Chapter Seven
At twenty minutes before five on Tuesday morning, Allen's alarm went off. It was the sound of a British police siren. He had purposely chosen it for the irritation factor; nothing else would rouse him.
“Oh my God,” Allen groaned. as he felt around for the cell phone. He pressed the button and silenced the cell. “Frankie, you ready for that sunrise?”
Allen swung his legs over the bed and went for the coffee pot. He noticed it was the last package of regular coffee. He made a mental note to ask Crystal for more.
While the coffee was dripping, he splashed his face with water, and ran his fingers through his hair. He brushed his teeth.
“Frankie, get up.”
Frankie yawned loudly and climbed to his feet.
“You want something to eat first?”
Frankie spun in a circle. That usually meant he knew what the word eat meant, and that's what he wanted to do.
Allen dumped the other half can of Alpo on Frankie's plate and tossed the can in the trash. By the time Allen had dressed, put on his flip-flops, and poured his coffee, Frankie was done eating and waiting by the door. Allen grabbed the leash, and out they went.
When the two pals arrived at the top of the seawall, the sky was just taking on an orange glow. The few clouds on the horizon were purple, red, orange, and pink, going from dark to light as they ascended upward into the sky.
“Look at that, Frankie. That's something you won't see in Herkimer.”
Frankie sat down on the concrete. He didn't seem to care about the sunrise. He was just wondering what time the birds showed up.
Allen sipped his coffee. He looked down the seawall. Seven or eight other spectators had arrived. They all held their cell phones in front of them and took pictures. Many of them turned around and took selfies with the sunrise behind them.
“No one sees anything as it happens anymore, Frankie. They all see it later while inspecting their pics for flaws. Look too fat—delete. Double chin—delete. Bags under my eyes—delete.” Allen sat down next to the dog and placed his mug on the other side of him. “Maybe I should take a selfie. One of you and me. I'll frame it and put it on the mantle at home. Would ya like that, boy. You want a picture of us on the mantle?”
“Mornin', Crane,” said Cam.
Allen looked over to see the old couple walk up next to him.
“Hey, Cam.”
“This here's my lovely bride, Mildred.”
Allen stood and held out his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mildred.”
Mildred spread her arms. “Can I get a hug, Mr. Crane?”
“Of course.”
Mildred threw her arms around Allen and gave him a big squeeze. “I love your books so much.”
Allen wondered how long he was supposed to hug. “Thanks, Mildred, that means a lot,” he wheezed, shooting a desperate look at Cam.
“For God's sake, Mother,” he said, “let the poor boy breathe.
Mildred released her grip. “I have two of your books up in my room. I'd love to have those signed, if it wouldn't be too much to ask.” She reached down and petted Frankie.
“Bring them over anytime. I'm in room eleven.”
Cam helped Mildred to her butt, and then sat down beside her. Allen took a seat with Frankie between him and Mildred.
Mildred reminded Allen of his own grandmother, but then again, she kind of reminded him of everybody's grandmother. She wore a thin, light gray granny dress and brand-new white Skechers. Over her shoulders was a tan cardigan that was much too big for her. Allen figured it was probably Cam's.
“Take some pictures, Cam,” said Mildred.
“Did you bring the camera?” Cam asked.
“I thought you had it.”
“That's what ya get for thinkin'.”
Allen took out his cell phone. “I can take a few for you and text them to you,” he offered.
“Well, thanks, Allen. That's mighty nice of ya,” said Mildred.
Allen snapped a few pics. “You want me to get a couple of you together in front of the sunrise?”
“You want a photograph with me, Mildred?” Cam asked.
“Reckon that would be nice. Help me to my feet!” she yelled.
Cam obliged, grabbing onto her outstretched hands and pulling her upright. “Got deep vein thrombosis in my leg,” Mildred volunteered. “Doctor told me I shouldn't sit for too long a spell. Get's swollen somethin' awful. Here, I'll show ya.”
She started to hike her dress.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Cam cried, “the boy don't want to see swollen leg!”
The old couple got into position with their arms around each other's waists. Cam was about a foot and a half taller than Mildred; it took some doing for Allen to frame them in the viewfinder.
“Smile,” Allen said.
Mildred smiled a smile that could light up Broadway. Cam managed a grimace.
“That turned out good.” Allen showed them the photo.
“Well, the sunrise looks nice anyway,” Mildred groused. Why can't you just smile, ya old fart, instead of puttin' on that constipated face?”
“Least I don't grin like a jackass eatin' cactus.”
Allen quickly interjected. “Do I detect a slight accent?”
“Oklahoma,” said Mildred. “Had a cattle ranch there for thirty-five years.”
“Sold the place a few years back for a pretty penny and hit the road,” Cam added. “Gettin' a little sick of the Lincoln though. Been thinkin' about buyin' one of those Winny-Baygos. That way we wouldn't have to stop every twenty miles so Mildred can stretch her legs.”
“Huh!” Mildred sniffed. “So's he can take a pee, is more like it. Old fool's got an enlarged prostate the size of Texas.”
“Hush, Mother.”
“Well, ya do.”
