It was dark by the time Thumps got back to town. Not the “black at the bottom of the well” dark. More a joyless gloom that comes from sitting by yourself in a windowless room.
He considered going back to the office and taking the shift, but Scoop would be there by now, and she and Cooley would be playing house in the holding cell. Which left him behind the wheel of his car, going nowhere.
The impromptu visit to Claire’s had not ended according to plan. The plan having been dinner, play with Ivory, cuddle with Claire, stay overnight, more cuddling, sex, wake up together with the morning sun.
Okay. Life was like that, he supposed. Something in the distance that looked to be an oasis with palm trees and fresh water and turned out to be a landfill with toxic waste and used appliances.
Thumps grimaced. A bit dramatic, but that’s what you got when you were dumped and hungry. Cooley had Scoop and her stew. Claire had Ivory and leftover sandwiches. Who was going to feed him?
ARCHIMEDES KOUSOULAS. ARCHIE to his friends. Proprietor of the Aegean, Chinook’s only authentic bookstore, and owner of Pappous’s, an eclectic restaurant that blended understated elegance with casual dining. Featuring a menu of Old World dishes such as calamari alongside local favourites such as mac and cheese.
Thumps understood that coming to the restaurant, hat in hand, was a bad idea. Archie would want to know about Duke, about Claire, why the sky was blue, and whether pigs could fly. On the surface, trading information for food seemed a reasonable exchange, but Thumps knew that he would pay dearly for the privilege of being fed.
“Mr. DreadfulWater.”
Fancy Whelan was at the restaurant podium. Fancy was Morris Dumbo’s niece. She was looking after Dumbo’s Doughnuts while her uncle was on an extended world tour with his new love, a Puerto Rican movie makeup artist.
“Archie said you might arrive.” Fancy picked up a menu. “Said I was to look after you if yourself wandered in.”
Archie had hired a Frenchman named Henri Dubois. Tall, austere, aloof, Dubois was the perfect maître d’, the maître d’ you saw and heard in every old black-and-white movie that needed a maître d’.
“Where’s Dubois?”
“Fired,” said Fancy. “Archie found out the gom wasn’t French. Couldn’t even spell ‘croissant.’ Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Might not have mattered, but our lad was helping himself to the gargle.”
“Gargle?”
“The wine.”
“Ah.” Thumps found himself nodding. “And now you’re the maître d’.”
“You daft? Do I look like a maître d’?”
There was an empty table at the back in the corner. The perfect place to hide away and eat.
“That one available?”
“It is,” said Fancy.
“And maybe you could neglect to tell Archie that I’m here until after I eat.”
“Man’s got the second sight, he has. No need to tell him anything.” Fancy led him to the table. “I’m just helping out until Archie can find another wanker.”
“And then back to Dumbo’s?”
“To be decided,” said Fancy. “Stay away from the octopus. Creepy shite, it is.”
Thumps moved the chair back, so he could lean against the wall, opened the menu. There would be a couple of specials, dishes that would have at least three ingredients that he would not recognize. He could always check the internet with his phone. He had to admit the World Wide Web was a handy way to discover that “pangrattato” was fried bread crumbs, and that friarielli was broccoli, more or less, and that “toum” was garlic sauce.
And if paidakia, or stifado, or papoutsakia made an appearance as a special, enlightenment was only a click away.
Thumps was trying to decide between the yemista and the elk meatloaf when he felt the floor move and the table shake.
“There you are.”
Archie considered himself a force of nature. Certainly, he could be as annoying as the weather, mosquitoes, blackflies, but somewhat less intimidating than cornered wolverines and bears just out of hibernation.
Most of the time.
“You’re sheriff now.” Archie plopped himself down. “Which means you have obligations.”
“Temporary deputy sheriff.” Thumps tapped the menu. “What’s this?”
Archie leaned over the table. “A Greek delicacy.”
“Trahana?”
“Try it.”
“What’s in it?”
“What is it with North Americans? Always with the ‘ What’s this?’ and the ‘ What’s in it?’ Try it, you’ll like it.”
Thumps had his phone out and was thumbing in the letters before Archie realized what he was doing.
“What? You don’t trust me.”
Thumps read the description on the screen. “Made from fermented ewes’ or goat’s milk that’s left to go sour?”
“Google,” said Archie. “What does it know about Greek cooking? I’ll bring you some. On the house.”
Thumps kept reading. “A kind of breakfast mush?”
“Stop reading. Tell me about Duke.”
There was a site that told you how to make trahana from scratch. Thumps read the first sentence, put the phone in his pocket.
“Duke’s fine.”
“Sure, sure. Man loses his wife, and he’s fine. My head looks like it zips up the back?”
Thumps was tempted to take out his phone again. Just to annoy Archie.
