American Elsewhere - By Robert Jackson Bennett Page 0,37

and hacking up pine gum for days. There’s always been a nutty herbalist-holistic tendency in New Mexico. People trying to cure your cold with sprigs of rosemary, that kind of thing. Mrs. Benjamin is the worst offender, mostly because all her cures have more in common with backwoods cocktails than they do with medicine.”

He sells her a mattress and a set of sheets at 15 percent off—a “greeting discount” on which he refuses to budge—as well as some toiletries. She gets the impression he’s a canny negotiator, and the way he carries himself has a certain casual power to it. As she’s checking out, a young man comes rushing into the store, presumably to speak to Mr. Macey. But Macey simply looks at the young man, all the cheer and goodwill blinking out of his eyes, and shakes his head—Not now. Embarrassed, the young man bows himself out and waits outside, hands behind his back.

“Any way else I can help you?” he asks her when they finish.

“Maybe. I’m looking for information on someone who might have lived here—Laura Alvarez, my mother.”

Mr. Macey screws up his face to think about it. “Alvarez… hm. I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone by that name.”

“Were you here thirty years ago, or so?”

“Of course,” he says.

“Well, she would have lived here about that time. Or moved away from here. She worked on the lab on the mountain.”

“Ah,” says Macey. “That might explain it. The dealings of the lab were—how shall I put this—not for the minds of mortals like me. I never knew what they did, and their personnel changed quite frequently.”

“Kind of a black hat operation?”

He chuckles a little. “I suppose.”

“There’re no offices in town that would have kept track of that information?”

“If there ever were, I never knew of them.”

“Well… if you could ask around, I sure would appreciate it. Sorry to grill you, but… she was my mother. I just want to know a little more about her.”

“I understand. Don’t you worry about it, then. I’ll try and find something out. Is there anything else I can get you?”

“Not unless you got a steak behind your counter.”

“Hungry, eh? Tell you what. Head on down to Chloe’s—you know where Chloe’s is, right? Okay, good. Head on down there and tell them I sent you.” He winks. “Another greeting discount, let’s say.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I absolutely do. We don’t get many newcomers here, as I’m sure you’ve heard a million times over by now. We need to do them right.” His smile fades a little bit. “I hope you like it here for however long you stay. Most do. Though we have our fair share of trouble.”

“Would it have something to do with the funeral yesterday?”

Mr. Macey’s smile thins a bit, and his eyes grow a little sad. “Oh, well,” he says. “I certainly hope not. It was an old friend of mine who died, you see.”

“Who was it, if you don’t mind my asking? I keep hearing about the funeral, but never about the deceased.”

“His name was Norman Weringer. He was probably the most-liked man in Wink. He and I would spend hours walking the countryside around here, talking and—sometimes—arguing. He made arguments a treat, Norman. I suppose that might be why I liked him so much.”

“I’m sorry to hear he died.”

“I am, too. Even now. I always felt he’d outlive us. Yet here we are.” He purses his lips and stares out the window. “I almost feel like doing something about it myself.”

Mona isn’t sure what to say to that. She knows too damn well what happens when people start self-policing. But there is a cold, quiet rage to Mr. Macey’s face that makes her reluctant to press the point. She is new in town, and it might be the light in this store—for it is very dim in here—but she almost thinks she sees something fluttering in the backs of his eyes.

He takes a little breath and smiles again. “Now. Would you like me to get one of my boys to move this to your house?”

Moving all this stuff into the house tires her out pretty quick, so Mona is more than eager to take Mr. Macey’s suggestion and head to the diner, which is still as hopping as it was this morning.

Just before she walks in, though, Mona counts the vehicles outside. She’s not sure why—something’s just buzzing in the back of her head, telling her to keep an eye out. So she