“I met Mya at the restaurant up the street—Stones Throw. She's a hostess there, and she also waits tables at the Stage Neck Inn.”
“And volunteers at a nursing home. Sounds like a hard worker.”
“Looks that way. That reminds me, I need to ask Jacob if he can watch Frankie Thursday and Saturday night.”
“What's going on Saturday night?”
“I was invited to dinner at the home of a local police sergeant and his wife.”
“Wow, Blue Eyes, you are the definition of the term social butterfly. Maybe I should take you out with me Friday night and use you as my wing man.”
“I don't even know how that would work.”
“You've never been a wing man before?”
“Not for picking up a dude.”
“It works exactly the same as it does for picking up a woman.”
“I'm just going to take your word for that, Donnie.”
Just then a Nissan Frontier pulled into a parking space. The engine shut off and the headlights went out. Jay Palmer climbed out of the cab and slammed the door. He stretched his arms at his side and yawned loud enough for Allen and Donnie to hear.
When Jay was halfway across the parking lot, Allen said, “Late night, Jay?”
Jay searched the darkness. “That you, Allen?” he called out.
“It is.”
“How ya doin' tonight?”
“Good. Gotta drink over here for you, if you're interested.”
“Thanks, Allen, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. Maybe next time.”
Jay continued to his room and went inside.
“He was working up in Ogunquit today,” said Allen.
“I wondered why I didn't see him on the seawall today,” said Donnie.
Allen picked up his glass and downed the remainder of his wine. He stood, took one last puff on his cigar, and tossed the butt into the parking lot. Donnie shot him a side-eye.
“That's littering,” he said.
“I know. But it's just a butt.”
“No, you're just a butt. Don't you know that could be toxic to a bird?”
“Yeah, it is just about the right size for a seagull to smoke.”
“Not funny, Allen. I saw a photo of a black skimmer down in Florida feeding a cigarette to its chick, after mistaking it for food. I'm a staunch proponent of keeping the environment clean and safe. Now, you pick that up.”
Allen smirked. “Or what, you'll kick my ass?”
Donnie half-rose from the chair. “If I have to,” he said with a smile.
“Hmm, I believe you would.” Allen picked up the butt. “Well, I guess I better get inside as well. I wanted to write a few more pages before I go to bed.”
“What's the book about?” Donnie asked.
“A Jersey crime family that moves to Maine.”
“Sounds exciting.”
“I hope so.”
“Feel free to use my line about the baton twirler in a pride parade.”
Allen chuckled. “I'll see if I can work it in.” He turned and started walking away. “Come on Frankie.”
Frankie jumped up and ran to the office door.
“Make sure I get a dedication if you use it.”
“You got it, pal.”
Allen and Frankie went through the door and up the stairs. Once inside, Allen chucked the cigar butt in a trash can, then walked to the edge of the mattress and lifted it. His gun was undisturbed.
“Jacob feed you tonight, Frankie?” Allen asked. “I'm starving. Too late to get a pizza?”
Allen walked to the fridge and took out the last half of a can of dog food. He turned it upside down over Frankie's bowl. He gave it a gentle shake, and the contents plopped into the bowl.
“Bone apples tight,” Allen said.
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday dawn, Allen took a break from writing to watch the spectacular sunrise through his picture window. He'd gone to bed late and woke up early. He made himself a pot of coffee and drank both cups while writing, and then made another pot.
“Funny how you only get two cups of coffee out of a four-cup coffee pot, eh, Frankie?” he quipped, while stuffing the filter pouch into the basket.
He filled the reservoir, closed the basket, and hit the power button.
“A few more pages and we'll get breakfast,” he promised Frankie.
He returned to the table and sat back down. The sun was just sun at that point. It had risen far enough into the sky that there wasn't any more reds or oranges. The Weather Channel said it would be in the high eighties by one and sunny all day. That's when it dawned on him that he had only been on the beach once since arriving in town and hadn't even taken his swim trunks out of his bag.
