“No…no…you have everything now,” said Harry.
“Thank you, Mr. Thornton. You have been a splendid help to us. Our employer will be most pleased,” said Mr. Cain enthusiastically.
“You’re welcome,” said Harry with a small smile, placing his hands on the briefcase in front of him, “and thank you.”
“Oh, it’s been our pleasure,” said Mr. Cain, turning around with a pistol in hand with a long silencer barrel. He turned the gun towards Harry’s chest just as Harry looked up. The look on Harry’s face turned to shock as Mr. Cain fired two shots at close range into the center of Harry’s chest. The shots knocked Harry in his chair back against the wall behind him. His head was still up as he gasped for breath. Mr. Skye reached quickly into his jacket and pulled out the gun that he had originally trained on Harry, and put one more bullet into Harry’s forehead, finishing him. Harry slumped forward onto his precious briefcase in front of him.
Mr. Skye gave a sharp look to Mr. Cain.
“You don’t always get to have all the fun,” said Cain. Mr. Skye frowned and put his weapon away. Cain entered the code Harry had given him into his phone, and it began tracking, pinpointing a location in Arlo.
“Well, for the time being, it looks like the fun will have to wait,” said Cain. “It’s time to go to Arlo. We will leave things here as they are. It will be a day or two before anything should be found.”
“What about the money?” asked Mr. Skye.
“I was told we were to leave it. It’s what he was to receive, even though it cost him far more than it was worth. I still don't know whether he is the lucky one who got out easy when all is said and done. Right now, our focus is the girl and that is all.”
Miranda pulled up to the bookstore around 7 a.m. that morning. She parked on the curb and looked at the sign on the door that told her the store would not be open until 8 a.m. There was, however, a small bakery right across the street from the bookstore, so she decided she would go and see if she could get a half-decent cup of coffee and maybe, if fate was on her side that morning, a delicious blueberry muffin.
The bakery was small, and she was not surprised to see a police officer, a county sheriff’s deputy to be precise, sitting at the counter next to a man in blue overalls who looked remarkably like Dean back in Galestone, although a little shorter, she thought. A grey-haired woman that looked too young to have grey hair was the only person working behind the counter.
“What can I get you dear?” asked the woman.
“Do you have blueberry muffins?” asked Miranda, sporting the perkiest smile she could muster that morning.
“Yes we certainly do, and they’re the best in town! Isn’t that right, Ernie?” she said, speaking to the officer across the way.
“Damn straight, Caroline,” replied the officer, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper. The woman grabbed a fresh muffin from the glass case at the end of the counter and brought it to Miranda. “Anything else I can get you?”
“Just a black coffee if it isn’t too much trouble,” said Miranda.
She poured Miranda a cup of fresh brewed coffee and returned to her work behind the counter. The muffin was probably the best blueberry muffin that Miranda had ever tasted. And the coffee was, although not that wonderful roasted blend of paradise that she knew back home, a pretty decent cup of coffee, which was all that she had hoped for.
Arlo was larger than she imagined it would be. It was at least twice as large as Native Springs. There were two fast food restaurants that she passed on her way into town, and she was sure that she had seen a sign that told her a Wal-Mart was less than a half-mile away. This part of the town was considered more the “old town” district, once the main street through town, now a quieter and more down to earth remnant of the town in its early days. This part of town reminded her of what Native Springs once had been, while the rest of the town was what she feared her home town would eventually become if those who owned the greatest percentage of property in Native Springs have their way.
“Damn greedy bastards!” the man in the overalls blurted out. “There’s not gonna be any kind of hockey season at all this year if those assholes don’t stop carrying on about their $20 million salaries! Doesn’t anyone remember what the game is about? Why they love to play to begin with?”
“You got that right,” said Caroline, pulling a tray of freshly baked loaves of 8-grain bread out of the huge oven, and placing each loaf on a metal cooling rack. “It’s like that in almost all those sports now. It’s no good for ‘em anyway. Look what all that money did to Tiger Woods!”
“Screw Tiger Woods! That’s not even a real sport, golf! Now hockey – that’s a man’s game. Racing across the ice…firing the puck at the opposing goalie…I would give my left nut to play on one of those teams, for even one game. And they wouldn’t even have to pay me! It’s all about the love of the game. The glory. That is what it should be about!” said the man in overalls.
“I thought you already gave your left nut to Ernie here to not haul your ass off to the county lockup last week when you ran your pickup off the road leaving Bob’s Saloon?” said Caroline. The man only grunted and went back to his newspaper, while Ernie sipped his coffee and pretended like he hadn’t heard a thing.
Miranda had one-and-a-half more cups of coffee before she finally noticed a car pull off into the alley behind the bookstore. She watched for a few more minutes until she could see a woman unlock the front door of the store and turn the sign on the door from “Sorry, We’re Closed” to “Welcome! We’re OPEN!” She laid $15 on the counter, covering the cost of the muffin and coffee with a few extra dollars for a tip, and walked out the front door of the bakery.
