by Heidi Glick
“Now are you going to try that or not?” She moved her coffee closer to him.
He grabbed it and took a sip. Minty, milky, and sugary. A little sweet for his taste. “Not bad. Doesn’t taste much like coffee though.”
“That’s the point.”
“Why order coffee then?” Should he be frustrated with her or laugh? Hard to tell. The corporal in him wanted to chide her, but another part of him remembered who she was—Chris Martindale’s little sister. He took a deep breath and relaxed his shoulders.
Beth grabbed her coffee, setting it in front of her. Her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. If he wasn’t careful, he could get lost in her gaze.
Perhaps he needn’t be in such a rush to get rid of her. Well, besides the main reason. His secrets. Although, with Beth soon to be working at Fishy Business, he’d have to spend more time with her. If they got closer, maybe he could tell her the truth about everything, that or become adept at living a life like two different persons.
Beth smiled at him, flashing dimples near her high cheekbones. Typical Martindale feature.
Mark rubbed his neck. His shoulder muscles tensed again. Suddenly, Tim and Bill’s concerns seemed well founded. He’d offered Beth a job and would keep his word. But he should limit his time with her. Hanging out with someone who reminded him of the friend he’d lost—regardless of how gorgeous or friendly she was—probably not the best idea.
6
The alarm clock blared at an intolerable level. Mark glanced toward the window. It was still dark outside. Couldn’t be time to get up already. One look at the clock’s display, and he groaned. Sure enough—5:00 AM. At least he could sleep. Better than the days of reoccurring nightmares. He reset his alarm and fell fast asleep.
At eight thirty, the buzzer sounded again, and he awoke in a frenzy. He shouldn’t have allowed himself to sleep in. Within fifteen minutes, he got dressed and fed the dog.
For most of his morning commute, he drove to work on autopilot but bit back a grin as he passed the Surfside Coffee Shop. There’d been some tense moments the previous evening, like when Oscar arrived. But for the most part, Mark couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed someone’s company so much—and Beth Martindale, of all people. Even the playful teasing about his age—he didn’t mind. In fact, he rather welcomed the attention.
By 9:00 AM, Mark rolled into Fishy Business.
Tim held a bag of Doritos in one hand and waved with the other. He squinted as he studied Mark’s appearance then raised an eyebrow. “Nice of you to join us.”
Mark gritted his teeth. Tim should feel lucky he was no longer under Mark’s authority.
Bill smiled as he examined a shiny metal lure. “In ten years, you’ve never been late, never missed a day.” He looked up from the lure and glanced at Mark.
Tim finished swallowing a bite of his chips. “Any explanations?”
Mark shrugged. “I’m getting old.”
“You’re only thirty-one.” Bill grinned and replaced the lure in a box.
Mark shook his head. “Tell me about it. Apparently, thirty is the new eighty.”
Bill’s eyes widened. “College kids giving you a hard time these days?”
After finishing a yawn, Mark rubbed his eyes and held up his right index finger. “One AM. I stayed up until one.” So late, and yet, time seemed to fly the night before.
“Why?” Bill asked. “Lot of papers to grade, or was there something going on at your church?”
“Beth Martindale called. She needed help moving some furniture, then we ate dinner with Lupe, and you know, talked for a while, and caught up on old times. Later on, Beth and I ended up at a coffee shop then ate dessert at an all-night diner and chatted some more.” They did talk for a long time. He sighed. A real long time.
Bill cleared his throat, awakening Mark from his daydream of the night before.
“So Beth and I talked, and then I drove her home, and when I got back to my place, it was 1:00 AM. Which reminds me, you’ve been on my case about how we need to take inventory. Maybe we should hire someone to help us, for say, the next three weeks?”
Bill wrinkled his forehead. “Hire someone?”
Tim watched his brother inspect another lure. “To do inventory?”
Mark nodded.
“Can’t we do that?” Tim inspected his donut and took another bite.