“Maybe we should go for a swim later, Frankie.”
The coffee maker gurgled and belched a small cloud of steam. Allen got back up and poured his third cup of coffee.
“You gotta shit yet, dog?” Allen walked to the door and pulled it open. He breathed in deep and stepped out onto the walkway.
Frankie jumped off the bed and ran past him and headed for the stairs.
“Well, why didn't you say something?”
He left the door open and followed Frankie the through the doorway, down the stairs, and into the parking lot.
Frankie made a beeline for the grass.
Allen waited in the parking lot, not wanting to get his house shoes wet in the dewy grass.
The door to room four opened, and out walked Jay Palmer. He turned and kissed his wife on the lips.
“Love ya,” said Jay.
“Love you too,” Tess replied.
“Morning, Allen,” Jay said as he climbed into his truck.
“Morning. Gonna be a hot one today.”
“That's what they're saying. See ya later.”
The Frontier groaned and grumbled, refusing to crank. Jay and Allen exchanged a manly look of sympathy, and when the engine finally turned over, they grinned and nodded, and their thumbs shot skyward simultaneously.
As Jay drove away, Tess lingered in the doorway, clutching her robe closed with one hand and waving goodbye with the other. Jay blew her a comically dramatic kiss. Tess laughed. Observing the simple scene of domestic bliss, like so many he and his wife had shared, Allen felt an all too familiar pang of sadness.
“How's the writing going?” Tess shouted, breaking the mood.
“Great! Some of the best stuff I've written in years!” Allen shouted back. He pointed at Frankie, who was doing his business—abundantly. “That's the dog's review. Critics!”
Tess laughed and went back inside.
Morning, Allen,” Tess called out.
Allen watched as Frankie ran around the yard smelling the table legs and the Sunrise Motel sign and pissing in several spots to let the local dogs know this was now his motel.
“Come on, Frankie,” Allen said, and headed back toward the office.
“Hey, Crystal. Do you have a plastic grocery bag or something I can use to pick up Frankie's deposit? And a couple paper towels?”
Crystal was standing behind the desk opening a package of ball point pens and dropping them one at a time into a metal cup.
“I think I got something in here,” she replied, and disappeared through a door behind her. When she returned to the desk, she handed Allen a plastic grocery bag from Hannaford Supermarket and a wad of paper towels. “How's this?”
“Perfect.” Allen turned and held the bag out to Frankie. “Go clean that up, dog.”
Frankie looked from Allen to Crystal, and back to Allen.
Crystal snickered.
“Damn dog can't do a thing for himself,” Allen said. “Thanks for the bag, Crystal.”
“I'm right next door if ya need anything else,” she said.
“Yep.”
Allen tiptoed across the wet grass and picked up the pile with the towels. After dropping the bag in the garbage can, he and Frankie went back upstairs.
Allen filled his mug and retur
ned to the laptop. “Just give me about an hour, Frankie.”
Frankie jumped up on the bed and got comfortable.
Allen read through his last hundred words, collected his thoughts, and started typing.
“There's no doubt, Frankie,” he announced, fingers flying, “I'm firing on all cylinders.”
*****
A little over an hour later, Allen hit save and checked his word count. He picked up a pen, and on a notepad, beneath a column of dates and numbers, he wrote 19,342 and the date. He closed his laptop.
“I'm starving,” he said. “How about you?”
He scooted the chair back, stood, and grabbed his room key off the table.
“Yes? No? Maybe?”
Frankie lifted his head.
“Come on.”
Allen opened the door and Frankie jumped off the bed.
Standing up after dropping the key under the doormat, he looked over the railing and saw Jacob and Oliver kicking a soccer ball around the courtyard. Oliver started showing off—tilting his back and juggling the ball by bouncing it off his forehead. Allen had to admit, the little twerp was pretty good.
“Hey!” Allen hollered.
Both boys spun around and looked up.
