by Colin Conway
“Looking for a book?”
The weightlifter smirked. “What kinda question is that?”
“This is a bookstore.”
“You some kinda smaht guy?”
“Next to you.”
The weightlifter paused, his smirk deepening. He was about to say something when the orange cat ambled out. Travis plopped himself down in the middle of the store and watched the stranger.
“What’s his problem?”
“He doesn’t have a problem.”
“That’s a weird lookin’ cat,” the weightlifter said. “Pfft. Go on.”
Unfazed, the cat remained where he was.
“He must think you’re Schwarzenegger.”
The man’s eyebrows rose briefly, then he bent over, reaching for the cat. A smile grew on his face. “Ya think so?”
“Totally,” Brody said. “He wants to know how much you bench.”
The cat bolted for a nearby aisle. The weightlifter slowly straightened, the smiling melting from his face.
“If you’re not here to buy a book,” Brody said, “then what are you looking for?”
“I’m lookin’ for you, smaht guy.”
“Why’s that?”
“Why do ya think?”
Brody shrugged. “Need a tutor?”
“Smaht. Real smaht.”
“You said it.”
“What are ya doin’ here?” the weightlifter asked.
“Me? Trying to sell books, but I still don’t know what you want.”
The weightlifter twisted his lips and studied Brody. “I ain’t buyin’ it.”
“If you’re not buying, then take off. You’re sucking up all the oxygen.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means leave.”
The weightlifter flicked The Deep Blue Good-by from the counter to the floor. “Nobody talks to me that way,” he said.
Brody stepped around the counter to stand nose-to-nose with the man. “Looks like I’m talking to you that way.”
“Tell me why you’re here.”
“I just got out of the Navy and bought a bookstore. What more do you need to know?”
The weightlifter stepped back, his eyes scanning him. “The Navy, huh?”
“Got a problem with that?”
He shook his head. “Nah. No problem. Thank ya for your service.”
Brody nodded his appreciation. Enlisting for the imaginary service was turning out to be a great decision.
“How’d ya come by this business?” the weightlifter asked.
“I bought it. On the Internet.”
“Ya did, huh?”
“I did.”
“From who?”
“An attorney.” Throwing an attorney into the mix, just like mentioning a cop, usually stalled any conversation with this type.
“What happened to the old ownah? The smaht-mouthed broad.”
“No idea. I only worked with the lawyer.” As an afterthought, Brody said, “Online.”
The weightlifter smirked. “Yeah, all right, smaht guy, we got our eye on ya.” He spun and sauntered out. The ocean’s aroma and summer’s humidity entered again.
Who the heck did he mean by we? Brody wondered.
Chapter 10
By mid-morning, Brody had read as much as he could take of Travis McGee. No other customers had stopped into the store, real or threatening. His boredom had reached the maximum threshold, yet he was a man who knew how to deal with that part of life. Prison had taught him that skill. Luckily, he did not need to deal with it here.
He wrote a note and taped it to the window. Back in twenty minutes. Then he locked up the store.
The Pleasant Peasant wasn’t a typical grocery store found in most metropolitan cities. At most, the business was a third of that size. It didn’t need to be much bigger than that to support Pleasant Valley. Even with the surge in the tourist season, it seemed as if the store was a bit big.
Nauseatingly cheerful Muzak played in the store, and bright fluorescent lights shone down to the shimmering tile floor. A couple of checkers stood behind their counters, helping customers.
Brody walked up to a young man with impeccably combed hair. A name tag clipped to his green apron read Aaron. When the checker finished ringing out his customer, he turned to Brody.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Is Daphne available?”
“May I ask who you are?”
“I’m the guy asking for Daphne.”
Aaron carefully appraised him, which caused Brody to scowl. He was quickly annoyed by the man’s disapproving judgment.
The cashier stepped back and picked up a microphone that rested near the register. He depressed a red button, which resulted in an irritating squawk over the store’s intercom system.
“Daphne,” Aaron said, announcing her name throughout The Pleasant Peasant. “A man who won’t identify himself is at the front counter and would like to talk with you.”
Several patrons and the other cashier looked in his direction. A woman stepped into Aaron’s line and watched the interaction between the two men with great curiosity. Brody’s annoyance with the checker immediately turned to dislike.
“Was that necessary?” Brody asked.
“I think so since you won’t tell me who you are.”
“What business is it of yours?”
Aaron again depressed the microphone button and caused another screech through the store’s intercom. “He still won’t tell me who he is, Daphne.”
Brody glanced at the patrons in the store. More customers were stepping out of the aisles to witness their interaction. It seemed that everyone was staring at him now.
“What is your problem?”
“Tell me your name, sir.”
“No.”
Aaron held up the microphone with his thumb over the red button. It was meant clearly as a threat.
