“Oh, good. Any chance you’d like to recommend a place? I haven’t been in town long enough to know what’s good and what isn’t. Pick something expensive. I’d like to impress you.”
I laughed. “You like garlic burgers?”
“I do, especially if both my date and I eat them.”
“There’s a place just around the corner. It’s a bar/restaurant called O’Malley’s. They have the best garlic burgers.”
“Perfect, although it doesn’t sound expensive, which means we will probably have to go on two dates. This one and an expensive one very soon.”
I liked his smile and his style. It was obvious that he was a little nervous, but he was trying to combat that with humor. He certainly wasn’t shy.
“Okay,” I said. It had been a long time since someone of the opposite sex had been nervous around me. He was much more put together than he had been earlier, though I didn’t think he’d been wearing glasses when he came in to pick up the book. He wore them now. They were black framed like mine, but the frames were even thicker and maybe a little nerdier. They looked great on him though and made him look both smart and extra interested in what I was saying.
“I’m ready any time you are, but I understand if you need a minute or two. I’ll wait out here.”
“Let me run inside for just a second. My grandfather lives upstairs; I can use his sink to wash my hands. I’ve been hanging out with a bunch of goats.”
Seth blinked and his eyebrows rose.
“And, I mean that literally. I’ll tell you all about it. If you want to head on over to O’Malley’s and get us a table, I can just meet you there.”
“Oh, my mother would not approve. I’m afraid I’ll have to wait close by and escort you. Since we’re walking, I’m sure I’ll get a call this evening about not opening car doors for you—she can sense that kind of stuff.”
“Even when we don’t need a car to get there?”
“She’s good.”
“Come on in. You can wait inside.”
I unlocked the front door and pushed it open. Normally, Baskerville would be up in the apartment with Chester if he were home. At the moment, the cat was high on the east shelves again taking in the rays coming from the sun setting through the western windows. I assumed that meant Chester wasn’t home. Once again, I wondered where he was.
The cat looked down and acted as if he was just going to grace us with a nod of acknowledgment before going back to the blissful sun soak. But he noticed Seth and must have realized that this was a human he hadn’t had the chance to judge yet. Perhaps Baskerville was savvy enough to understand that I was going on a date with the man in the bright shoes and glasses, and the cat wanted to inspect him and offer him a chance at approval.
Baskerville jumped down, from the top shelf to a middle shelf. He sauntered down the top of that shelf, keeping his eyes on Seth, and then stopped when he came to the end. He sat and looked at Seth disapprovingly before sniffing once quickly in my direction.
“That’s our cat, Baskerville.”
“He’s a beauty,” Seth said. “I get the sense that he’d rather I didn’t pet him. What do you think?”
I shrugged. “Give it a try.”
Seth laughed. “I’m game.”
He stepped toward the shelves. Baskerville watched him and leaned away only a small bit as Seth’s hand came forward and landed on the back of the cat’s head. For a minute, I thought Baskerville might screech and run away or bite Seth—he’s more prone to harmless, playful bites than real ones, but he was unpredictable enough for a moment of worry. Surprisingly, he sat still and then leaned into the sure hand.
“That’s impressive,” I said.
Seth smiled at me and then looked at the cat. “Good work. I’ll pay you later.”
Baskerville might have liked the head massage, but evidently he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He sniffed again, turned, and jumped back up to the top shelf.
“I’ll be out in a sec,” I said to Seth as I took off toward the back of the building.
The workshop was quiet and dimly lit, with only the light coming in from the high windows. Everything seemed to be in place. The back door was securely closed and locked—I checked it yet again. I climbed the old staircase that at one time led to the mining company’s managers’ offices. Chester had told me that all the people who did the hard work had desks on the first floor, but the managers had offices upstairs where they mostly hid from anxious prospectors who thought they’d make a fortune in Star City. Some had, but most hadn’t, and those who hadn’t were sometimes so unhappy with the outcome of their mining adventures that they came into the offices angry and with a good shot or two of booze boosting their courage. Lots of people resented the success that was had by the Star City Silver Mining Company, and lots of mining failures thought the Star City company owed something to those who hadn’t succeeded. After all, the prospectors had worked hard; maybe the mining company should share the wealth. The managers let the office workers, most of them women, deal with the issues. Men were less likely to pick fights with women, though it had happened a time or two.
The stairs were made of old, worn oak, and the railing and banister were wrought iron. No one ever cleaned the thin crevices in the designs, so the banister was always a little dusty. I noticed it today more than normal and thought I might have come up with a job for Marion.
Once I reached the top of the stairs, I knocked and announced myself. “Chester!”
His apartment was one big room, except for the walled-in bathroom. The inside walls had been torn down when Chester moved in. A support beam had been added along the ceiling to keep it from collapsing, but Chester had insisted on keeping the old gold-specked (not real gold) linoleum floor and the roll-out windows that had been part of the original building. He’d also kept the tiled walls, which were different from anything I’d ever seen. The tiles were mostly white marble, except for a row of diamond shaped ones that ran around the middle of the entire space and were flecked with the various types of precious metals and minerals found in the mines around Utah. There was some silver, of course, and, among other things, gold (real gold flecks) and zinc.