As she crossed the street, Miranda noticed the silver sedan parked just up the block about a hundred feet away. There were not many other cars parked on the streets of old town Arlo at that time of the morning. She could make out that there were two figures sitting in the car, but she had no reason to feel concern, giving it little thought with everything else that she already had on her mind.
Miranda walked up to her own reflection in the glass front door of the bookstore, and paused with her eyes upon the face in front of her. She had never given much thought to her reflection before, not being a vain person in the least. Now it seemed that even though she was very comfortable in her own skin, the reflection before her held a sort of mystery that she had never had cause to notice before. For a moment she recalled the curls of black hair hanging down from Suzanne's head that she had seen in the videotape. She wondered what else there might be within her that she will find in the search for her birth family?
All she could see from outside the door were rows and rows of books, many looked like new releases on one wall, and there were several other shelves that looked like they held many used volumes, mostly paperback, and some older hard-covered books with tattered jacket liners. She pulled the door open, which caused a little bell at the top of the door to jingle as she walked into the store. The store smelled like a combination of old paper and newer carpeting, mixed with a scent that probably came from a vanilla scented air freshener. There is not much that can stifle the odor of old paperbacks, but the vanilla did try and temper the musty aroma.
The woman who had opened up the store that morning was standing behind the counter, looking down at something behind the counter, most likely counting her cash register's start-up money for the day. She had long blond hair that was pulled back into a thick ponytail, and was wearing eyeglasses on her face that seemed to sit closer to the end of her nose as she counted the dollars down below, and sorted them into the proper slots in the cash drawer. She dressed very conservatively, wearing a blue full-length dress with white accenting on the sleeves and around the waist.
“I’ll be right with you in just a second,” said the woman, her voice soft and friendly, still not looking up as Miranda slowly stepped forward. Miranda reached into her jacket pocket and held the drawing from the Gale house in her hand. S
he felt a wave of nervous energy rush over her again, which made her feel slightly awkward, but she moved closer to the counter and the woman finally finished with the money and placed the drawer in the register, and tightly pushed the register closed. She looked up at Miranda, face to face, with only a few feet between them.
“Now, what can I help you with this morning?” asked the woman with a smile. Miranda just stood looking into her eyes for a moment, trying to make out flashes of memory rattling around inside her brain. The woman just looked back at Miranda, without much response, waiting for Miranda to tell her what she was looking for in her store on that bright and sunny October day.
Miranda found herself momentarily without words. She placed her hand with the drawing on the counter, and the woman glanced down at it as it was placed in front of her. The woman took it in her hand and looked at it for a moment with a hint of confusion on her face, which Miranda could then tell had turned to another feeling entirely, as she could see the woman sink down as if her legs had failed her for a brief moment. She put her free hand on the counter to steady herself, as Miranda looked on at her reaction to the drawing in her hand. The woman looked to Miranda again, finally, and tried to form a word with her mouth, but nothing came out at first. Miranda could see her eyes begin to redden and glass up.
“Miranda?” said the woman, almost whispering her name. “Oh my God...”
“Yes...my name is Miranda Stratton,” said Miranda, with a comforting smile on her face. “You are Aimsley Carter?”
“Yes,” said Aimsley. Aimsley walked around the counter past Miranda to the door, turning the lock and flipping the sign to the “CLOSED” side. She turned back around, and walked to Miranda. She stopped short, looking at her, and then without warning wrapped her arms around Miranda and broke down sobbing, burying her head in Miranda’s shoulder. Miranda wasn’t comfortable much of the time even with people that she knew well in situations like this, but she could feel the depth of raw emotion that Aimsley was letting out, and she could feel her pain and her fear…the profound sadness pouring out from within. She put her arms around Aimsley and held her until the tears finally subsided.
CHAPTER 5
The Book Stops Here bookstore, owned by Aimsley Carter, was larger inside than it originally appeared to Miranda from the outside. The store that had been next door had been a Celtic gift shop for a period of time, which in the middle of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan never really stood a chance of surviving. After that, it had been a head shop for a short period, selling hand blown glass pipes and various other smoking supplies. Hookahs, rolling machines, clothing and t-shirts with marijuana leaves on them had lined the many racks throughout the store, as well as art inspired by many rock bands and musicians of the 1960's and '70's. It did surprisingly well for a time, which had drawn some unsavory customers at times into the bookstore. Finally, the store was closed permanently after the two men who ran the shop were arrested for selling large amounts of marijuana out of the back room of the store. All of the equipment and merchandise was seized as evidence, and the building remained empty until the owner of the vacant establishment offered it to Aimsley very cheap, allowing her to expand on more books, and to create an area for people to come in and sit and relax as they browsed the different volumes and periodicals the store offered. There was a long, four-seat couch and two easy chairs, all situated around a coffee table with several different magazine titles neatly displayed upon it. It was from this area that the smell from the new carpeting had come from. Aimsley spent months working on the new addition to the store, and what she had come up with was a very homey, comfortable and cozy place for people to spend time enjoying both new books that they had purchased, or books they wanted to check out the first chapter of to see if it was something that they wanted to continue with. Aimsley loved everything about books, although she had not yet gotten around to writing the one great novel that she had always wanted to write of her own.
