A Town, a Disappearance, and a Cat

Chapter 2-2

A waitress greeted me with, “How many?”

“Only me,” I replied.

“Okay.”

She took me to a table by the window that gave me a good view of the street. After handing me a menu, she asked if I wanted coffee, which I did. While she went to get it, I studied the menu. I was hungry after all the work I’d put in today, so I decided on the baked chicken which came with mashed potatoes and green beans, and a tossed salad—and told her as much when she came back with my coffee.

Leaning back, sipping the coffee, I studied the other customers. There was a family of four I’d have bet were just passing through on their way to wherever because the kids were being bratty the way kids who’ve been cooped up in a car all day tend to be. Not that I know from personal experience, of course, having none of my own, but I figured it was a good guess.

A couple in their mid-fifties was midway through their dinner, talking to each other between bites. Or more, she was talking while he nodded, occasionally making a brief comment when he could fit it in. Locals, I was pretty sure. My guess was reinforced when another couple came in and headed directly to their table. They looked familiar, although I couldn’t remember their names. They were greeted effusively by the woman, chatted for a moment, and then walked to another table without needing an escort from one of the waitresses.

Lastly, there were two men who looked around my age, seated at a table across the room. They were deep in a discussion, their half-eaten meals in front of them. From the frown on one man’s face I’d say they were not talking sports or about some television show. He slapped a hand on the table and the other man shrugged and began eating again.

It was getting dark outside and the streetlights began to come on, illuminating the storefronts and the people walking by. A few, probably tourists, were strolling along, stopping to look in shop windows. The rest I pegged as locals who knew where they were going, whether home or to a restaurant or a bar. I recognized a couple of them from past visits, but again, if Grandpa had introduced us, I didn’t recall what their names were.

The waitress brought my dinner, said, “Enjoy,” and left. I did enjoy it, if for no other reason than it beat the canned goods I had at home. Actually, it was quite good, as was the slice of apple pie I had for dessert. I was halfway through the pie when a good-looking man with medium brown hair approached my table.

“That your bike out there?” he asked.

“Yes. Why?” I replied warily.

“I haven’t seen one like it in quite a while. A friend of mine was big on them, well, on Harleys in general. Is it good for long distance riding? Looks like it might be.”

“I couldn’t say. I mostly used it for commuting, back where I used to live.”

“Ahh, okay.” The man rested his hands on the back of the chair opposite me. I could see his eyes were blue, and he had a few laugh lines around them. “That sort of implies you might have moved here, or somewhere close. By the way, I’m Robert Adams. I own the local hardware store.”

“I moved into my grandfather’s house a couple of miles out of town,” I replied.

Robert gave me a questioning look then snapped his fingers. “Daniel Marlow’s place, which makes you Shaun Marlow. He loved talking about you and having you visit occasionally. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m bothering you. Sorry,” he said, starting to turn away.

“Not really. I spent most of the day moving furniture around, bringing in all the stuff I brought with me, and I’m beyond exhausted right now.”

“Do you mind?” He pulled the chair out and sat when I said I didn’t. “Not to put a damper on things if the bike is your only transportation, but we can get some pretty bad snows come winter.”

I laughed. “But only in winter.”

With a grin, he replied, “That was sort of a stupid way to put it. Anyway, I thought I’d warn you ahead of time.”

“Thanks. I’ve ridden in snow. It’s not fun but doable given the weight of the bike.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to be picking you up off the highway if you slid out.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m a volunteer EMT,” Robert replied. “Not much fun when tourists decide they can ignore the speed limit signs, or don’t see the black ice and end up in a ditch, or, well, you get the picture.”

“I do. Not a job I could handle since I hate the sight of blood,” I replied.

“What do you do? Daniel said something about writing, I think.”

“Yes. I write mysteries which seem to sell reasonably well. Well, enough I manage not to starve.”

“And you can do it anywhere I take it.”

I nodded. “It’s why I decided to move out here after I found out Grandpa had left me his house.”

“Makes sense to me if you don’t mind being in the middle of nowhere.”

“I think it’s going to be a relief after the noise and hustle and bustle of city life.” I chuckled. “At least I hope so.”

“Is the house livable? Okay, stupid question. Daniel spent most of his life there, him and his family.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be. It could be in pretty bad shape after sitting empty for a couple of months, but it really isn’t, other than desperately needing a paint job on the exterior. If you happen to know someone local who does things like that…” I looked hopefully at him.

He gave me the name of a small restoration company with headquarters in Martinsville, a large town ten miles to the east. I wrote it down, thanking him.

“Uh-oh, here comes trouble,” he said seconds later. I could only presume it was the blonde woman who was bouncing toward us. “That’s Norma Willows, the owner of one of the gift shops. She’s the town gossip and flirt, if you’re male, that is.”

“She won’t have any luck with me, I’m afraid,” I told him just before she pounced.