Brody couldn’t believe it. A grocery store clerk was harassing him. As the bookkeeper for the Satan’s Dawgs, he would have made the register jockey eat the microphone by now. But as the owner of The Red Herring, he needed to on his best behavior. This was for many reasons, not the least of which was hurrying down the middle aisle now.
Daphne Winterbourne called out, “Aaron! Leave him alone.”
“He won’t tell me his name.”
“He’s the new owner of The Red Herring.”
Aaron lowered the microphone, his eyes full of distrust. “Why didn’t you say so?”
When Daphne was near Brody, she smiled up at him. “Mr. Steele, what brings you to The Pleasant Peasant?”
“You do, Ms. Winterbourne.”
“I do?”
Aaron leaned toward them as did the older woman who was still waiting for her groceries to be totaled.
Brody lightly touched Daphne’s elbow and guided her to a quieter place. He saw the disappointment on both the faces of the checker and the aged customer.
“I came to ask you out... on a date,” Brody slightly stammered.
“A date?” she muttered as she pushed her round glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
“Yes. Would you go to dinner with me?”
Daphne stepped back from him. “I barely know you, Mr. Steele.”
“That’s why we should have dinner together.”
She carefully studied him as her eyes slanted with suspicion. “I don’t know about this.”
“What’s not to know?”
“I’m still not sure about you and the bookstore.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Alice Walker and I were friends. She wouldn’t just leave town without saying goodbye. Then you show up, saying you own her store.”
“Then let’s go to dinner, and you can tell me about Alice. Maybe we can track her down together.”
“But you bought her business. You should be able to get that information from whoever helped you.”
Brody nodded. “I will try. As soon as I leave here, I’ll work on tracking he
r down.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Steele.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Winterbourne. About dinner? We can go anywhere. If you like, we can go out of town.”
“Why would we do that? Pleasant Valley has everything I would ever want.”
Brody blinked several times, not knowing quite how to respond to that statement.
Daphne studied him for several seconds. Finally, she said, “Mr. Steele, if you want to take me out to dinner, you can take me to the new Italian restaurant.”
“Il Cuoco Irato?”
“Then, you’ve seen it?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like Italian?”
Except for when it’s a bodybuilder that walks into my store. “It’s new?”
“A few months, maybe a little more. Everyone is talking about it, but I haven’t been there yet. I’ve been waiting for something special.”
“And this will be special?”
Daphne’s smile was bright. “Won’t it be?”
“I hope so.” He grinned.
“Then I will meet you there at seven.”
“Meet me? Can’t we walk there together,” Brody said. “Or do you live far?”
“Oh, no, I live in town, but walking together seems too forward for a first date. Don’t you think? No, I’ll meet you there.”
Brody almost laughed. Walking together would be too forward for a first date. Daphne Winterbourne was like a woman from another planet. She was different from any woman he’d ever met.
“Fine,” Brody said. “Seven, it is.”
“See you then.” She turned and headed toward the back of the store. Brody kept waiting for her to turn around and see him watching. When she didn’t, he was slightly disappointed.
He noticed Aaron watching him, though. A malevolent grin grew on the cashier’s face.
“I’ll make sure to let her know you stayed until she made it to the back.”
Brody pointed at the clerk and thought about saying something threatening. Instead, he waved it off in frustration. He didn’t need the entire store knowing about it.
Chapter 11
Brody walked over to Blue Street to find What’s the Point, Pleasant Valley’s only craft store.
The business was in a converted house that had been painted in pastel colors. He ascended the stairs, stepped inside, and was greeted with the sound of a rain forest. He searched around until he found a little noise machine next to a table-top water feature.
Martha Cole stepped from around the counter, a smile broadening her already round face. Her hair was curly, and she wore a loose-fitting shirt with large bell sleeves.
“I was hoping you’d come in,” she said, approaching him with her right hand out.
Brody shook her hand, and Martha clasped it with both of hers.
“It’s so nice to have someone new in our town,” she said. “Where were you before this?”
“Leavenworth,” he said.
Martha held a finger to her chin as she thought. “Isn’t that in Kansas?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“There’s a naval base there? It seems odd in the middle of the country, so far from the ocean.”
“I was recruiting,” Brody lied. It was easier than telling her that he was being held in the federal prison there.
“Oh, my,” she said, patting his hand. “This must be quite the culture shock then. Midwest to the east coast.”
“It is,” Brody said. “Definitely.”
“How long were you stationed there?”
“Just a short time,” Brody said.
“You don’t stay in one place for very long, do you?”
“I’ve been a vagabond recently, that’s for sure.”
Martha’s smile was kind and motherly. “You said your grandmother taught you how to crochet?”
Brody shook his head. “No, she taught me how to knit.”
“That’s right. And you did it while on ship?”
He lied by nodding.