“Wait there!” Allen said.
The two boys looked at each other. Oliver said something and Jacob shrugged.
Frankie was to the office door before Allen had even started down the stairs. He paced excitedly, wanting to get to the boys. He let out a loud yelp.
“Keep your pants on, dog,” said Allen. “I'm coming.”
Allen got to the door and tried to open it. Frankie bounced off the glass with his front paws.
“Would you calm down?” Allen growled. He nudged the dog out of the way with his knee and opened the door.
Frankie shot through the door, almost knocking Allen down. When the dog got to the boys, he leapt into the air. Jacob jumped out of the way just before Frankie collided with him.
Jacob laughed. “I wish everyone was this excited to see me,” said Jacob. He got down on his knees and scratched both sides of Frankie's head. “Who's a good boy? Frankie's a good boy.” He put his face closer to the dog and let Frankie lick his nose.
“He was just licking his own butt upstairs,” Allen informed the boy.
Oliver laughed. “Hey, Frankie,” he said, and patted the dog on his back.
“What's going on, guys?” Allen asked.
The boys looked at each other.
“Nothing,” Oliver said.
“Yeah, nothing,” Jacob agreed.
“Where ya headed?”
“Nowhere,” Oliver replied.
“Yeah, nowhere,” said Jacob.
“Okay,” Allen said. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out with Frankie tonight and Saturday night?”
“Why?” Jacob asked. “Where are you going?”
“I have a date tonight, and then I have to go somewhere Saturday night.”
“Is your date with that lady from the restaurant?” Jacob asked.
“How'd you know she worked at a restaurant?” Allen asked.
“Um, I guess you told me, or my mom did.”
“Yeah, it's her.”
“How late are you going to be?”
“I don't know.”
“Are you spending the night at her house?” Jacob said.
Oliver laughed. “Yeah, are you guys gonna do it?”
Allen snorted. “What the hell's wrong with you two?”
“My dad said he dropped me on my head a lot when I was a baby,” Oliver replied.
“I believe it,” said Allen. “Can you watch the dog, or not?”
“Yeah, I can watch him,” Jacob said.
“Not Saturday,” said Oliver. He shot Jacob a conspiratorial look.
“Oh, yeah,” Jacob remembered, “I can't watch him Saturday night.”
“Why? What are the two of you up to tomorrow night?”
“Nothing,” said Oliver. “Just hangin' out.”
“I'm spending the night at his house Friday and Saturday,” said Jacob.
“Oh, okay,” Allen said. “Maybe I'll just bring him with me.”
“What time tonight?” Jacob asked.
“She's picking me up at six.”
“She's driving?” asked Oliver.
“Yeah. Why?”
“The guy usually drives,” said Jacob.
“Is she paying for the date too?” Oliver asked.
“No,” Allen shot back. “I'm paying for the date.” He immediately wondered why he was defending himself to two twelve-year-old boys.
“It's more like she's taking you out on a date,” Oliver ribbed.
“How about if I kick both of your asses?” Allen asked.
Jacob chuckled. “Let's get out of here before he tells his girlfriend to beat us up.”
Jacob gave Frankie one last pat, and the two boys took off.
“Six o'clock!” Allen shouted.
“What's at six?” Jacob hollered back.
“My date!”
“You mean, her date!” Oliver yelled.
The two boys laughed and high-fived as they ran down Long Sands Road.
“Wise-asses,” Allen grumbled. He looked down at Frankie. “Why didn't you bite them when they were picking on me, dog? I should make you pay for breakfast.” He bent down and clipped the leash on Frankie's collar. “Come on. Let's get something to eat.”
Man and dog crossed the street, hopped the curb, and walked along the seawall. They only made it about a quarter of a mile when Sergeant Rose's cruiser crossed the center line and came to a stop against the curb, facing the wrong direction. Rose's door swung open, and he climbed out. He leaned against the front fender, folded his arms over his chest, and waited for Allen to reach him.
