understood the man’s point.
The bell brightly chimed as Columbo left the store.
Chapter 29
Shortly before noon, Constable Emery Farnsworth arrived outside The Red Herring. He climbed off his bike and put the kickstand down, leaving the bicycle outside the large store window. He removed his bike helmet and hung it from the handlebars. Next, he ran his fingers several times through his short hair. He then rolled his shoulders, inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled. When he turned to look inside the store, he noticed Brody watching him. He tapped the window several times and pointed at the big man.
Brody pointed to himself and said, “Me?” to the nearly empty store. Only the cat was inside, and he was currently curled up asleep on a shelf that was labeled Discounted Titles.
The bell sounded when Farnsworth walked in. He immediately reached up and grabbed the brass chime, stopping it from making any further sound.
“That will throw off my customer count,” Brody said.
“What?”
“Two bells for entry. Two bells for an exit. Now the whole system will be thrown off.”
The officer blinked several times as he tried to understand what Brody was saying.
The big man decided it was probably best not to mess with Emery for too long today. He let him off the hook by asking, “What can I do for you, Constable?”
“Where were you last night?” His demeanor had taken on a level of officiousness that their previous interactions had lacked.
“I was here.”
“In the bookstore?” Emery asked.
“In my apartment.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear?”
“The rumor around town is that you had dinnah with Daphne. At her place.”
“Sure, I had dinner with her, but then I came home and spent the night reading.”
“What are you reading?”
He held up The Deep Blue Good-by.
Emery smirked. “That’s why she likes you, isn’t it?”
“Because I read?”
“No,” he said defensively and turned to scan the bookstore. His gaze paused on the slightly crooked display of Carrie Fenton’s books. “What happened there?”
“What happened, where?”
“There,” Emery said, pointing at the leaning cardboard display. “It’s bent and taped up.”
“I tripped over the cat and fell onto it.”
The officer’s eyes took in the rest of the lobby area. “Something else is different,” he said, his foot tapping on the hardwood of the floor.
“I also moved some books around,” Brody said. “I’m trying to make the place more my own.
“That must be it.” Emery’s attention returned to him. “So last night you were in your apartment? Nobody can vouch for your whereabouts then?”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“A body drifted ashore this morning up in York Harbah.”
“A body?”
“That’s right. The man was identified as James De Luca. The same man you fought with outside this store.”
“You think I did it?”
“Word is that you’re a formah Navy SEAL. That means you definitely could have done it.”
“I didn’t, though,” Brody lied.
Besides, had he been a Navy SEAL, he probably would have understood the tides better. He had driven thirty minutes north to the town of Ogunquit, where he tossed Jimmy the Pump into the ocean. Brody had naively hoped a shark would eat him. He was
originally from Kansas City and later migrated to Phoenix. He’d never so much as put a foot on an ocean beach until he arrived in Maine. How was he supposed to know how the tides actually worked?
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side. The sharks hadn’t eaten the weightlifter after the current pulled his body out to sea. In fact, James De Luca’s body was returned to land only ten minutes from Pleasant Valley. It seemed not even the Atlantic Ocean could stand dealing with Jimmy the Pump.
At least Brody had been smart enough to drive inland to Sanford to dispose of the rug. He threw it into an open dumpster behind a grocery store. On his way back home, he tossed the knitting needles and the skein of yarn into a trash can belonging to a random North Berwick homeowner.
As he drove along State Route 4, he threw Jimmy the Pump’s wallet into some random trees. He thought about keeping the $87 the weightlifter had in his wallet, but Brody thought that would feel wrong. In his old life, he would not have hesitated to claim the money. However, he was trying to be a better person. He hadn’t killed the man for profit or club loyalty. He had taken De Luca’s life to protect his own. Stealing the money would somehow cheapen that.
That didn’t stop him from knowing that he needed to get rid of the body though. He couldn’t go to Emery Farnsworth and say that he killed Jimmy the Pump in self-defense. If he did that, everyone would soon learn that he was in the Witness Protection Program.
“I don’t know of anyone else he had problems with,” Emery said.
“You’re only looking at me because of Daphne.”
“That’s not true. I’m looking at you because it’s my job.”
“Then you’re saying I should spend the night with Daphne next time, so I have an alibi?”
Emery’s face reddened. “That’s definitely not what I’m saying to do.”
“I don’t know. It sounds exactly like what you’re telling me to do.”
The constable struggled to contain his emotions. Finally, he pointed two fingers toward his own eyes then pointed them toward Brody. “I’m watching you.”
Brody nodded. “I’ve officially been put on notice.”
“You bet you have.” Emery stalked toward the front door, yanking it open. The brass bell swung wildly. “You have most definitely been put on notice. I only have one person on my watchlist, and that, my friend, is you.”
“Hey, Emery.”
“What?” he barked.
“Since you just said I’m a Navy SEAL, should you be talking to me that way?”
He blanched. “I didn’t mean to say—”
“Have a nice day, Constable.”
Emery stared at the big man. Finally he mumbled, “Thank you for your service,” and hurried out to his bicycle.
Chapter 30
“The Talented Mr. Ripley,” Chloe Columbo said.
Brody stood at the end of the aisles. He wasn’t sure if the book was a mystery, a cozy, a thriller, a true crime, or a classic. Those were the handwritten descriptions that someone, presumably Alice Walker, had labeled each aisle.
“Who wrote the book?”
The teenager eyed Brody. “Really?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You own a mystery bookstore. That’s something you should know.”
“I don’t have to know everything,” the big man said.
“You didn’t know what a protagonist was.”
“Why are you busting my chops, kid?”
