My Kind of Forever - Tracy Brogan Page 0,34

and I’d defaulted to comfort food. Stella’s was small and without much ambiance, more of a place for locals rather than one designed to lure in tourists. A few tattered posters of Italy adorned the walls, along with a sign that said employees should wash their hands. That was reassuring. All this went through my head in the time it took for the first sip of beer to travel down my esophagus.

“Is this stuff really cheese?” Leo asked, picking up the container of ground parmesan.

“You have a lot of judgments about pizza and the accoutrements,” I teased. “Is that the Chicago thing again, or do you have some real underlying issues?”

Leo laughed in return and set down the canister. “You have no idea. So many issues, but let’s not get into that. Let’s talk about something else. How about that jewel thief, huh?”

“Oh, not you, too. Why is everyone so fascinated by this?”

“Because it’s unusual. If Trillium Bay is like most small towns, something out of the ordinary like that is a welcome diversion. I don’t imagine you have much of a crime problem, do you?”

“Not really. My father likes to think it’s because the police force is so exemplary, but I imagine it has a lot more to do with a lack of efficient getaway options.”

“True. It wouldn’t be much of a high-speed chase if everyone is riding a Schwinn.”

“Probably not, but if you ride your bike down the hill near the Imperial Hotel, you can build up some pretty good momentum. We have a radar gun, and sometimes people get tickets.”

Leo choked a little on his beer. “Speeding tickets on a bike?”

“Yes. During the summer there are tons of pedestrians, and horses, and other people on bikes. We get tourists on the island who haven’t ridden in fifteen years—and sure, riding a bike is just like, you know, riding a bike—but if you go flying down that hill and somebody doesn’t get out of your way, it can be kind of dangerous.”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of that.” He sounded sincere, but as I spoke the words, I realized his experiences were far different from mine, and his notion of danger was probably a little more intense. I felt the blush stealing up my neck and over my cheeks, and added, “Okay, well, not as dangerous as, say, being in Iraq, but if you got hit by a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound dude on a metal bike going twenty-five miles an hour, you’d get hurt. Probably not dead hurt, but you might end up with a broken leg.” There. That made my point.

“No question. That would suck.” His tone was agreeable and not at all patronizing, which I appreciated. “What else do the cops do around the island, besides wait in the bushes to trap speeding bikers? Maybe I can use something that’s happened for my book.”

“The book that’s supposed to be about an old fort?”

He shrugged. “The book is a blank page at this point. I figure the more stuff I learn about the island, and the people who live here, the more ideas I’ll have, so tell me what the police do on Wenniway Island. Any legendary crimes committed there?”

“Well, there’s one police chief—who is, of course, my father.”

Leo nodded. “Harlan Callaghan. What’s he like? So far, all I can tell is that he doesn’t say much.”

“That’s an accurate assessment. My father is not the most effusive guy, but if you get him talking about the island, he’ll go on for days. Honestly, if you want good stories to inspire your book, take him out for a beer, and he’ll never stop talking.”

“Really? Okay, I think I’ll do that.”

That might have been an error, sending Leo toward my father. In the event that anything ever did happen between us, I’d like Leo and my father to remain complete strangers.

“Take Judge Murphy and Father O’Reilly along, too, and you’ll get three different versions of the same story, and a lot of arguing about which of them is telling the truth. Those guys grew up together and have been friends since they were toddlers. Legend has it they raised a lot of hell before they became pillars of our community.”

Leo chuckled. “I guess that means none of them are newcomers.”

“Nope.”

“You said there were the types who only stay a year or so, and people who never leave Trillium Bay. What kind of people move here to stay?”

“Hmm, I’d have to think about that. Even some of the newer families have been

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