“Come to find out,” Cam went on, “the nomadic life suits us. It's a big, beautiful country, and we aim to see all of it. Hell, Mildred had never been outside Cimarron County in her life before we became king and queen of the road.”
“Now I've been to twenty-nine states and Canada,” said Mildred proudly.
“Never been west of Texas,” said Cam. “That's where we're headed after this—Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, California. Might even take a ride up to Washington if we're that way come summer. Mildred and I don't like the cold.”
“Then I want to head down to Key West,” said Mildred. “Always been a dream of mine to visit the Hemingway Home.”
“We'll get there, Mother,” Cam assured her.
“Met a lot of nice people along the way,” said Mildred.
“This your first time in Maine?” Allen asked.
“Nope,” said Cam. “We was through here a few years back. Stayed at a bed and breakfast up in Dunquin Cove. Nice lady and her little boy ran it.”
Cam and Mildred exchanged a secretive glance.
“It was a beautiful little town,” said Mildred. “We still send Claire and Mica postcards from the road.”
“We'll probably drive up there next week and say hey.”
“What made you not stay at the bed and breakfast this time through?” Allen asked.
“A little too much excitement in that town sometimes,” said Cam.
“What kind of excitement?”
“Oh, ya know …”
Allen didn't know, but it was obvious Cam didn't want to talk about it.
“Speaking of excitement,” said Cam. “Did you dispose of the items?”
Allen looked at Mildred. “I, uh …”
“It's okay,” Cam assured him. “You can talk in front of Mildred. I tell her everything.”
“I called the police and had them come pick up the weapons.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I didn't mention your name. I told Sergeant Rose I was alone. I didn't know if you were licensed to carry that revolver here, so I thought it better not to give him your name.”
“Thanks, and I ain't licensed to car
ry a weapon anywhere. Neither is Mildred, but we're both usually packin'.”
“Ya gotta be these days,” said Mildred, shaking her head knowingly.
“I gotta say, Cam, that was real impressive the way you tripped up that guy and jumped on top of him like that,” said Allen.
“What!” Mildred shouted. “Who jumped on who?”
Cam shook his head. “When I said I tell her everything, boy, I didn't mean everything.”
“Sorry, Cam.”
“What exactly happened?” Mildred demanded.
“We'll talk about it later, Mildred.”
One of the construction workers pulled up in his truck and got out. “Morning, folks,” he said, and began unwrapping the yellow plastic tape from the sawhorses and cones.
“There sayin' it's gonna be a beautiful day,” said Cam.
“That's what they're saying,” the worker replied.
“Well, Mildred, I need some breakfast.” Cam rubbed his nonexistent belly. “I'm starving.”
“He's playin' my tune,” said Mildred.
“I'll bring them books over later, Allen.”
“Any time,” Allen responded. “Come on, Frankie. I'm pretty hungry myself.”
Halfway across the parking lot the door to room number four opened, and out stepped Jacob's dad. His hard hat was under his arm and his orange vest was hanging over his shoulder. His wife stepped through the door after him; she was dressed in red and green flannel pajamas. He turned to kiss his wife goodbye. He continued to his pickup, a Nissan Frontier that had seen better days.
“Morning,” said Jacob's dad. “You must be Allen.”
“I gotta be. No one else wants to,” Allen replied.
Frankie ran to Jacob's door.
The two men shook hands.
“Jay Palmer.”
“Allen Crane.”
“Jacob tells me you're a famous writer.”
“Slightly famous. Working on the seawall today?”
“Not today. They've got me up in Ogunquit today pouring a footer. Probably won't be back at this site till Friday.”
“I bet it's nice having your family up here with you.”
“Yeah, those first couple of months were pretty boring.”
“I bet.”
“Well, I better be heading out. We'll have to have a beer one of these nights.”
“Sounds good, Jay. You have a good day.”
“I'll try.”
Jay walked to his truck and climbed in, and Allen continued toward the stairs. He looked over at Jacob's mom. She was squatting down, petting Frankie.
“Come on, Frankie!” Allen called out, slapping his thigh.
Frankie ran toward him. Jacob's mom gave a little wave, and Allen waved back.
“Beautiful sunrise this morning,” she said.
“It sure was,” Allen responded. He pulled open the door to the stairway, and Frankie ran up the stairs.
Allen unlocked the door, and they went inside. Frankie jumped up on the bed and made himself comfortable.
“I'm gonna take a quick shower, Frankie. Whaddaya say we walk up to Stones Throw and see if they're serving breakfast?” Allen walked into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. “Ya think Mya works breakfast, or just lunches?” he called out to the dog.
Frankie looked at the bathroom door for a second, and then returned his attention to the picture window.
“What does it matter, right?”
Frankie ignored him this time.
“Are you even listening to me? Can't open doors, can't make a drink, can't hold a conversation.”
Chapter Eight
It wasn't until after Allen and Frankie made the twenty-five minute hike to Stones Throw that they discovered it didn't open until eleven.
“Shall we walk back to the Oceanside Store and have breakfast there again?” Allen asked his dog. He didn't wait for an answer. “Come on.”