Chloe moved toward the aisle labeled Classics. “It was written by Patricia Highsmith.”
“Highsmith,” Brody repeated. “Got it. Hey, that was nice of you to recommend some books for the old man.”
“What?”
“The waiter from the restaurant? He came in and bought three books by Raymond Chandler. I thought you recommended them.”
“Not me. I’ve never read Chandler. Besides, he can barely speak English. I didn’t think he read it.”
“Oh.”
“And I’m sorry if I’m busting your chops. I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“Me? Why?”
Chloe ran a finger along the spines of some nearby books. “Because you were nice to me. I get why most guys are nice to her.”
“Her being your stepmother?”
“It’s obvious why guys like her.”
“A little too obvious.”
The teenager smiled at that as she continued her hunt for the book. “It’s not in this aisle,” she said. “Probably mystery.”
He followed her into the nearby aisle.
“But you were nice to me and sort of ignored her.”
“Can’t people be nice to you for the sake of being nice?”
As her finger trailed along with the books, she stopped. There was a hole where some books should have been. “If it was going to be in this aisle,” the teenager said, tapping the shelf, “this is where it should have been.”
Brody bent down and grabbed a stack of books the cat had knocked over earlier. He had placed them on a lower shelf without consideration to their proper place. He lifted them and quickly read the titles. The third book was Highsmith’s novel. He handed it to Chloe.
“Most men aren’t nice,” the girl said.
“Some men are.”
“Those men are looking for something.”
“What are they looking for?”
She tilted her head and batted her eyes.
“Besides that,” Brody said.
“If they don’t want that, they want something from my father.”
“You know about your dad?”
“He’s my father. And, yeah, I know about him. He’s more interested in being a big shot in the outfit than being with me.”
“I’m sorry, Chloe.”
“Don’t be,” she said and flipped through the book in her hands. “I stopped worrying about him when I was ten. Now the only thing I care about is not ending up like him.”
“You won’t be anything like him.”
She nodded with her eyes still on the book. “I know. In a couple years, I’m leaving. I’m going to get away.”
“What are you going to do?”
Chloe looked around to make sure no one was listening. “You were in the Navy, right? That’s what I’m going to do, too. I’m going to sign up and go far away. I’m never coming back. He won’t ever be able to get at me if I’m on a ship.”
He watched her for a moment before asking, “Has he hit you, Chloe?”
“I should go.”
Brody stepped aside so she could move toward the counter.
“Chloe, has he hurt you?”
She turned to stare at him. “It’s not like that, but if I tell you, it’ll sound stupid.”
He softly smiled. “It won’t sound stupid, I promise. I never met my dad, and my mom was an addict. She hated me and took every chance she had to tell me so.”
“At least she talked to you.”
Brody’s smiled faded.
“My father ignores me. He’s never told me he loves me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m here because a judge mandated it. I tried to stop seeing my father, but he pressured my mom. He doesn’t even pay child support. Not that he has to. No, he forced her to agree that she gets nothing. He’s a horrible man.”
Travis ambled out then and rubbed against Chloe’s leg. Tears welled in her eyes.
“I can’t wait for the day when I walk out of his life and never look back.”
Brody slowly put an arm around the girl. She leaned into him and cried. For several moments, they remained silent.
“It’s okay,” he finally said. “You can hang out here as long as you want.”
Chloe moved away from him and wiped her eyes with a balled fist. “I wish I could, but we’re leaving once I get done here.”
“Leaving?”
“We’re going back to Boston, which is cool. At least, I’ll be home with my mom.”
“Everything will be okay then?”
“As okay as it can be.” She handed him the book.
“No,” he said. “That’s yours. A gift from Travis and me.”
She clutched the book to her chest, and the tears started again.
Brody gave her a quick hug then leaned back to see her better. “This is your last chance to take the cat with you,” he said. “You could always leave him with your father.”
“My father would hate him.”
“Which is why you should take him.”
Chloe laughed.
Chapter 31
A roar pierced the quiet of the store. It was a raspy growl that Brody knew intimately.
He dropped the books he’d picked up from another of the cat’s messes and ran toward the front window.
It was a beautiful two-seater chopper. The custom ride was initially built in the 1970s by one of the founding members of the Satan’s Dawgs. A few years ago, it had been rebuilt to restore it to its original glory. A soft-tail frame with ape-hanger bars, it featured a Sportster tank painted black and adorned with an angry, barking dog with devil horns sprouting from its head.
The bike had been his when he was the bookkeeper for the club. Now, Suicide Mike Eslick rode it as if the beauty belonged to him. Mike was designated the club’s dogcatcher. He was the man given the unenviable task of watching the club’s members for any acts of disloyalty or treason, and for some reason, the man relished it. The cops had Internal Affairs. The Satan’s Dawgs had their dogcatcher.
As the chopper stopped at the intersection near his store, Brody felt hate welling up inside him. Not only was Suicide Mike a big reason he was able to be turned by the FBI, but the man was also now riding his bike. He looked at his hands. They weren’t shaking like before when the corporate puke drove through on his shiny Fat Boy.
No, hate was a feeling that Brody knew well, and it warmed him like a blanket on a cold morning.
Suicide Mike was an ugly man, earning his moniker from ramming his first motorcycle into the side of a Honda Civic while running from the cops. When asked why he did it, Mike told the police he’d rather be dead than in handcuffs. The legend stuck, and his moniker was born.
Eslick didn’t wear a helmet, choosing only a pair of leather aviator goggles. His long, dirty hair and scraggly beard jarred with the peaceful nature of the community. Onderdonk was right for making Brody cut his off. The biker stuck out like a teenager’s first zit.
