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After dinner, Brody walked past Il Cuoco Irato. The Open sign was off, and the front lights were dimmed. Frankie Columbo was seated in the corner booth. He had a laptop open and a cell phone to his ear. The old waiter was dutifully cleaning the last few tables.
The big man watched for a few moments from a nearby tree. A boat’s horn sounded in the distance. He waited for a little while longer, then stepped into the shadows and headed toward the shore. As he walked, he had the eerie sense of being followed. It was the same feeling he got a couple of nights ago when Jimmy the Pump had tailed him. He wondered if the man was trailing him again.
Brody stopped several times and stood still on the sidewalk. He turned around repeatedly, his eyes searching for anything moving in the darkness. Finally his unease faded, and he continued his journey toward the beach. He heard another horn sound. This time it was further out in the bay.
At the beach, he found a shadowy area and waited. It didn’t take long, and a small single-engine boat arrived. The ship ran aground with two men aboard. One of the men tossed a large duffel bag onto the beach which thudded when it landed. The man then jumped to the sand himself. His shoes, with the laces tied together, hung around his neck. He turned around and pushed the boat back into deeper water.
The figure walked through the sand until he reached the pathway. He sat and brushed off his feet. Then he put his socks and shoes on. The man wore black pants and a long dark shirt.
When he stood, the man secured the duffel bag over his right shoulder, then casually strolled up Main Street. By his walk, a confident gait, it was clear he wasn’t concerned about being followed. He never looked back to see if anybody was near.
The man whistled as he walked up to Second Street, hung a right, and went directly to the Italian restaurant. Brody shadowed him the entire way. By the time he made it to his previous hiding spot to watch inside Il Cuoco Irato, the man and his duffel bag were gone. Only Frankie Columbo remained, his eyes intently studying his laptop.
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Brody hid in the shadows for twenty minutes, watching Frankie the Dove until he decided it was time to go home. He slipped from the darkness and took the long way to The Red Herring. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been followed earlier.
He could have gone around the back and into the alley, but he wanted to stop first and get his knitting kit. He was restless after dinner with Daphne and then seeing the shadowy figure with the duffel bag. A few minutes of knitting might help set his mind at ease.
He opened the front door to the bookstore and immediately locked it behind him. When he stepped into the darkness of the lobby, he sensed the movement too late.
It was too big and aggressive for the cat.
Something hit him under the chin, causing him to stumble backward into Carrie Fenton’s book display. The cardboard tower collapsed under his weight. Brody clambered back to his feet as the shadow neared him.
“Time for some payback, rat,” Jimmy the Pump said.
Rat?
The word still echoed in Brody’s head as Jimmy punched him in the stomach, forcing the wind out and doubling him over. The weightlifter grabbed him and threw him into the wiry book spinner.
Brody landed on top of the device. Several of the book holders dug into his back. He grunted in pain and rolled to his hands and feet.
Jimmy De Luca was quick, not giving the big man a moment to recover. He kicked Brody under the armpit. The pain was excruciating, and Brody tucked his elbow in tight to his side to limit further damage.
As he stood, The Pump grabbed Brody by his other arm and swung him into the front counter. The big man’s stomach hit the edge, forcing him to expel his breath. In hopes of regaining both his balance and his wits, his hands slapped down on the counter.
When his fingers touched the knitting kit nearby, he instinctively clutched the needles and yarn into a fist.
“You fight like a rat,” Jimmy said from behind.
Brody spun and stepped toward the weightlifter. De Luca hadn’t expected it, and he raised his hands to protect his face. Brody’s fist arced through the darkness and banged against Jimmy’s chest, provoking a squeal from The Pump.
“What did ya do?” Jimmy yelped in agony as he stared down at the knitting needles protruding from his chest. Several rows of stitches hung precariously from the thin metal poles. A line of yarn ran to the skein on the counter.
Jimmy took a half-step back and dropped to a knee. He brought up both hands but stopped from grabbing the two needles that extended out from his chest.
Brody watched as Jimmy slowly fell to the ground. A few minutes later, he was silent.
The big man walked to the window and observed his surroundings for several minutes to see if anyone was outside. When he was satisfied that no one was moving, his heart rate slowed, and his breathing became even.
As he studied the body on the floor, Brody wondered how Jimmy had gotten into the store. The front door was locked when he entered. The big man walked to the rear of the store and found the backdoor slightly ajar. There was splintering around the lock. De Luca must have kicked it in, Brody decided. No one would have seen him do it due to the hedges lining the alleyway. The alley’s privacy had backfired on him.
Brody returned to the lobby of his shop. He moved the spinner and books away from Jimmy’s body. He then placed the yarn skein on top of the weightlifter’s body. Carefully, he used the rug from the middle of the store to wrap up the dead man.
It was awkward lifting the load, but it wasn’t the first time he had carried a dead body. It also wasn’t the first time he’d moved a body in a rolled-up carpet. Once outside, he dropped the roll into the back of the dented F-150.
The only time he’d driven it was when he arrived in Pleasant Valley. He hoped it would start. Otherwise, he was going to have a lot of explaining to do.