Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
ERASER
Parking at the far end of town near the hardware store, I slip on a baseball cap and sunglasses and prepare to spend the day familiarizing myself with the area. Sun peeking over the mountains in the distance, I amble down the sidewalk with no specific destination in mind.
Early risers pull into the parking lot of a diner, several of the tables already full. Across the street, a line spills out the door and down the sidewalk of a coffee shop. Soft chatter mixes with the scent of bacon as I pass the open door of the diner. A hint of excitement in the air.
Before making the drive, I researched the town and some of its residents. I was promised my efforts would be fruitful. That every mile my tires ate up and dollar I spent on gas would be worth it.
By the look of things, those promises are spot on.
The farther I walk, the more this town reeks of money. I gathered as much during my online perusal but seeing it in person is quite the experience.
Quaint families decked out in pristine attire, not a single hair out of place. Not an ounce of worry on any of their faces. So innocent. So naive. So fucking stupid and careless. It will be my absolute pleasure to corrupt every one of them. All it takes is one person. An in with the most gullible of them and they fall like dominos.
I take it all in—the perfectly manicured grass, the neatly pruned plants, the colorful and welcoming storefronts, the happy-go-lucky residents. Even the town bar looks… refined, polished.
“Fucking weird,” I mutter as I weave between the growing crowd.
But this is the perfect place to collect what belongs to me.
Streaks of yellow paint the powder-blue sky as I cross the street and head for the most talked about breakfast spot in town. People mosey about, smiles on their faces as they wave. Not wanting to stick out, I return the gesture. Act like every other tourist.
I round the corner and follow the street south for close to a mile. Cars line the street and spill out of the lot well before the restaurant’s sign comes into view.
Good thing I have time.
The sweet scent of maple syrup mingles with the nutty aroma of coffee as I step inside, my stomach grumbling.
“Morning. Welcome to Poke the Yolk.” The older woman smiles, and I return it in kind. “Just you, sweetheart?”
I remove my hat and sunglasses. “Yes, ma’am.”
She waves me off. “None of that ma’am business.” She surveys the dining room. “I have a seat open at the counter if that works for you.”
“Sounds perfect.” I glance down at her name tag. “Thank you, Trudie.”
Plucking a menu from the holder at the host stand, she leads me to my seat. “You’re most welcome. We should be thanking you for visiting our town.”
Blending in is out of the equation. At least in places the townies frequent. Noted.
“It’s a lot to take in.”
Trudie smiles and rests a hand on my shoulder. “I suppose any new place can be overwhelming.” Her hand falls away and she gives me the menu. “Today’s special is the French toast casserole with mixed berries and cream cheese drizzle. The perfect festive treat.”
With a cheek-stinging smile, I thank her, and she tells me my server will be with me momentarily.
These people are so fucking delusional. Does anyone actually believe this is reality?
Every shop in this town is independently owned and appears to be thriving. From the pictures online, all the government and community buildings are made of stone, flawlessly carved idols and monuments scattered throughout the town. The church looks like it’s from the Gothic medieval era, the library not much different. The streets and sidewalks are clean enough to eat off of. And the founding families have no issue with sharing the fact they’re rolling in money. Well, most of them.
Were it not for the mountain ranges, bay, and ocean surrounding Stone Bay, this place would’ve lost its shine long ago.
Perhaps that’s why I’m here. To help it along. Nothing brings me more satisfaction than breaking people and putting them in their place.
“Good morning.”
I glance up from my menu to see a pretty blonde woman across the counter, a bright smile on her face. “Good morning,” I greet and glance down at her name tag. “Kirsten. What a lovely name.”
The corners of her eyes twitch the slightest bit. “Thank you.” Her smile shifts, still present but a touch uncomfortable. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”
“Coffee would be wonderful.”
As if she’s done it a million times, she turns, takes a few steps, grabs a full pot of coffee, and returns to my seat at the counter. She flips over the mug on my place setting and pours until the caffeinated brew nears the top. “Do you need more time to look at the menu?”
Saying her name made her skittish. Antsy. Aloof. She hides it well, though.
“No, I’m ready.” Not wanting to draw more attention to myself, I give her my gentlest smile. “Trudie sold me on the French toast casserole.” I hand her my menu.
“Good choice. Shouldn’t be long.”
She walks off on quick feet, stopping at a kiosk to enter my order. I study her out of the corner of my eye as I add a few packs of sugar to my coffee. A man close to her age with dark curly hair sidles up to her and says something I can’t make out. A moment later, he moves down the counter alley and gives me an artificial smile as he passes.
In trying to appear friendly, I’ve made myself a target. But not with Trudie.
Something happened to the blonde woman. And perhaps the dark-haired man she spoke with. They watch out for each other. Protect one another.
Rather than draw more attention, I do what most people do nowadays. Get lost in one of the apps on my phone. Mindlessly scroll until a plate of food is set in front of me.
As I eat, I covertly scan what little of the restaurant I can see.
Elderly folks sip from mugs and chat with neighboring tables, uncaring how long they occupy their spot in the restaurant. Children scarf down food fast enough for a stomachache. Young adults sit in clusters with more than one carafe of coffee on their table, eyes sleepy and heads heavy.
A streak of blonde catches my eye as I swivel back toward my plate. I pause long enough to know it’s my server, and she’s secured in another man’s arms. A black short-sleeve shirt hugs the thick muscles of his arms and chest, the word POLICE emblazoned on the sleeve and across his broad back.
I drop my gaze to my breakfast and eat faster than the kids nearby. Focus on clearing my plate and the reason I came to this pretentious town in the first place. To collect.
Shoveling down another bite, ready to get out of here, I make the mistake of looking for the server. When I spot her, she’s still with the officer. And his studious gaze is firmly locked on me, head tilted and eyes narrowed.
Instead of waiting for the check, I grab my wallet, take out enough cash to cover my meal, and set it under the mug. Doing my best to appear unbothered, I wipe my mouth with a napkin, drop it on my empty plate, and rise from my seat. I force my shoulders to relax as I take slow, sure strides toward the door.
Trudie thanks me for stopping in as I near the door. I wave, don my hat, slip on my sunglasses, and exit the quaint restaurant without a word. I don’t look over my shoulder. Don’t meet the eyes I feel boring into my back.
I’ve already drawn too much attention. Time to accomplish what I set out to do.
The morning sun warms my skin as I trek down the road toward the park hosting the main event. I pay the attendant and enter the lavish festival. Scout the area and look for the best place to loiter while I wait for more people to arrive.
Pausing near a cluster of trees on the outskirts, I unlock my phone, go to my photos, and tap on the one with his picture. Music plays from strategically placed speakers as I study the image. Memorize it one more time.
Once I have the details of his face burned in my mind, I close the app, stow the phone in my pocket, and mosey about the event. Blend into the crowd and partake in activities. Act as though today’s festivities are what brought me here and not the man I’m told will pay handsomely for someone else’s mistakes.
Several songs, games, and fake conversations later, I spot him through the crowd. Genuine smile on his face, he shamelessly gawks at the woman with him, a young boy between them.
A wicked grin tugs at the corners of my mouth as I follow them with my sunglasses-covered eyes. I don’t just have one meal ticket in this town. Now I have three. And the best way to get all three is the path of least resistance.
Oh, how I love learning people’s weaknesses. What I love more is the way they break as I rob them of what they hold dear, of what they love.
This man will shatter when I take what he loves. He will fold so easily. And I’ll relish every moment, a pile of cash in my possession and devilish smile on my face.