Mark looked Tim in the eyes. “Well, I don’t want to do it, do you?”
“What did you have in mind?” Tim asked.
Devising the best way to broach the subject, Mark scratched his head. “Beth starts teaching in three weeks. Until then, she has a bit of free time.”
Bill stocked a box of bait in the cooler. “She wouldn’t mind working at a bait store?”
Mark perceived the scent of frozen chum but didn’t flinch. “Not at all.” So she’d probably hate the smell. But Beth needed the money, and beggars can’t be choosers.
Bill scrunched his face. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. Should you two see that much of each other? What are you going to tell her…I mean, are you going to tell her about…you know what?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been trying not to think about it. Guess I’m hoping to avoid the inevitable.” Mark yawned.
Bill glanced at his brother, who stood, munching the last of his donut. “Get Corporal Graham some coffee.”
“Yes, sir,” Tim said, saluting the other two men.
Bill shook his head. “I can’t believe you stayed up that late.”
Stayed up that late or hung out with Beth? Which part was Bill having a harder time reconciling? “Yeah, me either.”
Bill closed the cooler. “Good thing it’s Saturday because if you had to teach, I’m not sure you’d make it.”
Mark sighed. “I am getting old.”
“What?” Bill stared at Mark, head tilted. “Why do you keep saying that? You’re not old.”
Mark put his head on the desk. “I feel old.” He wasn’t sure if the years had merely aged him or the stress of keeping things hidden.
7
The Knight looked out of county for more women in need he could help, but the prospects were slim. Up for a challenge, he would pursue a woman within Riversdale PD jurisdiction. For once, the thought of possibly being caught and indicted made his blood pulse faster. Almost as fast as the faint chugging of a locomotive in the distance.
Getting up early Monday morning, he drove to the community college. He sat on a bench in the middle of the quad and removed an object from his pants pocket. The morning sun caused the gold-colored bump key to twinkle. Now he could pick locks at Riversdale Community College. All the good ones, too. The faculty lounge. The student center. The gymnasium where the basketball team practiced—the women’s basketball team—including the captain. He needed to see her.
Maybe he could convince her to stay away from the man in the wheelchair. Of course he could. Possessing an incredible power of persuasion, he’d been able to win over Juanita. For a time. Until the other man came along. And then things ended rather violently. Clearly, not the Knight’s fault.
He shifted his gaze to the gymnasium in the distance. The team captain’s male friend would prove to be a worthy adversary. But the Knight was aware of the rules, the standards. He had to help the girl in need, befriend her, and help her leave the man in the wheelchair. This was his challenge—his alone.
The Knight peered at his watch. Right on time. The girl entered the quad and crossed the campus for her first morning class—speech. What wonderful words might escape her crimson lips this day? If only he could get closer, go inside, listen to her.
An alarm on his watch sounded. His shoulders tensed, and he turned it off. Perhaps the timepiece might receive a blow from the hammer that evening when he was finished with it. The beeping served as a reminder that he needed to get moving.
He stole one last glimpse of the captain before walking away.
8
Beth glanced at the clock on the
dashboard—8:10 AM. So much for summer vacation. Back to work. And not on time, to boot. Hopefully, her late arrival wouldn’t reflect poorly on Mark. She looked in the rearview mirror and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Given the past, working around Mark might be hard, but Beth needed the money.
While several vehicles littered the parking lot of Fan Fare, a sports bar next door, a sole black pickup sat in the parking lot of Fishy Business.
“Good morning. I’m Bill. You must be Beth.” A blond man in a sci-fi t-shirt adjusted the front door sign from closed to open and shot her a grin. “Happy Monday.” Bill led her to the storage area in the back of the store.
“Good morning. I’m sorry. The power in my building went out last night. I’m getting an alarm with a battery backup tonight. It won’t happen again.” She stared at him, awaiting further instruction. “Where would you like me to start?”