Allen ordered the same thing for breakfast that he'd ordered the day before, complete with a side of sausage for Frankie. He went inside to order this time. He got himself a cup of coffee and took it outside. He sat at the picnic table facing the water and waited for his number to be called.
There was only one other person waiting for breakfast. That man sat at the other table, facing the building. Allen thought that a bit odd. Why would anyone face a building instead of the ocean? Maybe the guy's a local, and sees the ocean every day, he thought. Maybe this is nothing new to him.
“Number thirteen!”
“Hey, that's my number too,” Allen mumbled.
“I ordered mine before he did,” the other guy complained.
Allen rolled his eyes. “You want mine?” he asked.
“What?”
“You want my breakfast, and I'll wait for yours?”
“No.”
“Oh, okay.”
“I just thought maybe they forgot about me.”
Allen walked up to the order window. “Did you forget about this guy out here?” he asked.
“No,” said the woman inside.
“It's fine, buddy,” said the guy. “I'm not worried about it.”
“Never mind,” Allen said. “My buddy says it's fine. He said it's okay for you to run your business the way you see fit.”
“That's not what I meant,” said the guy.
The woman handed Allen his Styrofoam to-go container.
“Thank you,” said Allen. “Come on, Frankie, let's go sit by the beach and eat—wait.” Allen stopped and spun around. “Were you going to sit on the beach?”
“No,” said the guy.
“Okay, because I didn't want to jump in front of you if you were first in line for sitting by the beach.”
The guy glared at Allen for a second. “You got a problem with me, buddy?”
“Good lord, no,” Allen replied. “As a matter of fact, you're one of my eight favorite people in this town.” He tugged on Frankie's leash. “Come on, boy.” Halfway across the street Allen looked down at his dog, and loud enough for the guy to hear, he said, “Remember, Frankie, always put others before yourself.”
“Asshole,” the guy grumbled.
Allen snickered to himself.
He walked Frankie down the concrete steps near the bath house and onto the sand.
“This looks like a good spot.”
Allen sat down and placed the to go container on the sand. He unhooked Frankie's leash.
“No chasing birds.”
He opened the container and pulled out one of the sausage patties.
“Here ya—”
Frankie snatched it away.
“Jesus, dog! You almost took my finger with it.”
He gave Frankie the other two sausages.
“Chew it this time.”
He set the container on his lap.
“Go find something to do.”
Allen's scrambled eggs were more like one big lump of scrambled egg. He cut it into pieces with the edge of his plastic fork.
“I should have gotten some ketchup packets.”
He shoveled some egg into his mouth and then stabbed at the home fries. He watched a woman jog toward them for a second and returned to his meal.
Frankie stood and wagged his tail in greeting as the woman neared.
Allen glanced up and recognized Mya.
“Well, if it isn't the famous supermodel dog, Frankie, and his owner, what's-his-name,” said Mya, coming to a stop in front of them. She was wearing gray yoga pants and a matching sports bra. She leaned over and put her hands on her knees, getting her breath back.
Allen's eyes went to the tops of Mya's breasts. In that position, it looked as though they were trying to escape through the top of her sports bra. He looked away quickly, but not before she noticed him looking.
“Like what you see?” she said, straitening up.
“I'm only looking at the parts you're showing,” Allen responded.
“Funny. And crude at the same time.”
“Just somethin
g we used to say in high school.”
“And how long ago was that … sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Allen. Long enough.”
“Nice to see you again, Allen Long Enough. Named after your dad, no doubt. See, I can be a smart-ass too.”
“I see that.' He smiled appreciatively.
“You just sit here and eat in front of your dog?”
“He already ate his sausage.”
Mya squatted down and rubbed the top of Frankie's head with one hand and snatched a slice of Allen's bacon with the other.
“Help yourself,” said Allen. “We walked to Stones Throw first, but you guys don't serve breakfast.”
Mya rose up and stretched her arms over her head. “You went to my place of work and now you just happen to see me running on the beach? Are you stalking me, Allen?”
“You caught me. Took me two days, but I learned your routine.”
“I guess I better switch it up.”
“You working today?”
“I go in at three. Why, are you coming by for dinner?”
“Do you want me to come by for dinner?”
Mya smiled. “Do you want me to want you to come by for dinner.”
“Actually, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“The guy that I got into it with Sunday, the one they had to take to the hospital—you ever see him before?”
“Yeah, I've seen him before.”
“You know who he is?”
“No. I mean, I know his name is Bobby, but I don't know him.”
“How about the other guy, the short bald one?”
“I've never seen him before.”
“Why were they there that day? Had they just eaten?”
“They hadn't yet. I just sat them about ten minutes before I sat you.”
“Had they ordered drinks?”
“I'm not sure. You would have to ask their server.”
“You have any idea why they would be in the bathroom together?”
“Maybe one of them wanted a quick handy.”
“Wow, you can be a smart-ass,” Allen said. “But I doubt that's why they were in there.”
“Why do you think they were in there?”
“I don't know, but when I opened the door, they were in a heated argument. Bobby Jordan had Tubb's shirt in his fist.”
Mya cocked her head. “How do you know who they are?”
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