A kitchen of sorts lined one wall—a small oven, small fridge, small microwave, and a round table with only two chairs. A living room area was in the middle—a comfortable couch and a reading chair with a lamp over the back and stacks of books about to tumble over on each side. Chester always had lots of stacks of books about to tumble. A bedroom took up the other end. The bed had been made hastily and without much concern whether someone would see that the old quilt wasn’t straight. The furniture wasn’t worn so much as just kind of old. It was definitely from a different time, but comfortable-looking and suited to someone who didn’t much care whether or not his bed was well made.
“Chester!” I said as I approached the bathroom.
He wasn’t in there either.
I hurried in and washed my hands and scared myself when I looked in the mirror. My hair needed a brush, and my face needed a full shower and makeover. There wasn’t time for much more than using Chester’s brush to do a little something with my unruly curls.
There was one good thing about accepting a last-minute invitation for a date: There wasn’t time to worry about what you were going to wear or look like. You just had to go with whatever was already in place.
I made my way back downstairs, slowing my rushed pace at the middle door. Seth was still trying to work his magic on Baskerville.
He stood next to the shelves with his hands in his pockets as he looked up at the cat on the top shelf. He was saying something that I couldn’t hear. Baskerville had the tips of his paws over the edge of the shelf and his chin rested on the paws. The cat looked amused or bored or perhaps curious; it was hard to tell.
“Hi,” Seth said when he saw me approach. “I’m trying.”
&nb
sp; I looked up. “He hasn’t turned his back to you or hissed yet, has he?”
“No.”
“Then there’s a chance.”
We stood there a minute, just smiling at each other. Finally, Baskerville had enough and he meowed disapprovingly.
“Shall we?” Seth said.
“Sounds good.”
I locked the door and we set out for the short trip to O’Malley’s. On our way, we passed something that was rare to Bygone Alley—a new business was moving in. The spot next to The Rescued Word had for years been home to a beekeeper and his honey company. He’d sold all kinds of beekeeping equipment and freshly harvested honey. The owner of the store, Earnest Battleboro, had passed away a few months earlier, and new businesses had been vying to stake a claim on the place since the moment the landlord announced it was available.
Ultimately, a chocolate store would be taking the space, but not just any chocolate store, one that did things the old-fashioned way, apparently. I didn’t know what that meant yet, but I looked forward to trying out their products as soon as they were open. So did Chester.
We also passed a fiber store, full of everything that had anything to do with knitting or crocheting or whatever one did with yarn or the fibers it came from. I’d never been interested in such things, but I sure liked the owner, Kristina Leamens.
“You’ve been here all your life, then?” Seth said as I gave him a brief rundown on the stores and history of Bygone Alley.
“I have, and I’ve worked with Chester almost forever too. I enjoy what I do. I feel like I’ve never really had to work, ever.”
“I get that. I’ve never worked for family or for myself, but I love what I do. It makes all the difference, I’m sure,” Seth said.
“I know a geologist is all about rocks, but what does that mean exactly?” I said.
“Lots of things, but you’re right, we’re all about that stuff. We’re a strange group, more prone to caves than the outside world.” He stopped and looked up at the small hand-painted sign above the door that said “O’Malley’s.” “Looks like we’re here. I’ll tell you more during dinner.” Seth pulled the door open.
We were greeted by the noise of a boisterous crowd. I’d had an O’Malley’s garlic burger a time or two, but it had been a while. I’d forgotten what a rowdy place the bar was. The three well-placed televisions were always on sports channels, and cheering and booing were encouraged.
As the joviality wafted through the door with the scents of beer and garlic, I wondered if we should go someplace else, but Seth was sending an interested glance inside. And I really wanted to talk to Oren O’Malley. I led us forward.
8
Oren was behind the bar, playing the stereotypical part of an old Irish pub owner very well. He was a big man with short dark hair, big blue eyes, and rosy cheeks—though I knew the rosy cheeks weren’t from alcohol, but from the hard work of running a bar. He didn’t drink, never had according to Chester.
He wasn’t an overly friendly man, always a little suspicious and cranky, but he was mostly well liked throughout town. His sons, Brian and Timothy, had been a challenge, both of them choosing paths that had landed them in prison a time or two. I wasn’t sure, but I thought one was still residing there.
“I see a table close to the bar. Will that be okay?” I said above the noise.
“Sure, fine,” Seth said as he smiled and was bumped by a waitress balancing a pitcher on her tray.
We threaded our way through the crowd, and as we approached the table, another man was on his way to it from the other direction. He noticed there were two of us, most likely on a date, and bowed out of the race. Seth and I thanked him as he smiled and moved on.
“That was helpful,” Seth said. “I’ll buy him a drink.”
At least that’s what I thought he said; I couldn’t hear him very well.