“I know you,” Norma said, pointing at me. “I’ve seen your picture on the backs of the books you write. Shaun Marlow, right? You’re much better looking in person.”

“I am, and thank you, I think. Robert says you own one of the gift shops.”

“The best one in town.” She preened. “Are you related to Daniel Marlow?”

“I’m his grandson.”

“Oh. Then what I heard was right. You’ve moved into his house.”

I resisted rolling my eyes. “As of today.”

“Wonderful! We need new blood in town.” I swear she batted her eyelashes at me.

Robert shot me an amused look, mouthing, “Told you so.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to her statement. Thankfully the waitress appeared, asking if I wanted more coffee. I told her I didn’t and asked for the check.

“You’re going already?” Norma said, sounding petulant.

“I’m afraid so. I’ve been up since the crack of dawn, I spent the day moving in, and frankly I’m about to fall on my face.”

“Poor baby,” she replied, patting my shoulder. “I guess I’ll be seeing you around?”

“Probably, on and off.”

“Wonderful! I look forward to it.” She winked before walking away.

“Wow,” I muttered.

Robert laughed. “I did warn you.” He eyed me speculatively, tapping his lip. “Would I be way out of line if I asked you something?”

“Depends what it is.”

“You said, just before she got here, that she wouldn’t have any luck with you. That could mean two things, I think. One, you’re not looking for a woman in your life at the moment, or two you’re gay, which I guess goes hand-in-hand with the first thing.”

“I am,” I acknowledged. I figured there was no reason to hide the fact if I was going to be living here. “Does it bother you?”

“Hell no! I don’t think most people will give a damn and those who do will just avoid you.”

“Better than coming after me with pitchforks and torches,” I replied, grinning. I will admit it was a relief to hear that. I don’t flaunt my sexuality, but I’m not willing to hide it, either.

“No kidding,” Robert agreed. He stood when the waitress came with my check. “You know where to find me if you need any hardware, like hammers and nails. It’s one block down on the corner.

“You never know, I might.”

“Good.” He strolled out of the restaurant and, as I handed the waitress my credit card, I saw him stop to look at my bike. He glanced back, must have seen me through the window, and gave a thumbs-up before walking out of sight.

When the waitress came back with my card and the receipts, one of which I signed, I asked her if there was only one grocery store, the one I’d already seen. She told me other than the local one there was a national brand store on the highway a half mile outside of town along the main highway.

I opted for the one in town. I figured since I lived here it would be a good idea to support the local economy. I rode my bike down there, parking it out front.

When I walked in, two people turned to look at me, the dark-haired man behind the front counter who appeared to be in his late twenties, and a gray-haired woman who was rearranging one of the shelves.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” the woman asked.

“Several things. Meat, eggs, milk, fresh vegetables mostly.” I picked up one of the baskets from the stand by the door as she pointed toward the meat counter.

The man quickly came over. “We have…well, you can see what.” He smiled briefly. “Let me know what you want and I’ll wrap it for you.”

I decided on two pounds of ground beef, two pork chops, one of the half chickens, and a piece of fish. While he got them ready, he said, “You’re new here.”

“I am. I’m Shaun Marlow and I just moved into my grandfather’s house.” I wondered fleetingly if I should tattoo that on my forehead to save having to answer what I was certain would be a repetitive question as I met more of the townspeople.

“Ah. I heard you were coming.” He grinned. “We have a good grapevine here.”

“Meaning Norma Willows?”

He grinned again. “You’ve met her, I take it.”

“I have. Robert Adams warned me about her. All about her.”

“Good.” He chuckled. “Oh, I’m Jason. Jason Edwards. That’s my mom, Beth.” He nodded toward the woman. “She and Dad own the store.” He handed me the butcher wrapped packages. “We close in twenty minutes.”

“I’ll hurry, then.”

I did, getting a half-gallon of milk, a pint of half-and-half for my coffee, tomatoes, lettuce, a couple of potatoes, and as an afterthought a container of caramel ice cream and lunch meat. I set everything on the front counter and Jason rang me up.

After I paid, he put everything in two plastic bags then leaned against the counter. “That’s a great bike, but not too practical.”

“So Robert told me. Something about the winters here.”

“There are times when they can be brutal. If it happens and you need more groceries, give us a call. I’ve got a four-by-four so I can deliver them.”

“I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

I gathered up the bags and left. Once I’d removed my helmet from one of the saddlebags, I stored the groceries in them, put on the helmet after getting on the bike, and then headed home. I liked that idea—home. I’ve lived in apartments since I was in college. The idea of having a permanent place I could call my own would be wonderful, once I got everything set up. Tomorrow’s job, I decided.

When I got there, I put away the groceries, took a stab at emptying the boxes which held my clothes, and managed to get half the stuff hung or put in the dresser drawers. I made the bed, since I hadn’t before I left, undressed, and crawled under the covers. I was asleep within seconds.