“Good question.” Bill pointed to a storage area. “Over here, I guess.” Boxes upon boxes of shiny metallic fishing lures and tackle lined the shelves. “We need all of this inventoried—everything you see here. These are the forms.” He handed her a stack of wrinkled papers.
She examined them. “And then you want me to transfer this information to a spreadsheet file?”
“Do you think you’ll have time to do all that?”
Beth shrugged. “I don’t know why I wouldn’t.” Mark had been kind enough to give her a job. She needed to make a better impression than she had so far. A good impression on his friends, not him, she reminded herself.
“That would make things easier.” Bill began to walk away then stopped. “You know, Mark keeps track of the books by hand. Do you think you could set up something where he can do that on the computer?”
“Definitely.” She could at least make work easier for the old guy. She bit back a grin. It was fun to tease Mark about his age.
Bill gave her the OK sign. “Perfect. One more thing. This is a good neighborhood, but just in case, Mark keeps a handgun in the desk drawer. Usually, I, or one of the other guys, should be here with you. But if you’re here alone and for some reason you need it, well, it’s there.”
She wrinkled her nose at the fishy scent. That smell—what did they keep in there? Beth took a deep breath. Working with Mark, seeing his face on a daily basis, and putting up with that odor—she could do this.
An hour later, Mark and Tim arrived. A few patrons entered throughout the day. Nothing too taxing. Around noon, Bill pulled her from inventory to help wait on customers.
The doorbell chimed, and a tall, middle-aged man entered. “Hi. You work here?” he asked Beth.
She leaned her hands on the counter near the register. “Yes, may I help you?”
He smoothed his medium brown hair and pointed to the nametag on his gray work shirt. A lopsided grin formed on his face. “I’m Randy. I restock the sodas, keep snacks on the shelves, stuff like that.”
“Oh, OK.”
“I didn’t get your name,” Randy said.
She turned and held out her hand to shake his. “Beth.”
“Nice to meet you, Beth. How come I haven’t seen you working here?” The goofy grin, which had subsided, quickly returned.
“I just started. I’ll be working for the rest of the summer.”
Randy opened the cooler. “Are you a student?”
“No, actually I’m a teacher.
“What do you teach?”
“English and drama.”
“You don’t say. Well, hey, I have something you might appreciate.” Randy reached into his pocket and produced a cookie wrapped in a yellow plastic package. He tossed it to Beth. “Read the label.”
“Sandy’s Coookies? Whoa, one too many O’s.”
“Yep, made by a local company.” Randy chuckled. “Wonder if that O means there’s extra oatmeal in there or something.”
“Maybe.” Beth suppressed a grin and began to return the cookie.
Randy gently pushed her hands away. “No, you keep it. Usually people don’t get my humor. So having you working here should be fun. I’ll have to show you my book of crazy misspelled signs.”
“I’d like that.”
Randy headed toward the door.
“Beth, can you come here for a minute?” Mark asked.
She joined Mark by the computer.
The doorbell chimed again. Randy stocked a small shelf with cookies then pointed at the packaging and shook his head.
Beth nodded. At least she’d spend some time this summer with a fellow grammarian. Maybe that would help her forget the fact she worked at a bait and tackle store.
“Hey, can you quit watching him and help me with this?” Mark pointed to his bookkeeping records.
Beth glanced at his books. “Sorry. I—”
“Is everything OK?”
“Yeah. I guess Randy is here to stock the store.”
“Great. Bill said you’re working on creating a spreadsheet for me. Can we discuss it?”
She stepped closer to him. “Sure.”
“There are a couple of functions that would be really useful to me. If I make a list of what I need, can you set up the spreadsheet to perform those for me?”
She glanced away, attempting not to get lost in his emerald eyes. “It depends. I can make spreadsheets for a lot of different uses.” And if she needed help setting things up, she could always call Dad. A benefit of having a bean counter for a father.
