Cape Cod Noir - By David L Ulin Page 0,71
familiar. You’ve been coming to the shop the last couple of days. Sunday was turkey with havarti, yesterday was a BLT.”
“That’s right.”
She looked around quickly and shivered. “He might still be out there,” she said. “Sure, I’d like a ride.”
She got into the passenger seat, and Michael gave her a thin smile as he backed into the street. She was an attractive girl. Not really a girl, more like twenty-three, only a few years younger than him. Her long red hair was pulled into a ponytail. That and her slight build and thick glasses made her seem like a teenager, but she was still very pretty.
“I wouldn’t think street muggings would happen in a place like Sandwich,” Michael said.
Consternation momentarily ruined her brow. “This is a safe town. I’ve lived here all my life and never heard of anything like that happening here.” Her voice trailed off into a soft murmur as she added, “It doesn’t make sense, especially with the police station just down the road. Maybe he was only planning to panhandle money from me.”
Michael shrugged. He didn’t bother stating the obvious. As he drove he felt her again squinting at him.
“Why didn’t you come to the shop today?” she asked. “Did you find a better place to eat?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I tried coming to the shop, but I came too late and you’d already closed up for the night. So I was going to the liquor store to pick up some beef jerky. And you know what happened next.”
He pulled up in front of the shop where she worked, which had the appropriately quaint name The Sandwich Sandwich Shoppe. She hesitated for a moment before telling him that she would open up the shop for him and make him something to eat. “It’s the least I can do for saving me,” she said.
Michael didn’t argue. He was hungry, and he liked the idea of spending some time with her. After leaving his car, she stopped and held out her hand. It was a small, delicate hand and it was cold to the touch because of the weather, but it still felt nice when Michael took hold of it.
“My name’s Rachel,” she said.
“Matt,” he lied.
Once they were inside the shop, he told her he’d have a ham and cheese on a baguette, and she went about making him one, adding potato salad to the plate and also giving him a velvet chocolate cupcake, which she told him was their specialty. She also made him a roast beef and cheddar on a sourdough roll to take back with him to the inn. While he ate, she told him about life in Sandwich. After he was done, he offered to pay for his food but she told him it was on the house. “It’s the least I can do for you coming to my rescue,” she added, her eyes half-lidded and glistening.
He knew she wanted to spend more time with him, but he made an excuse for why he needed to call it a night, and he walked with her to her car to make sure she got to it okay. After that he went back to his car and drove again to the liquor store. This time he was able to buy a six-pack of Sam Adams lager without incident.
The inn where Michael was staying was less than a mile from downtown. The main house was an old restored Victorian, which had the nicer and more expensive rooms, but there was also, in the back, a row of connected single-room cottages. Michael had one of these cottage rooms, and it was pretty much generic—a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a chair, and a TV set, with a small attached bathroom that could barely fit a sink, toilet, and shower stall. While the rooms in the main house would be charming and more luxurious, the cottage had what he needed—it was cheap at thirty-nine dollars a day, which he paid with cash, and more importantly, it had its own entrance so there was less chance he’d be seen by other people every time he went in and out, which wasn’t often.
Michael had a beer while he sat in the single chair in the room and fantasized about what it would’ve been like if he had brought Rachel back. Most women found him attractive, except for those times when he wasn’t watching and something off would show in his eyes and his mouth would twist into something cruel. But usually