“Morning, Rose,” Allen said.
“Morning, Crane,” Rose replied.
“Where's your partner?”
“Who, Tucker? He's not my partner. He was just riding with me that day.”
“Someone told me he used to be a cop in Boston.”
“Yeah, for a few years, then he moved back here.”
“How long's he been back?”
“Oh, it must be going on three years, I think. Why?”
“Just wondering.”
“Who was it talking to you about Tucker, Mya Duffy?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because Tuck mentioned you and her were going to dinner, or something.”
“How would he know about that?”
Rose shrugged. “I don't know. Small town, I guess.”
“Yeah, small town.”
“You're still coming over for dinner Saturday, right?”
“Wouldn't miss it, but I'm having trouble finding a sitter for my dog.”
“Bring him along.”
“Are ya sure?”
“Yeah, that's fine. Him and Starsky can run around the backyard together while we're eating.”
“Starsky?”
“My lab.”
“Your lab's name is Starsky?”
“And I bet you can't guess my cat's name.”
“I'm going to take a wild guess, and say, Hutch.”
“You got it.”
“Cute.”
“Oh, and the reason I stopped: we finally caught up with Vinny Tubbs and Myron Spoon.”
“Did you arrest them?”
“For what?”
“Coming to my motel with guns, and trying to—I don't know, do whatever they were trying to do.”
“Did they ever actually pull their weapons on you?”
“Well, no, but they showed them to me.”
“They showed you weapons they're licensed to carry. They didn't break any laws there. Did they threaten you in any way?”
“Well, not really.”
“So then what am I supposed to arrest them for, asking you to take a ride with them?”
Allen didn't know what to say. He just stared at Rose.
“If you're lucky, maybe next time one of them will shoot me, and you can make an arrest.”
“That would be great,” Rose joked, “but not until after dinner. My wife would be pissed if you ended up dead before she got to meet you.”
“I wouldn't want her to be disappointed,” Allen said. “I'll try to stay alive for at least a few more days.”
Rose snorted as he climbed into the cruiser. “I'm gonna hold ya to that, Crane.”
“Okay, pal,” Allen said, as the car pulled away, “let's go get that breakfast.”
Chapter Fourteen
Jacob and Oliver were throwing a ball back and forth in the grass out front of the Sunrise Motel when Mya pulled in to pick up Allen. Frankie ran from boy to boy as they tossed the ball over his head, playing keep-away. He barked and snapped his teeth at the rubber ball.
Allen walked through the office door. He was dressed in blue jeans, a black, long sleeve dress shirt, and a black sport jacket. He wore black dress shoes and had shaved for the first time since arriving in York Beach. When Allen climbed into Mya's car, he rolled down the passenger side window. Mya backed out of the parking space and stopped.
“The key is under the mat,” Allen said.
“Okay,” Jacob replied.
“Try to have Allen home early,” Oliver quipped.
Jacob laughed. “Yeah, and he likes it if you cut up his meat for him.”
Allen shot the boys a look. “Let's just go,” he said.
“What was that all about?” Mya asked as they pulled away.
“Long story,” he said. Allen glanced in his side mirror to see Jacob and Oliver thrusting their hips, gyrating, and everything else a boy of twelve thought sexual intercourse looked like. He just shook his head.
“What's that one boy's name?” Mya asked. “The boy with the long blonde hair.”
“That's Jacob.”
“Is he a local boy?”
“No, why?”
“He just looks familiar to me.”
“The other boy is local—Oliver something.”
“Huh.”
“So, where are you taking me this evening?”
Mya looked stunning. She had on a long white sundress with a floral pattern of red roses and green stems. Her long brown hair was styled in a braided bun with a feather barrette accent. Around her neck was a black velvet choker. A gold pendant dangled from a four-inch gold chain attached to the choker. Allen glanced down at where a slit in the dress revealed her perfectly tanned thigh.
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