“I appreciate it. It would certainly make things easier around here.”
Mark had helped her move and provided her with a job, not to mention he’d tried to save her brother’s life. It was the least she could do. “Maybe it would allow you more free time.”
Mark removed a notepad and pen from the top desk drawer. He chuckled. “Yeah? To do what?”
Had he forgotten about his mention of her paying for coffee next time? She decided to jog his memory a little. “Go to coffee shops and learn to drink something other than regular coffee.”
He shook his head and pursed his lips a little, yet smiled.
Warmth flooded over her for a moment.
Mark touched her arm. “You sure you’re OK?”
Attempting not to flee his warm soft touch, she turned toward him. “Other than that fishy smell in here? Yeah. And I got here late. The power was out last night, so my alarm never went off. I hate it when I wake up like that and have to get dressed in a hurry.”
“No one likes to be rushed.” He gave her a once over. “But for what it’s worth, you look nice today.”
Beth tugged at the end of her ponytail. “Nice?” She stared down at the comfy yet untrendy shoes she’d worn. Couldn’t he tell she’d barely put on any makeup? Maybe his eyesight had been impaired by his time in the military. More likely he was trying to be polite.
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better.” Her heartbeat skittered. Did he know her secret? Could he have remembered the note?
9
The Knight lit the tenth red candle encircling the team captain’s photo and picked up an item of clothing. Carver—the name emblazoned on the back of her t-shirt—the one he’d lifted from her gym locker. Sweet Becky Carver. He set the t-shirt next to her picture, being careful not to burn the contents of the inner shrine.
He gazed at a notebook on the other end of the dining room table and allowed the sweet aroma of orange incense to pervade his nostrils. After a moment of meditation, he reached for the notebook and glanced at the notes he’d made.
7:00 AM—speech class
10:00 AM—history class
Noon—lunch in cafeteria with two members of the women’s basketball team.
2:00 PM—composition class
3:00-5:00 PM—practices in gym
6:00 PM—drives homes to apartment, two blocks away; lives with roommate, who goes out of town every other weekend
Alone every other weekend. He grabbed a pen and stack of yellow paper and began to write.
Dear Becky,
How I’ve wa
ited for this moment…
Not right. He crumpled the paper and grabbed a second sheet. Everything must be perfect. What if things that happened last time had been his fault? The Knight shuddered at the thought. Perhaps he’d not spent enough time explaining his plan of rescue to the previous one. He gazed at the finger-filled jar atop the entertainment center.
The Knight cradled his head in his hands. The floating finger taunted him. It’d all been his fault last time. Everything. He hadn’t helped Juanita to fully appreciate the depth of his concern for her. He’d never help someone else, didn’t deserve to help someone else.
“Lies!” After picking up the jar, he ran to the garage and smashed the glass into bits. Later, using gloves, he would dispose of the mess.
Perhaps that last link to the past had been holding him back. But not any longer.
10
It hardly seemed like it had been three weeks since Beth started working at Fishy Business. She studied the shelves in the storage area one last time. No more items to inventory.
Beth sneaked to the refrigerator and removed a plastic container from a paper bag. She crumpled the bag and tossed it in the trash. She took one last look at the container before closing the fridge door. Considering she’d followed her mom’s directions carefully, she hoped her attempt to recreate Mrs. Graham’s pistachio salad was successful.
It was time to add the final touches to the spreadsheet she created for Mark. Adjusting her hand on the mouse, she released a sigh. Maybe God caused her life to intersect with Mark again on purpose.
Tim joined her next to the computer—a bag of corn chips in one hand, a bottle of orange soda pop in the other. “We’re going to miss you. Are you sure we can’t keep you longer?”
She closed her spreadsheet. “Well, I do need a week to set up my classroom, but I’m sure I’ll stop by from time to time. Hopefully, after you stock the chum for the day.” It took all she had not to run from the fishy odor.
