Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The phone behind the counter at Steamy Sips rang as Dave and Arie dismantled their spinning poles from the ceiling.
Breeze was still out walking Taco, who was surprisingly sprightly after her close call two nights ago.
Breeze had been unsurprisingly forgiving, even trying to convince me to let her pay me back—which I of course declined.
And also knew she couldn’t. I begrudgingly answered the coiled receiver attached to the wall.
“Riley,” Dax’s voice vibrated through the phone, causing my breath to hitch. Anyone would have thought I’d swallowed a live bird. Get a grip, Riley. So you saw him with his shirt off? Big deal.
“Dax?” I replied, grateful the phone at least hid the way my hand gripped the counter.
He is boring. He is arrogant. He pays in perfect change. He is gross.
Okay, he’s not gross. He’s as steamy as my morning coffee—but no. Just no.
“There’s been another break-in,” he said, just as Dave dropped his end of the pole he and Arie were carrying.
They’d been taking them horizontally towards the exit, and my eyes spat daggers at him.
The floors weren’t new concrete; they were original wood, painstakingly polished by me.
Several times. I was more attached to them than I was to my own sister.
Dave rubbed at a mark and grimaced before lifting his end again.
“Can you repeat that? Someone was signing their death wish, and I couldn’t hear you through it,” I said, leaning my hip against the counter.
“There was a break-in reported at your house last night.”
“It’s not my house,” I said automatically, then processed his words and sighed. “Tell me you’re joking.”
“I wish I were. For some reason it didn’t get checked by an officer last night, so I’m only getting to it now. I’m going anyway and wondered if you wanted to come.”
I bit my bottom lip, weighing it up. Any excuse not to go there I would gladly take.
On the other hand, something inside me didn’t mind my going when he was there.
On the other, other hand, what if they found something this time, and it was something I didn’t want him to see?
His calming words echoed in my mind again and caused a familiar warmth to pool somewhere low.
Nope, I wasn’t going just so that I could perve on Dax.
“You go and then report back. I trust you.” The traitorous words spilled from my mouth before my brain could filter them, and I froze. I do not trust him.
Dax cleared his throat. “I’ll call you back with an update.”
Where the hell had that come from?
I sat at a small table beside the coffee machine, reading the newspaper when he ducked his head through the door a couple of hours later. His expression was neutral, and since there had been no frantic call, I didn’t feel the urge to leap up.
I’d never been a newspaper fan before coming to Glades Bay; I couldn’t stand the hysterics of mainstream media.
The world was always ending or divided over something, and I couldn't help but feel they didn't always declare the honest end of the stick. Ignorance was the stance I’d adopted.
But Squirrel News was something else altogether.
On the first day I discovered Steamy Sips, I'd read it ironically, after finding it on a table inside. Everything about it tickled me, from Glenda and Phil’s front page 50th wedding anniversary—the talk of the town—to the list of burglaries, apprehensions and arrests.
They tried to get an interview from Glades Bay's newest resident when I first arrived, but I declined. I’m not a resident after all.
Last night’s break-in at Bellamy House hadn’t made it into this issue, thank the universe.
But that was only because of a printing delay.
I was re-reading last week’s issue. In typical small-town fashion, they were sporadic with distribution.
Sometimes two issues in a week if there was enough excitement, sometimes none.
I’d read the "What’s On" section to Rick over the phone, outlining the town’s schedule like I was reciting the sacred calendar of weird.
My favourites: the Coffin Crew (build your own deathbed), Scottish line dancing (no partner required), and of course, the Balls Club cardio strip fitness.
“Age group of the Balls Club?” Rick asked, likely already halfway through booking a ride-share.
“Too old for you.”
“You know I don’t mind a daddy,” he purred.
“Ew.”
“Homophobe.”
“I’m not. It’s the age thing I meant.”
“Ageist.”
“I’m not! I’m saying, for me, ew. I’m thinking of myself. All ego here.”
“Stop yucking my yum,” Rick said flatly, before bursting into laughter.
“You need to stop doing that. You know what I meant.”
“I know," he sighed through bursts of laughter. "It’s so funny though, people are so easy to wind up, really tickles my pickle.”
“Ew.”
“You know who’s actually been tickling my pickle lately though? Remember Jeffrey?”
“You mean Jeffrey with the pug you won’t let me babysit, who always looks like he’s off to chop wood in the forest?”
