January 18, 2018
Since Hello, Good-Pie is still sealed off as a crime scene as the State Police are still investigating Randall’s murder, I’m meeting Merit at Café by the Sea. It’s like Denny’s but with fresh seafood and tar for coffee. Betty Lee—better known for her tough, you’ll-take-what-I-make-you demeanor—took over the business just after her father passed away about thirty years ago.
Merit worked here while in high school because Pop had said she had to get a job. At first, she was the dishwasher and then worked her way up to lead waitress. Then, after breaking Betty’s heart, Merit left for college and never looked back.
“You’re sure this will work, Mer? I can’t afford to screw this up.” I take a sip of the tar and choke it down, knowing it’ll give me a boost in a matter of minutes.
“Are you kidding? Bryce is a miracle worker.”
Her phone vibrates and slides across the table, and she grabs it, reading a text message.
“Who’s that?” I ask before I put a strawberry in my mouth.
“Nunya.”
“Who the hell is nunya?”
“Nunya business.” She’s looking at her phone.
“You seem more chipper than you’ve been since you got home.” I take another sip of coffee.
She shrugs as she sets her phone down, still smiling, and stares at me. “You have your flight booked, right?”
Yes, even though every time Merit mentions the flight, I almost shit my pants.
Liz sets our tab down on the table.
“Warden Young. Need anything else?” She winks.
“No, no, we’re all set, Liz. Thank you.” I break eye contact with her as quickly as possible because I don’t want her to get the wrong impression.
Merit’s eyes grow big as Liz walks away. “That is something I haven’t missed about Granite Harbor. How women just fall all over you. Gets old, Young. Gets old quick.”
Merit reaches for the tab, but I grab it instead.
“Whatever.”
I look down at the ticket, and Liz has scribbled her phone number at the bottom. I smirk and look up at Merit.
“What?” she says, setting her plate aside.
“Nothing.” I push out of the booth and stand, grabbing my wallet from my back pocket.
“Warden Young.”
I turn to the booth behind us.
“Good morning, Milton. Ruthie.” I shake Milton’s hand.
“See you caught the bastard.”
I nod. “We did.” I try to keep things vague when I get questions out in public like this.
“You’re sure he’s dead?”
“No doubt in my mind.”
Ruthie’s elbows are on the table out in front of her. “How’s Alex? We sure miss her around here.”
Milton gives Ruthie a stern look.
“What?” she asks her husband.
“Didn’t we agree we wouldn’t ask Eli about Alex?”
“Oh, come on, Milton. Everybody knows about the fallout with Grace. Lord help us all. That woman was—still is—hell on wheels.” She looks up at me.
The mention of Alex’s name sets my heart into a rhythm that cannot be traced back to any past loves. This beat is only for her. “Honestly, Ruthie, I don’t know. I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”
“I wonder how’s she doing with all that.”
Her question is rhetorical, I know.
“Our sweet little town was shaken to its core. For Randall. And Lila. Her family. My God.” She shakes her head. “Do you know when the service is for Randall?”
“Friday,” Merit says, walking up behind us. She must have gone and said good-bye to Betty.
“Well, bless your heart, Merit, it is so good to see you.” Ruthie stands and hugs Merit.
“How’s your dad feeling? He enjoy the ribs I brought over?” Milton takes a sip of his coffee. “Criminy’s sake. That’ll put hair on your chest,” he whispers as he sets his coffee down.
“He did. Thank you.”
“Well, you two take care of yourself and your father.” Ruthie sits back down with her husband at the table.
I’m in my truck, driving, thinking about Randall. What he must have gone through. And Lila. I’ve never taken this job lightly. I took an oath when I signed on to serve and protect. Part of me feels like I’ve failed. I allowed Clay into our lives. Had him and Randall to my home. Never once did I feel like he was a psychopath. Never. I feel unnerved that I never knew. Is something off in me? Could Ryan tell? Ethan? Aaron?
I pull over and grab my binoculars, trying to push the bad thoughts away. I jump out of my truck to scan the lake for fishermen.
Seeing Randall like that on the floor of the bakery still haunts my thoughts. I’ve learned to separate death. I’ve learned to look at cases with both animals and people as a scientific study.
I see two fishermen halfway across the lake, and they’re headed in the opposite direction. I’ll check them for fishing licenses and then be on my way. Something, anything, to keep my mind busy. I jump back into the truck and head in their direction to a quiet pullout where I assume I see their truck.
And Alex. My Alex.
I stare down at my phone, wanting to call her again, feeling incompetent with her needs, as if I can fix them. But it isn’t my job either. Though I’d gladly take it, she’s not willing to give it up. She can, and will, take care of herself. This is a bitter pill to swallow.
I dial her number as I park in the pullout.
It rings. And rings. And rings. And rings. As expected, her voice mail picks up.
“Hey, Alex. It’s me again. Listen, I know I’m the last person you want to talk to right now, but I just needed … I just needed to hear your voice. And I want you to know I’m not putting my needs before yours because I think you need to hear my voice just as much.” I pause, not ready to end the message. “Heard about your Golden Globe nominations. That’s great. Just great. Everyone in Granite Harbor is real excited for you. Especially Ruthie.” I roll my eyes. “I don’t know if you’ve talked to Lydia, but she might need someone right now. Thought you might want to give her a call. Anyway, uh, I love you.” My insides turn to shit as soon as I let the words leave my mouth. At this point, I don’t care how desperate I sound. I just need her back.
I hit End.
I go to get out of the truck, but I stop because I hear leaves crunching. A moose quietly and carefully makes her way from the trees, about twenty feet from the truck. The moose stops and stares at me. I see her breath in the cool morning air, rhythmic, curious. She tips her head up just a bit, as if she’s testing the waters, checking me out. With the light-colored brown face, I can tell it’s a female moose.
She drops her head to smell the ground and then looks back the way she came. It’s so quiet, and everything is peaceful. It’s cold outside, and there are remnants of snow left on the ground. She stares me down again and then slowly walks past the truck and to the lake for a drink of water.
Moose season is over in Maine, and I wonder if she knows. Moose are monogamous for the mating season. They only mate with one bull. Did her bull pull through? Did he survive the hunting season? Is she here to give me a piece of her mind?
Maybe she’s a sign.