Chapter 13

 

It was still dark when I crept up to the place on the knoll. I determined that two could play this game of sneak. I wanted to see just how alert the old SEAL could be. I found out.

“Bronski, you were regular Army, right?”

I threw my hands up and turned around. Wattle had been hiding behind a big spruce tree just a few feet away from the sleeping bag.

“Yeah, but I did a lot of night work.” I lowered my arms. 

“It shows,” he said, but I had a feeling he was giving me a break. 

I decided to change the subject. “I take there was no action last night?” 

He shook his head. “No. Are you sure the package is still there?”

I glanced at my watch and saw it was still early, only 6:00 o’clock. “Let’s go check,” I answered. 

Without further comment, we took a path over to the street that ran alongside the post office. There were a few beer bottles lying here and there. Evidently, it was a place to party if you had nowhere else to go. As we descended the slight hill onto the street, a car came by.

“Hell,” said Wattle.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Of all the people in town. It was that young reporter from the newspaper.”

I felt a tightening in my chest. Wattle was right. Of all the people in town, it had to be her. Well, it couldn’t be helped. 

“C’mon,” I said, “Let’s go see if the package is still there.”

Much to my relief, it still was. If it had been taken, my goose would have been cooked to a fairly well crisp nothing.

“Where do you suppose she’s going?” I asked.

The good police chief straightened up from cleaning off the grass seeds that were embedded in his pants. “To the Eat More,” he grunted. “That’s where she goes to eat breakfast.”

“Kind of early for a reporter, isn’t it?”

“You don’t know this reporter. I’m not sure she sleeps.”

I nodded to show my agreement. Those raven eyes . . .

“I think I’ll go eat at the Eat More.”

Wattle gave me a sharp look in the early morning light. “If you’re planning what I think you’re planning . . . good luck. I’ve tried to talk her out of a story or two, but it was ‘to hell with you.’ That’s not what she said, but that’s what she meant.”

I closed the lid on the garbage bin. “Well, I think I’ll give it a try, anyway.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

We parted ways after discussing whether we should watch another night. I agreed it would be my turn from midnight on if we did. But I was beginning to think it was a hopeless cause. To prove my point, I left the package in the bin. Soon there would be people coming to work, and nobody dug around in a garbage bin at this time of day. For someone to take it now would be sheer lunacy.

After retrieving the Jeep on a side street, I headed in the direction of the Eat More. 

The Eat More was like most small-town restaurants, a counter with its eight or nine stools and about five tables. Too much work for one server, but not enough for two. The place was full of noise, voices, clatter, and the scraping of chairs as people came and went. 

The noise subsided somewhat when I walked in the door mostly because I was a stranger. It quickly went back to normal as soon as people saw I wasn’t carrying a weapon. People were more alert these days, what with 911 and its legacy always there in the back of their minds.

At a table for two near the kitchen sat the lady in question, nose in an Anchorage paper. A chockfull ashtray leaked a thin coil of smoke from a smoldering butt. Most likely this was the waitress’s rest stop. 

She looked up as I approached. “Yes?”

“Ms. Jems, may I speak with you?”

There was one quick dart of glittery eyes around the room, then a gesture at the empty chair. 

She got right to the point. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I thought I might have breakfast with you.”

Her head cocked in its raven’s way. “I have a busy morning. I will have to leave soon. What is it you want?

I took a deep breath; this was not going well. Despite her hurry-up frame of mind, I decided to take my time. “You no doubt saw the police chief and me come off the knoll behind the post office?” I pushed the ashtray to the far edge of the table.

Her lips curled over her teeth as she set her coffee cup down. “Yes?”

“I don’t know if you plan to say anything about it in the newspaper or not, you know, in the column, ‘Seen about Town’? But if you are, I’m asking you to hold off for a while.”

“Why?”

“Because there is a criminal investigation underway, and I don’t want to have the news about it known in this town.” Getting no reaction, I added. “You would be the first to know, of course, when we bring it to an end.”

Her fingers tapped silently on her cup. “Does this have something to do with Gloria Plinski’s death?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “That’s one of the things we have to find out.”

“Okay,” she said, “I’ll hold off for now. But if I get a hint you are lying, I will report what I know. My editor has the final word, of course, but I will hold off for now.”

I’m sure when I let out my breath it was visible, as she gave me what amounted to a smile.

“Thank you, Ms. Jems.”

She dipped her head. “I have to go now, Mr. Bronski. Enjoy your meal.”

I watched as she walked toward the door. Mine weren’t the only eyes watching her. From the rear, in her business suit, she was a beautiful woman and I wondered if deep down inside she wasn’t soft and vulnerable. Had some boy or man taken her for a ride? My thoughts were interrupted by a harried middle-aged waitress, who took one look at the ashtray tamped out the offending butt, and hurled its contents into a nearby trash can. Finished with that, she took one swipe at the sweat on her forehead and took out her notepad.

“May I help you, sir?”