“That’s the one. He’s been around. A bit.”
“Oh…” I said, chewing my bottom lip. “Like a bit, a bit? Something serious?”
“Shush. Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it.”
“You brought it up.”
“Yeah, well. I’m regretting it now,” Rick muttered. His heart’s armour was just as heavy as mine. “Anyway, tell me more about this detective?”
He was nearly as good as I was at avoiding personal details. Nearly.
“Nothing to say.”
“Which means there’s so much to sa—”
I pressed the little red button before he could finish.
“Who are we celebrating this week?” Dave asked, dropping into the chair across from me.
“Laurence Gaywall. Glades Bay’s last living World War Two survivor and newest centenarian,” I said, holding up the front page.
I wanted to ask if he made a habit of inviting himself to people’s tables, but my usual sass had taken the day off.
Probably distracted by a brooding, brown-eyed and tall individual sitting at the counter.
Should I have been more stressed about the break-in? Maybe. But Dax's neat stack of coins on the counter told me there was no rush.
Instead, Dave and I sat in a few moments of awkward silence as he kicked the toe of his New Balance sneaker against the leg of the chair.
“It’s me, Bill!” a man in a black softshell jacket and striped beanie announced from the jingling doorway.
“I thought he’d carked it,” Dave groaned.
My mouth bobbed open. “You were hoping that man had died?”
Dave was growing on me.
“No, no, of course not,” he said, his thumb and index finger pulling his brows together as he tried to avoid being spotted by the man who was now circling the room.
“He used to be in the club—well, he still is technically. He was the guy who could get anything—vinyl, rare books, car parts. Now he just… throws everything off. I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. ”
“What, like he doesn’t body roll in sync? Or when everyone’s shaking to the left, your man is shaking to the right?” I joked.
“It’s me, Bill!” the man said again, tapping the name badge pinned to his chest. “Still alive.”
Breeze smiled warmly from behind the counter as he filled the gap between them. “We’ve missed you Bill, it’s great to see you. Coffee and food?”
“Yes, yes,” the man bobbed his head. “Still alive. I’m Bill!”
“I’ll bring it over shortly,” she smiled. That woman was sweetness incarnated I was sure of it.
I watched Bill find his way to a table and noticed the differing reactions from other people in the café.
Some looked afraid or whispered to each other about him with rounded eyes and pity smiles.
Others turned themselves toward him, welcoming his obviously limited conversation skills.
Dave, on the other hand, seemed to curl further towards the table in an attempt to make himself invisible.
“He’s got Alzheimer’s,” Dave hissed at me.
I smirked at him. “Is it contagious?”
His eye roll said everything.
“Looks like he’s coming this way,” I whispered, leaning closer. Dave sank lower.
Bill limped over, grinning from ear to ear.
“It’s me, Bill!” he shouted.
Dave flinched. Then straightened.
“Bill! Good to see you, mate,” he said, offering a hand.
Bill blinked at it, then ignored it completely. Instead, he opened his worn wallet and took out his licence.
“There I am. That’s me—Bill. Still here!” he said, holding it out for Dave to inspect.
“Yes,” Dave replied awkwardly.
The moment stretched. I could see both men were uncomfortable. Bill seemed particularly drawn to people he recognised, although his vocabulary was limited. My chest panged, and it made me wonder how much of this man was trapped inside.
“Here you go, Bill,” Breeze called, placing a cappuccino and club sandwich on the middle table. Bill let out a joyful laugh and shuffled over.
“Dave,” I hissed.
“I don’t know what to say to him anymore,” he groaned. “I don’t know what he remembers.”
“So, avoiding him is the answer?”
He folded his arms like a cross teenager. “Well, no. But it’s easier.”
Honesty. I respected that, even if I didn’t agree with him.
I had a loyalty to the underdog in any situation, so I’d immediately taken a shine to Bill.
I thought back to Mr Van den Berg, the caretaker of my first school.
Mr Vee, as he'd affectionately offered when I couldn't pronounce his surname. He’d done that for me, and I'd caught the bug.
The downtrodden. The out of luck. The worriers. The survivors. Those were my people.
“Riley Walls,” Dax’s full-lipped smile made my heart jump. “Can I have a word?”
I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “Sure, Detective. Want to take me out back?”
Dave didn’t miss my breathless tone. Dax’s neck flushed crimson.
Rick was right.
People really were easy to wind up.