Chapter 45
As Daniel Bozek stepped out of the hotel, he smiled at a woman nodding a greeting. He wondered if he’d encounter anyone in this town who recognized him. He didn’t think so.
Even in his hometown, he was rarely recognized.
That was the fate of being the second guitar player in a band known only for its singers.
Nobody realized that the guy playing a guitar at the back of the stage was actually the one writing the songs.
And writing them on a guitar he had owned since he was a kid of twelve and had started on this musical quest.
He decided to buy some sweets at the General Store across the street and was surprised to spot a friendly face that looked vaguely familiar. Then it came to him. It was the burly detective he’d met—the one who was trying to find his guitar.
“Mr. Bozek,” said the detective as he placed his wares on the conveyor belt. “I hope you are enjoying your stay in Hampton Cove, in spite of the circumstances?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he said. “Very much so, in fact.”
“I thought you said you were leaving for Germany today?”
“I decided to stick around a little while longer. Seeing as you are looking for my guitar, I was actually hoping…”
The detective smiled. “Oh, we’ll find your instrument, Mr. Bozek. I have no doubt about that. It’s only a matter of time. You may be surprised to learn that here in Hampton Cove, we have a clearance rate of one hundred percent.”
Bozek found that extremely hard to believe. “You solve every single crime?”
“That’s right. We don’t have any cold cases, and we don’t leave a stone unturned to solve every single crime.
It can be as small as graffiti sprayed on the side of a house or as big as murder, and everything in between.
But we strive to make this a crime-free town, and so far we are succeeding.
” He placed his hand on the conveyor belt. “Touch wood.”
Daniel thought that either this man was an idiot or a genius.
And since he had developed rather a sordid and cynical view of the world over the course of his life, he decided to go for the idiot possibility.
It seemed safer than to assume that there could be a town on the face of the earth where they managed to solve every single crime committed.
At that moment, some cats walked by, en route to the back of the store, and given the fact that nobody looked up, he got the feeling this was a normal and regular occurrence.
What a strange town. What strange people. And so many cats.
Maybe he should write a song about this town.
It might be a big hit.
As he said goodbye to the detective, he moved deeper into the store and perused the products neatly distributed amongst the shelves and racks.
He picked out a few candy bars and some boxes of cookies—his main vice in life—and took them to the front.
The person behind the counter was watching a football game on a small television set and looked up.
“I hear from Chase that you’re some kind of musical man?” he said as he scanned Daniel’s wares. He took his sweet time, and Daniel got the impression that he was one of those talkative people who love to engage their customers in conversation and find out everything about them.
“Yes, that’s right,” he said. “I play guitar in the band Turbo Heartthrob.”
The guy nodded. “I think I’ve heard of you guys. German, right?”
“That’s right,” he said, surprised that this man would know so much about him.
“I like your music. I like it a lot. I can’t play it in the store, though, because some of the customers might complain.
” He pulled a face. “They prefer the kind of elevator music I can’t stand.
Engelbert Humperdinck. ‘Quando, Quando, Quando.’ You know the sort.
But I’ll definitely listen to your stuff tonight. ”
“That’s great,” said Daniel, pleasantly surprised.
At that moment, a lady walked into the store, and when she caught sight of him, plastered a dazzling smile on her face.
“Mr. Bozek,” she said. “Mayor Charlene Butterwick. I have to say it is an honor for Hampton Cove to have you as our guest. And I wanted to tell you that our police station is buzzing with activity to try and find your guitar for you.”
“Thank you,” he said, taken aback.
He pressed the woman’s outstretched hand and was surprised by how firm her grip was.
“Would you like to do us the pleasure of a private performance at some point in the future? Nothing big, mind. Just a few songs. Some of the people at Town Hall are big, big fans of your band.” And when he opened his mouth to respond, she quickly added, “Once we have managed to retrieve your guitar for you, of course. Not before.”
“Well, if I’m still in town,” he said, “why not?”
“Why not, indeed,” she said, then gave him a nod and moved deeper into the store.
At this point, the man behind the counter cleared his throat. “That’ll be five bucks fifty, buddy. Though on second thought,” he added as he gave him a wink, “it’s on the house.”
“Oh, no,” he said.
“Oh, yes. For the music you bring into this world. It’s the least I can do to express my gratitude.”
“Why, thanks…”
“Wilbur. Wilbur Vickery.”
As he left the store, he was feeling overwhelmed.
As a consequence, he almost bumped into an exceedingly handsome woman of indeterminate age.
She could have been forty, but she could also have been seventy.
Hard to tell. She was dressed to impress, rocking a vertiginous decolletage that almost made him lose his balance the moment he allowed his eyes to dip down into its depths.
The woman gave him a dazzling smile. “Daniel Bozek!” she cried. “So nice to see you, sir!”
“Have we met?” he asked, a little startled.
“Scarlett Canyon! I’m with the Neighborhood Watch. And I can assure you that we are doing everything in our power to locate that guitar of yours. We won’t rest until the instrument is safely returned to you and you can start writing that beautiful music again.”
“Gee, thanks, Mrs. Canyon,” he said. “That is… very kind of you.”
“Take it from me, Mr. Bozek,” she said, “whoever took that guitar and killed that poor man made a big mistake. That kind of thing simply doesn’t stand here in Hampton Cove.”
“No, I can see that,” he said.
As she moved off, he saw that she was being followed around by yet another cat.
How many cats were there in Hampton Cove? Almost as many as there were people—maybe even more.
He definitely was going to write a song about this town.
And it was going to be a banger.