A man walked toward us. He was dressed as a county electrical worker. I looked him in the eyes to catch his attention. “Excuse me,” I said.
He checked us out. He didn’t like the way I looked, but seeing Annalise beside me seemed to reassure him. “Yes?”
“We’re not local-maybe that’s obvious-but we’re looking for a butcher shop. Is there one in town?”
“Well, I always go to the supermarket,” he said.
“We’ve been there,” I said.
“Okay. There is a place. It’s expensive. It’s at the other end of town just off Ocean Street. Look for a New Agey crystal and book shop and turn right. It’s just a couple of doors down. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I turned to Annalise. “That’s just a couple of blocks past our motel. Do you want another ten pounds?”
“Twenty,” she said.
We walked the length of Ocean, found the New Age bookstore, and walked up the side street. The butcher shop was closed and wouldn’t open for another hour. At my suggestion, we walked back to Ocean and found a place to eat breakfast.
The silver Escalade now sat parked on the corner while we went into a seafood restaurant. I wasn’t happy to see it again so much closer to us.
After we sat at a table, Annalise ordered for both of us. Apparently, we both wanted the fried-fish omelets, with a side of fish. After the waitress left, I excused myself.
I slipped out the back door of the restaurant. The alley smelled of old fish bones and was apparently home to a clan of feral cats. I made my way to the corner.
A quick trip up the side street showed me that the Escalade was still on the corner. Someone was sitting in the driver’s seat. The engine was off, but the brake lights were on. Keeping a foot on the brake was a good driving habit, but it was bad for a stakeout.
I walked casually toward the vehicle. I would have liked to have a hat to pull down low or a different jacket to put on, but I didn’t. I hoped that being casual would cut it.
It didn’t. When I was still a full car length away, the engine started and the car jolted into the street. I ran toward it, hoping for a glimpse of the driver, but the SUV squealed into traffic, turned a corner, and was gone.
So much for my ninja skills. I went back into the restaurant and joined Annalise at the table.
“Where have you been?” she asked. The waitress approached our table with our food.
“Checking out a car.”
Annalise grunted. She took my plate, scraped the side order of fish and half of my omelet onto hers, then returned the rest to me. She used her hands cautiously, tenderly, but her expression was calm. I took her toast.
We ate slowly, killing time. We didn’t talk. Annalise watched the street, so I bought the Seattle newspaper and scanned it for my name. There was nothing, thank God. While I read, Annalise ordered another plate of fish. I didn’t ask if it helped.
Ten A.M. finally arrived. Annalise and I strolled over to the butcher shop and bought five whole beef tenderloins. The butcher wrapped them all up in one package. It weighed twenty-five pounds, and I carried it.
At the motel, Annalise stopped in at the manager’s office. I followed.
The manager was the same nervous little guy I’d seen while the Dubois brothers were ransacking our things. He gaped at the big package wrapped in butcher paper on my shoulder, then opened his mouth to ask a question. Annalise didn’t give him the chance.
“Have there been any messages for me?” she asked.
The manager looked down at his desk and shuffled some papers. He rubbed his nose and said: “Nothing. I’m sorry.”
Annalise swore under her breath and turned toward the door. She was going to walk out.
“Hey,” I said to her. She stopped and looked up at me. “You do know he’s lying, right?”
She seemed startled. She turned back toward the manager. If he had kept his cool, he might have bluffed his way through it. Instead, he began to stammer and protest with all the sincerity of a hack politician.
“Now, hold on,” he said. “I… I don’t want to… um… want to be rude, but I…”
Annalise yanked the package of tenderloins from my hands and walked over to the counter. She lifted the beef over her head and slammed it down on the counter like a sledgehammer.
The wood cracked. Instead of a flat counter, it was now a sagging V shape. The manager screamed out, “Jesus!” as he leapt backward. Annalise tossed the slab of meat to me. It nearly knocked me on my rear end.
“You lied to me.” Annalise’s voice was quiet. I was standing behind her, but I knew the expression on her face very well. Annalise had a way of looking at people as if they were something small and disgusting and in need of stepping on.
The manager retreated toward the back wall. There was a door behind him, but he seemed to have forgotten it was there. If he had a weapon in the place, he’d forgotten about that, too.
“I… I…” was all he could say.
“Where is that message?” Annalise said. Her voice was rising. “It belongs to me.”