Miranda had seated herself on one end of the couch, and Aimsley sat on the edge of one of the easy chairs. Aimsley had gotten herself a cup of tea, and offered some to Miranda, but she politely declined, having her fill of coffee for the time being at the bakery just a short time before. Neither woman said much at first, still both feeling out of sorts from when Miranda had revealed herself to Aimsley. Finally, it was Aimsley that spoke first.
"I'm not sure where to begin," she said, her fingers tightly clasped together placed on her lap. "For a moment after I saw the picture, I thought I might be looking at a ghost. You look so much like your mother."
Aimsley said those words with a smile, but her eyes held so much sadness in them. Miranda let a hint of a smile come to her own face.
"I would guess that you have a lot of questions, Miranda," said Aimsley.
"Did you send me the video tape?" asked Miranda directly, yet softly. She was trying not to come across too anxious.
Aimsley paused for a moment looking down, and then looked to Miranda once more.
"I did send it to you."
Aimsley stood up, and turned half away from Miranda, as if she was feeling some shame in her actions.
"I'm sorry. I had no business to cause any disruption in your life. I should have just destroyed that box and been done with it."
Miranda stood up and approached her. "It's not like that at all," she said. "I just want to know who I am."
"What's on that tape is a fragment of a chapter of your life that is tragic and heartbreaking, and it should have been left in the past," said Aimsley.
"Then...if you feel so strongly about it, why did you send it to me? How did you even find me, or know what my name was now?" asked Miranda.
Aimsley turned her back all the way to Miranda now. Her head was tilted towards the floor, and several seconds passed before she said another word.
"I suppose if you've made your way all the way here, then you must have been to Galestone?" asked Aimsley. She turned back around to face Miranda again, and she seemed more together and serious than Miranda had seen her yet. "That's where you found the drawing? You've been to the Gale house?"
"I have, yes," said Miranda.
There were suddenly several knocks on the front door of the store. Aimsley excused herself and went to the door. Miranda followed from a short distance away, and listened to Aimsley speak to the man that came to the door. Miranda could see that he was probably in his mid to late-fifties, thick grey hair a little longer in the back, with a thick grey mustache to match the hair. He wore a camouflage jacket that went down past his waist, with dark blue jeans, and had a large hunting knife strapped to his side.
"Hello, Kent," Aimsley said, warmly.
"Mornin' Aimsley," said Kent. "Not planning on opening till the big event?"
"I was just taking a few minutes to catch up with an old friend," Aimsley told Kent. Kent looked up and saw Miranda standing near the corner of the bookshelf nearest the counter looking on. Miranda smiled politely at him, and Kent nodded back, returning the smile.
"Miranda, this is Kent Parker," she introduced. "Kent is a retired conservation officer from Newberry. He just published his second book, stories of different things he's experienced during the years he was on patrol. We're doing a book signing today, from 11 until 3. Kent, would you mind giving me a few more minutes to speak with Miranda?"
"No, that's fine. I'm gonna head across the street for coffee and say hello to Caroline. I'll be about a half-hour, and then we can start getting set up," said Kent.
"Thanks, Kent. I'll see you in a few minutes," said Aimsley, as Kent gave another wave and was out the door.
Aimsley turned back to Miranda.
"I'm sorry Miranda, I would close the store right now and tell you everything that I can tell you about the things you want to know. You want answers, I understand. I will do whatever I can to help you. I owe it to you, and I owe it to your mother. She made me make a promise to her a long time ago, and even though I couldn't be there for you all those years ago, I a
m here for you now. But I have been promising Kent for months that he could have a signing. The only time he really sells any books is when he gets to be face to face with the people, and he has been putting up flyers and telling everyone he knows to come down and bring their friends. I think it's going to be a busy day here," said Aimsley.
"No, I understand," said Miranda. "It's not like I was expecting you to stop your life just because I walked through your door. You don't owe me anything really..."
"I do. You have no idea how much I do owe you," said Aimsley. She placed her hand on Miranda's shoulder. "You can stay here all day if you'd like. Or, I live about a mile up this road next to the store. You are welcome to go there and wait, watch some television, or even just get some rest if you'd like."
"I suppose I could use some. It's been an interesting couple of days," Miranda said to her.
"Yes. I would think so. Go up to the house," she told Miranda, pulling a key from her purse behind the counter.
"You don't know me from anyone," said Miranda. "How can you just hand me a key to your house? I could rob you blind and you wouldn't have a clue."
Aimsley let out a short laugh. "I know that your mother was one of the sweetest, kindest people that I have ever known, and if you have any of her at all in you, then I would trust you with my life. Take the key, go and get some rest."
Miranda reached out and took the key from Aimsley's hand.
"Fourteen twenty-nine Hemlock. Yellow house on the corner, just less than a mile down Eastway Avenue. If you're hungry, whatever you find you are welcome to. As soon as the signing is done, I am closing and I will be on my way home. We'll have the rest of the evening to talk, and I will tell you whatever you want to know. You're welcome to stay for tonight if you'd like. I have a pullout in the living room. The extra bedroom is just office space and storage unfortunately."
"Thank you. I'd hate to be any inconvenience," said Miranda.
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