“I had lunch with him. He seemed okay.”
Archie made a face. “Why didn’t you bring him here?”
“You don’t serve lunch.”
Archie scowled. “I can always make lunch for friends.”
“You were at the bookstore.”
“Ten-minute walk away,” said Archie. “Seven, if I jog.”
“I think Duke just wants to be left alone.”
Archie stared off into space for a moment. “That’s a sure sign of depression. But that’s not why I called you here.”
“You didn’t call me here. I came here to get dinner.”
“You ever check your texts?” Archie shook his head. “No wonder crime is rampant in town.”
“Archie . . .”
“Cars being stolen in broad daylight. Ninja assassins walking the streets . . .”
“You know about Cisco Cruz?”
“Came into the Aegean,” said Archie. “Bold as brass. With an older woman, not his mother.”
“You get a name?”
“She bought a couple of books.” Archie looked at Thumps over the top of his glasses. “Unlike others, not to be mentioned.”
“You get a name?”
Archie rolled his eyes. “I forget. Seeing the ninja assassin walk into my bookstore was a shock to my memory.”
“And Ora Mae wasn’t with them?”
“Ora Mae?” Archie pushed his glasses up his nose. “What’s Ora Mae got to do with you-know-who?”
Thumps sat back. “Last time Cruz was in town, he talked about settling here.”
“Better we have an earthquake that swallows us whole,” said Archie. “Or another flood.”
“He’s a decent guy once you get to know him.”
“How many times has he been in town?”
“I don’t know,” said Thumps. “Three, four.”
“And which of those times didn’t include a dead body?”
“Not really his fault,” said Thumps. “He didn’t kill anyone.”
“What about Graham Chandler, Carl Mobley, and Oliver Parrish?”
“He didn’t kill Chandler, and he only shot at Carl Mobley to keep him from killing me and the sheriff.”
Archie took his glasses off for a moment, wiped them with a tissue. “And Oliver Parrish?”
Thumps leaned forward on his elbows. “Oliver Parrish was a really bad guy. And I’m really hungry. You think I could order dinner?”
“I’ll bring you some special dishes,” said Archie. “Otherwise, you’ll order the cheeseburger.”
“Cheeseburgers aren’t on the menu.”
“It’s a metaphor.” Archie headed back to the kitchen. “ You need your taste buds expanded.”
“No octopus,” Thumps called out after him. “I’m not going to eat octopus.”
THERE WERE CANDLES on all the tables. Thumps supposed that they were there to lend atmosphere to the restaurant, but he didn’t see the point. You couldn’t read by them, and the flickering lights were more annoying than they were romantic.
But a problem easily solved. Thumps leaned forward and pinched his out. That was better. A dark and peaceful refuge. Temporary to be sure, but a shelter nonetheless.
At least Archie hadn’t asked him about Claire. Thumps wasn’t sure what he would have said. Last he checked, he and Claire and Ivory were motoring along, a nuclear family on the go.
And then an abrupt left turn into a dead-end alley. Without signalling.
This wasn’t the first such manoeuvre that Claire had made. In the years that they had known each other, had been lovers, there had been other traffic infractions.
U-turns. Sudden stops. Unexpected lane changes.
But today had seemed more decisive, final. Had something happened when he wasn’t looking, wasn’t paying attention? Had his love life been the plot of a novel, Thumps would have to conclude that the author did not have his best interests at heart.
“Here’s how we start.” Archie was back. With a small bowl of something in hand. “Trahana.”
“It looks like mush.”
“It’s not mush.” Archie handed Thumps a spoon. “It’s trahana.”
“Sour ewes’ or goat’s milk.”
“Less complaining,” said Archie. “More eating.”
The trahana looked singularly unappealing. Thumps caught a small lump of the stuff on the end of his spoon.
“See?” said Archie. “Good, yes?”
Actually, it wasn’t bad. Sort of nutty with a hint of lemon. “It’s okay.”
“Okay?” Archie did his huffy face. “I grew up on trahana. The trick is to make it with chicken broth rather than water. And then you add in just a little grated Parmesan cheese and some lemon juice.”
“I’m going to need more to eat than this.”
“Yes, sure. But first you have to tell me why Cisco Cruz is in town.”
“How should I know?”
“He’s your friend.”
“He lies to me.” Thumps finished the trahana. “He lies to me a lot.”
“What happened to the candle?”
“It went out.”
Archie took a book of matches out of his pocket and relit the wick. “And Claire,” said the little Greek. “When is the wedding? I want to be best man. We’ll have the reception here in the restaurant.”
“My blood sugars are dropping.”
Archie pushed out of the chair. “Sure, sure. This is what I live for. Feeding you.”
Thumps waited until Archie disappeared. Then he leaned over and pinched the candle out again.