We were at one of the five tables that were close to the bar. These tables were set up a little higher than the rest and were separated from the others by a thick brass railing. The other tables were all regular sized and just as packed with patrons as our higher-up ones were.
“What can I get for you?” the waitress said. She was petite and had perfected her “bar voice” so that we could hear her easily.
Seth nodded at me.
“Garlic burger, loaded, fries, and a diet Coke,” I said.
“I’ll have the same, but make mine a real Coke. She’s driving,” he joked.
The waitress wasn’t amused, but I thought the bad joke was kind of cute. I chuckled.
“I’m not much of a drinker,” I said when she’d left.
“Me either, though if I knew you better, I might get a beer. Maybe next time,” Seth said.
I glanced over at Oren O’Malley, but he wasn’t doing much of anything interesting as he simply tended bar.
The waitress was back only a moment later with our drinks.
“Here you go. Coke and Diet Coke. I’ll have my eyes on you two. If you get out of hand, I’ll take those car keys,” she said without a smile.
“Thanks, we appreciate that.” Seth grinned.
“I have a question for you.” I leaned over the table toward her. “What have Oren’s sons been up to?”
She blinked at me and said, “Who wants to know?’
“My grandfather owns a store on Bygone. He knows Oren, and I was just inquiring for him.”
“I expect they’re fine.”
“Is either of them still in prison?”
“Oren doesn’t pass out their addresses to the staff,” she said.
“I see.”
“I’ll be back with your burgers,” she said.
“Thanks.”
Seth looked at the man behind the bar and said, “Is that Oren?”
“Yes.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you curious about his sons? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not the jealous type, and since you mentioned prison, I’m not sensing any competition.”
“No, no competition. It’s a long story and one that seems silly to share here and now. It’s all about a typewriter though.”
“Oh, how mysterious,” Seth said.
“Sorry. Tell me what you’re doing as our new town geologist.”
Before the burgers arrived, Seth managed to tell me about his contribution to some mine reclamations. The mines had long ago been emptied of their resources, and the plan was to make them more like they used to be before their local ecosystems had been destroyed and the land had been dug through. It was clear he loved what he did, and I was impressed, asking if he might show me a site or two one day. He said he would—and soon, if I was up for it.
When the burgers arrived, I couldn’t help myself and asked the waitress one more question.
“Didn’t the O’Malleys used to own an appliance store? I think it was even located here, where the bar is,” I said.
“I’ve never known this place to be anything but what it is,” she said before she walked away again. I watched her go directly to Oren. It was obvious that she told him I’d been asking odd questions.
But they weren’t all that odd really, were they? If we’d sat at the bar, I would have asked the same things directly to Oren.
“Let me guess,” Seth said. “You’re looking for a typewriter that was sold in the appliance store.”
“Sort of, but not really,” I said, but I was distracted by watching Oren and the waitress watching us—well, me. They didn’t seem to have any interest in Seth.
I waved it away and tried to ignore Oren for the rest of the evening. It wasn’t easy. Every time I looked his direction, he was looking at me.
“I’m sorry. I’m not being the best date, am I?” I finally said.
“It’s fine. I’m intrigued. I’d like to help, but I’m not sure how.”
From
there, the date went from distracted to almost impossible. We were bumped into, sloshed upon, and elbowed more than a few times. The volume of the crowd became unbearable, and once we were done eating, I was sure we both had heartburn and ringing ears, and Seth was as ready to leave as I was.
“I’m sorry about that,” I said when we finally escaped the bar. “I should have picked a better place.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll research and find a quiet place for the next one.”
“The next one? I doubt I would want to go out with me again after that.”
“You’d be wrong,” Seth said. “Hey, I’m parked in front of your store, but I’d love to give you a ride home.”
“Actually, I live right at the top of this street. Bygone Alley is halfway between where we are right now and my house. If you’re up for it, we can walk up and then you can go halfway back down to get your car. It would give me a little more time to prove I’m not a completely horrible date.”
“I like that idea.” He seemed momentarily perplexed before he smiled again, but I didn’t ask about the confusion.
We walked slowly up the hill, passing restaurants; gift shops; a drug store; another smaller, even more unappealing bar; a coffee shop; and a stained-glass-window store (I always thought it belonged on Bygone Alley, but it had been on Main Street for years). We also passed one of the main theaters used during the Star City Film Festival, which had turned into a huge international yearly festival for independent filmmakers. Star City residents mostly loved and looked forward to the festival. It certainly brought a lot of business and Hollywood stardom to the area, but it also brought lots more people, and though Hollywood types were interesting, like any other large group, there were always some less desirable visitors.
If I were to have rated my date behavior, I probably would have given myself a four, at tops a five out of ten. I hadn’t been as attentive as I should have been, and the location I’d picked had been a total fail. As we sauntered up the street and I gave a mini Star City tour, I couldn’t quite figure out how to bring my rating up. It was probably beyond salvage, so I was surprised that when we reached the top of the hill and my small blue chalet, Seth actually confirmed that he’d like to see me again soon.
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