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He was on a knee in the True Crime aisle, retrieving several books that Travis had knocked over, when he smelled the aroma of the ocean. Brody paused and listened. He became aware of the change in humidity within the store.
Someone had gotten inside without the little bell ringing. Quietly, he stacked the books on the nearest shelf. He snuck out the back of the aisle, hoping to surprise whoever was standing in the store.
But there was no one.
He reached up to stroke his beard, the one that he’d shaved off days ago. In a mixture of disappointment and frustration, his hand dropped to his side.
When the store’s rear door clicked shut, his head snapped in its direction. He quickly moved down the back hallway.
As he passed the restroom, he glanced in and confirmed no one was there.
Next, Brody paused at the basement stairs and saw that they were still locked. No one could have gotten in from down there.
He shoved the back door open, but there wasn’t anyone in the alley either.
He glanced up the stairs to his apartment. No one was at his door, and he had locked it when he left in the morning.
Maybe he was losing his mind, he thought.
He looked up and down the alley a final time and pulled the door closed, securing it.
As he returned to the front of the store, he smelled the ocean’s air and felt the humidity again. He reasoned it was because he had opened the back door. However, Brody tossed that line of thought aside when he saw Special Agent Max Ekleberry standing in the middle of his shop, a hard-sided briefcase in hand.
“Were you just in here?” Brody asked.
Ekleberry held a single finger to his lips. After placing the briefcase on the counter, he removed a device that resembled a small viewfinder. The agent held it to his eye and looked about the store. Slowly and carefully, he stepped into different locations of the shop, his eye scanning everything. When he finished, he returned to the counter. He carefully placed the piece of equipment into the hard case and next removed an item that bore a resemblance to a child’s walkie-talkie.
The special agent then wandered about the store lifting the device over various surfaces and items. His eyes locked onto the readings of the little handheld device. After covering every inch of the store, Ekleberry returned to his briefcase. Brody started to say something, but the agent slowly shook his head and again raised a single finger to his lips.
The lawman now traded the walkie-talkie device for a black wand, the size of a small flashlight. He retraced his steps, lifting his hand over every surface and item. When he was satisfied, he clicked off the wand and walked back to his briefcase.
“Go ahead,” Ekleberry said. “Your store is clean.”
“Were you just in here?”
“I did a pass-through,” he said, packing away the little wand. “Then looped around the front to see if anyone had followed me.”
“Were you?”
Max shook his head.
“Why are you worried about being followed?”
“Onderdonk called and said he thought the mob was in town.”
“He say anything else?”
“He told me everything. I think he’s getting ahead of the mess of trouble that’s about to come his way.”
“He told you about his missing witness?”
“The woman? Alice Walker? Yeah, he filled me in.”
“He’s using me as bait.”
“I figured something was off when he sent you here.”
Brody studied the man. He seemed genuine, but it was hard to tell with cops. They used lies to coerce confessions, which meant they had a built-in excuse for their untruths. Once that became ingrained into their belief system, cops often became better liars than the criminals they chased.
“I figured if the mob had any idea that you were linked to the marshals and us, they might be listening and watching, but you’re clean. We can go upstairs and check out your apartment if you want.”
“In a minute.”
Ekleberry leaned against the counter. “You called and left a message for me.”
“I wanted to talk about Onderdonk, but it seems you two are already talking.”
“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Beau.”
“It’s Brody,” he said. “And I’m feeling like shark chum.”
“That’s because you are.” There was no humor in Ekleberry’s statement. “I don’t like what Onderdonk did. It was a jerk move, but I can get you out of here. I’ll get you another witness inspector, and they’ll get you another town.”
The agent’s words should have brought him relief. Initially, he didn’t want to be in this sleepy little town. He wanted to be where there was a vibrancy and things to do. But Pleasant Valley had snuck up on him. He knew a lot of it had to do with a particular bookkeeper at the local grocery store.
“Not yet,” Brody said.
Ekleberry tilted his head.
“Let’s play this out.”
“I can’t force you to leave, Beau. You’ve held up your end of our bargain, but this isn’t smart. If that truly is the mob and they find out you’re an informant, well, you can imagine where this goes.”
“This is Pleasant Valley. What are they going to do? Shoot up the town?”
The agent shrugged. “Who knows with these guys?”
Brody set his jaw. “I’m staying. I don’t want to run. I like it here.”
Ekleberry folded his arms. “Maybe you should tell me where this mob joint is and what you know.”
Brody settled onto the stool behind the counter. “It’s called Il Cuoco Irato,” he began, and he proceeded to tell the agent everything he could remember.