On Sunday morning, Mark Steele sold the last of the newspapers, then looked out across a capacity crowd at Monty’s Diner, glad that he had anticipated a big turnout and had scheduled extra help.
He waited until patrons were engrossed in the headlines, then walked to the counter and read over George Gentry’s shoulder:
PAXTON CASE HITS HOME
The FBI has arrested a suspect in connection with Friday’s car bombings in Baxter and the shooting deaths of Sheila Paxton’s boyfriend and two deputy U.S. marshals in Raleigh earlier this month.
Giorgio Antonio Merlino, 36, of Chicago was apprehended late Friday night after agents learned he had registered at a motel in Ellison under the alias George Aldridge, a name FBI agents have been tracking for some time.
Jordan Ellis, the special agent in charge, said, “The bureau has known for years about Merlino’s ties to organized crime, but we’ve never had enough evidence to nail him until now.”
Merlino’s connection to Sheila Paxton goes back eighteen years to a house on Marquette Road near downtown Chicago …
Mark read every word of the article, completely absorbed in the story, until he heard George Gentry’s voice.
“I’m speechless.” George took off his glasses and laid them on the counter.
“Sounds like a godfather movie,” Reggie Mason said. “Listen to these names: Spike Risotto, Giorgio Merlino, Bennie Stassi. Sheesh!”
Liv Spooner shook her head. “I wonder how many people this Merlino actually killed?”
“I wonder what kind of life Sheila Paxton had as Mary Angelina Risotto?” George said. “Just think, we actually saw someone who was in the witness protection program and didn’t even know it.”
“I wonder more about Ellen,” Hattie Gentry said. “Can you even imagine how traumatic this has been?”
Mort Clary shook his head and folded his newspaper. “Ain’t been a picnic fer the mayor neither. KJNX jumped the gun on that diary. Did terrible hurt to him and his family.”
Rosie Harris hurried past the counter and put several green slips on the clip. “Order!” She picked up a fresh pot of coffee and started working her way down the counter. “Okay, what’d I miss?”
“Mort was bemoaning the diary,” Mark said.
Rosie put her hand on her heart. “Just kills me to think our mayor was being blackmailed by a gangster. And because of something he didn’t even do.”
Liv took a sip of coffee. “Lucky for him that guy from Thompson Tire said Sheila lied in the diary about him, too.”
“Well,” Rosie said, “makes me sick that I defended her and said she was a classy lady. She was anything but a lady.”
“Told ya that all along,” Mort said.
Rosie squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, you did. How come you’re so subdued?”
“I ain’t subdued. I’m just a little distracted about goin’ ta see Rennie.”
George looked down the counter. “So when you going?”
“Soon as I leave here. Rennie asked me to come and stay a spell. Says Bob don’t seem ta mind.”
“That’s great!” Rosie said.
Everyone at the counter nodded in agreement.
Mort gathered the toast crumbs on his plate with his finger. “Could be after we’re all together, things’ll go sour. Old hurts might come spillin’ out. Maybe I oughta leave well enough alone.”
“No way!” Reggie turned Mort’s stool around and pulled him to his feet. “You’re gonna have the time of your life and come back here with all kinds of stuff to tell us.”
Liv nodded. “That’s right. And we’ll be right here—waiting.”
“Come on,” George said. “I’ll walk you to your truck.” George got up and put his hand on Mort’s shoulder, and the two of them started walking toward the coatrack.
Mort put on his hat, then turned around. “I ain’t never been good with words, but you folks’ve been the family I was missin’. And no matter what happens with Rennie, I ain’t never gonna change how I feel about ya.”
Mark stood watching as the early crowd gathered around Mort and wished him well. He realized for the first time that nothing here would be quite the same until Mort came back. For all his irritating ways, Mort was as much a part of Monty’s as Leo’s blueberry pancakes.
“Hey, Mort,” Mark hollered, a grin on his face. “Don’t stay away too long, hear?”
Jordan Ellis packed the last of his things and zipped up his suitcase. He heard a knock at the door and got up and looked through the peephole. He smiled and opened the door.
“Hey, Sheriff. Come to run me out of Dodge?”
Hal chuckled. “I knew you were heading out this morning and hoped I could catch you first. I wanted to say thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Thanks for not getting possessive of your turf. Made things go a lot smoother.”
“Aaron and I are grateful for your hard work on this case,” Hal said. “I can’t imagine trying to handle this with our limited resources.”
“Well, what are feds for?”
Hal smiled and shook his head. “Here, I brought you a newspaper. Ellen did a good job—as usual.”
Jordan took the paper and glanced at the headlines. “Thanks. I’m anxious to read it.”
“Well, I need to get my family to church,” Hal said, extending his hand. “Just wanted you to know how much I appreciate the job you did to protect Ellen and get Merlino off the street. My stress level is back down to tolerable.”
Jordan shook his hand and slapped his back. “We’re a good team. Try to keep the peace, will you?”
Hal smiled. “I’ll do my best.”
Jordan closed the door and stood for a moment at the window. Beyond the trees, he saw the clock tower on the county courthouse. It seemed to epitomize the proud history of Baxter and its unbreakable community spirit.
He tucked the newspaper under his arm, put his cell phone in his pocket, and picked up his bag. He went outside and pulled the door shut behind him, then skipped down the steps and walked to his car, satisfied with a job well done.