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Shortly before noon, Constable Emery Farnsworth arrived outside The Red Herring. He climbed off his bike and put the kickstand down, leaving the bicycle outside the large store window. He removed his bike helmet and hung it from the handlebars. Next, he ran his fingers several times through his short hair. He then rolled his shoulders, inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled. When he turned to look inside the store, he noticed Brody watching him. He tapped the window several times and pointed at the big man.
Brody pointed to himself and said, “Me?” to the nearly empty store. Only the cat was inside, and he was currently curled up asleep on a shelf that was labeled Discounted Titles.
The bell sounded when Farnsworth walked in. He immediately reached up and grabbed the brass chime, stopping it from making any further sound.
“That will throw off my customer count,” Brody said.
“What?”
“Two bells for entry. Two bells for an exit. Now the whole system will be thrown off.”
The officer blinked several times as he tried to understand what Brody was saying.
The big man decided it was probably best not to mess with Emery for too long today. He let him off the hook by asking, “What can I do for you, Constable?”
“Where were you last night?” His demeanor had taken on a level of officiousness that their previous interactions had lacked.
“I was here.”
“In the bookstore?” Emery asked.
“In my apartment.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“What did you hear?”
“The rumor around town is that you had dinnah with Daphne. At her place.”
“Sure, I had dinner with her, but then I came home and spent the night reading.”
“What are you reading?”
He held up The Deep Blue Good-by.
Emery smirked. “That’s why she likes you, isn’t it?”
“Because I read?”
“No,” he said defensively and turned to scan the bookstore. His gaze paused on the slightly crooked display of Carrie Fenton’s books. “What happened there?”
“What happened, where?”
“There,” Emery said, pointing at the leaning cardboard display. “It’s bent and taped up.”
“I tripped over the cat and fell onto it.”
The officer’s eyes took in the rest of the lobby area. “Something else is different,” he said, his foot tapping on the hardwood of the floor.
“I also moved some books around,” Brody said. “I’m trying to make the place more my own.
“That must be it.” Emery’s attention returned to him. “So last night you were in your apartment? Nobody can vouch for your whereabouts then?”
“Are you accusing me of something?”
“A body drifted ashore this morning up in York Harbah.”
“A body?”
“That’s right. The man was identified as James De Luca. The same man you fought with outside this store.”
“You think I did it?”
“Word is that you’re a formah Navy SEAL. That means you definitely could have done it.”
“I didn’t, though,” Brody lied.
Besides, had he been a Navy SEAL, he probably would have understood the tides better. He had driven thirty minutes north to the town of Ogunquit, where he tossed Jimmy the Pump into the ocean. Brody had naively hoped a shark would eat him. He was originally from Kansas City and later migrated to Phoenix. He’d never so much as put a foot on an ocean beach until he arrived in Maine. How was he supposed to know how the tides actually worked?
Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side. The sharks hadn’t eaten the weightlifter after the current pulled his body out to sea. In fact, James De Luca’s body was returned to land only ten minutes from Pleasant Valley. It seemed not even the Atlantic Ocean could stand dealing with Jimmy the Pump.
At least Brody had been smart enough to drive inland to Sanford to dispose of the rug. He threw it into an open dumpster behind a grocery store. On his way back home, he tossed the knitting needles and the skein of yarn into a trash can belonging to a random North Berwick homeowner.
As he drove along State Route 4, he threw Jimmy the Pump’s wallet into some random trees. He thought about keeping the $87 the weightlifter had in his wallet, but Brody thought that would feel wrong. In his old life, he would not have hesitated to claim the money. However, he was trying to be a better person. He hadn’t killed the man for profit or club loyalty. He had taken De Luca’s life to protect his own. Stealing the money would somehow cheapen that.
That didn’t stop him from knowing that he needed to get rid of the body though. He couldn’t go to Emery Farnsworth and say that he killed Jimmy the Pump in self-defense. If he did that, everyone would soon learn that he was in the Witness Protection Program.
“I don’t know of anyone else he had problems with,” Emery said.
“You’re only looking at me because of Daphne.”
“That’s not true. I’m looking at you because it’s my job.”
“Then you’re saying I should spend the night with Daphne next time, so I have an alibi?”
Emery’s face reddened. “That’s definitely not what I’m saying to do.”
“I don’t know. It sounds exactly like what you’re telling me to do.”
The constable struggled to contain his emotions. Finally, he pointed two fingers toward his own eyes then pointed them toward Brody. “I’m watching you.”
Brody nodded. “I’ve officially been put on notice.”
“You bet you have.” Emery stalked toward the front door, yanking it open. The brass bell swung wildly. “You have most definitely been put on notice. I only have one person on my watchlist, and that, my friend, is you.”
“Hey, Emery.”
“What?” he barked.
“Since you just said I’m a Navy SEAL, should you be talking to me that way?”
He blanched. “I didn’t mean to say—”
“Have a nice day, Constable.”
Emery stared at the big man. Finally he mumbled, “Thank you for your service,” and hurried out to his bicycle.