The guys in the MC thought Brody’s knitting was a weird habit since he only did it after he cleared the book on someone. Once the guys realized it was his special kind of therapy, they left him alone. Everyone had a type of release after doing dirty work. Some guys self-medicated by drinking or doing drugs. Others cavorted with women. Some even harmed themselves. Brody knitted.
He even taught one of the club’s girls how to do it. She eventually created a shawl for her mother.
Most of the time, Brody would knit for a while, then pull the rows of stitches apart, rewrap the yarn, and put it away. While he was with the club, he never created a finished product. It was the simple act of knitting that calmed his mind.
“So what can I do for you?” Martha asked.
“I need a kit,” Brody said. “Needles, yarn, a bag. Something basic. I have nothing with me.”
Martha’s face lit up. “Fantastic!” She buzzed around the store, holding up items for Brody’s approval, to which he always nodded acceptance.
“Martha?” Brody said.
“Hmmm?” Martha was in the process of selecting a yellow yarn for Brody.
“You knew Alice Walker, right?”
“Of course, dear. She was in our knitting circle. Why do you ask?”
“I’m the new owner of the bookstore.”
Martha straightened, a look of surprise on her face. “You are?”
“I am.”
“What happened to Alice?” Martha asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? How did you come by the bookstore?”
“She sold it to me.”
“She sold it to you, but you don’t know what happened to her? None of us knew she was even considering such a thing.”
“All I know is that she sold it to me through an online company, but everyone I’ve come into contact with so far has said that she loved the store.”
“She did. It was her passion.”
“See what I mean? Do you know if she was sick?”
Martha tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“Constable Farnsworth said you saw her in Manchester a month ago. I thought maybe she was going to the hospital over there.”
“I did see her, but she didn’t seem sick. At least, she didn’t look that way.”
“What was she doing in Manchester then?”
“I don’t know, but she was with a man.”
“Like on a date?”
“I doubt that. At first, I thought it might be the foreign man she’d talked about, but he was much youngah than I expected.”
“She was seeing someone?”
“Alice let it slip at one of our circles that she was seeing a handsome foreignah.”
“Did she say where he was from?”
“Oh, no. Alice was very private. When she let that little nugget of information slip, she didn’t say much more than that. It was very unlike her to share personal information. She lived her life by the motto of Loose Lips Sink Ships. You, being a navy man and all, should appreciate that.”
“I do. Trust me. What did the man look like? The one she was with while in Manchester.”
She thought about it for a moment, and then her eyes looked Brody up and down. “I would say he looked a lot like you.”
“Like me?”
“Not exactly like you. Older and smaller, but he dressed a lot like you, except I think his shirt had short sleeves.”
“He wore khakis and a plaid shirt?”
“Ayuh, ayuh,” she said, inhaling her affirmations.
There had to be a lot of men in the world dressed in plaid shirts and khaki pants, but Brody only knew one other man. Ted Onderdonk. Since The Red Herring was a U.S. Marshal cover and Alice Walker was the previous owner, it wasn’t hard to connect the dots to Onderdonk.
“How did Alice look when she was with this man?”
Martha paused. “I would say she looke
d like her normal self.”
“Did you say hello to her while in Manchester?”
“No. I was in my car, and she was crossing the street. She didn’t see me.”
Brody fell silent then.
“But when she came home, I—”
“You saw her back in town after that?”
“Oh, sure. When she came home, I asked her what she was doing in Manchestah. She said she had never gone there. I thought that was strange, but she swore she was nevah there.”
“Did you believe her?”
“I did. I thought maybe I was mistaken. Then she disappeared, and I thought maybe I really did see her, and something was wrong.”
“How long has she been gone?”
“Maybe three weeks now.”
“You told this to the constable, right? What did he do?”
“He looked into it.”
“And what did he say?”
Even though they were the only two in the store, Martha leaned in and whispered, “Emery is a dear boy, but he isn’t the most accomplished constable.”
“Did anyone else in the department know about it?”
“There are only two people in the Pleasant Valley police department. Emery and the chief. And the chief, well, he’s less accomplished than Emery.”
“Emery could have called for outside help.”
“I don’t know if he did that. You’ll have to ask him. Why are you so interested in Alice?”
Brody shrugged. “It seems weird for her to leave so suddenly if she loved the town and her business.”
Martha laid the supplies she had collected onto the counter. “She did love it here.”
“How long did she live in town?”
“She moved here in the early eighties. Right about the time that Ronnie was voted president. Those were great times.”
“Was the bookstore opened before then?”
“Ayuh, it was. It was a metaphysical bookstore before then, but Alice wouldn’t go for any of that nonsense. She didn’t believe in that mystical mumbo jumbo.”
“She’d been here for almost forty years, running a bookstore?”
“Ayuh,” Martha said, ringing up the items on the cash register.
“So, one day, she doesn’t open the store and leaves her cat behind?”
“Alice left Wallander?”
“She did. Do you want him?”