The Other Soldier. Kathy Altman
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out for a run.
He couldn’t see the lake but he could smell it. Fresh water, decaying fish, seaweed. And though he couldn’t hear the surf, he could hear the distant drone of a motorboat. Some early riser on the hunt for lake perch.
Between the smell of fish and the image of fried perch leaking grease onto a plate, his stomach threatened to put an early end to his run. He planned on taking it slow, which was just as well because that’s what the citizens of Castle Creek had in mind, too.
Four times he was stopped. Once by a pair of white-haired ladies in a powder-blue Buick wondering if he’d seen a salt-and-pepper schnauzer and by the way wasn’t Castle Creek a lovely place to visit and which lucky resident had he come to see?—twice by fellow exercisers: one a young man, the other not so young—who’d interpreted his Army T as an invitation to discuss the war and wanted to know would he be around later to debate the advantages of the M110 sniper rifle. The last time he was stopped was by a guy in a pickup who wanted to know if he’d spotted a deer carcass that needed scooping up.
By the time he got back to the motel Reid figured he’d already met half the population of Castle Creek. He wondered if the other half was just as unconventional.
Gallahan was out front admiring the sole bloom on a trio of bushes. “Enjoy your run?”
Reid swiped at his face with the hem of his T. “Not much of a run. More like several rounds of dodgeball.”
Gallahan nodded wisely. “The people of Castle Creek like to know who their visitors are.”
“A woman just crossed lanes to block me. Wanted to know if I preferred my burgers with or without cheese.”
“Audrey Tweedy. If you’re vegetarian don’t admit it. She’ll make it her life’s work to win you back into the fold of the flesh eaters.”
“I’ll remember that.” He dug his key card out of his pocket. “Maybe I should stick to a treadmill. There a gym around here?”
Gallahan hesitated, then seemed to come to some decision. “Follow me.”
He led the way down the sidewalk to the end unit. Room ten, four doors from Reid. Gallahan produced a key card, pushed open the door and motioned Reid inside.
Just like Reid’s room, the paneled walls were a scratched-up, puncture-ridden mess. The water-stained ceiling wasn’t much better. But there the resemblance ended.
The carpet had been replaced with an oatmeal-colored remnant that almost reached to the baseboards. In one corner stood an industrial-size fan, in the opposite corner a flat-screen television. Rectangular mirrors mounted side by side covered the wall in between. A water cooler and a shelf stacked with folded towels completed the picture of a home gym.
But the equipment was the most impressive feature of the room. A state-of-the-art treadmill, elliptical machine and pulley-based weight system, plus a stand of free weights, all gleamed an unexpected, polished welcome.
Reid whistled his approval. “This is some setup.”
“It’s convenient.” Gallahan held out the key card. “Use it whenever you like. I’m here early most mornings, but I don’t mind company.”
“Appreciate it. You been in Castle Creek long?”
“About four months.”
“How’d you decide on the place?” Shit. Now he was starting to sound like the little old ladies in the Buick.
“Long story.” Gallahan frowned, and Reid knew he wouldn’t be hearing it. Fair enough. “Beer?”
“Got a cooler in here, too?”
He laughed. “That could be arranged, but I was thinking more along the lines of Snoozy’s. Beer’s cold, cheese plate’s free, pool table’s mostly level.”
“Beats staring at that butt-ugly turquoise ceiling. But it’s eight in the morning.”
“So we’ll give it a few hours. Hang out in here if you want.” Gallahan tipped his head. “You been in Iraq?”
Damn. Payback was a bitch. “Afghanistan.”
“Tough job. Thanks for doing what you do, man.” He held up his fist and Reid gritted his teeth as they bumped knuckles.
Now he really did need that beer.
They waited until eleven to head to Snoozy’s, which was everything a small-town bar should be. Easy to find and open for business. Besides the standard neon signs, wooden bar stools and lighting dim enough to guarantee permanent eyestrain, Snoozy’s had something…extra.
Gallahan caught him looking. “Yeah, I know. I forget it’s weird until someone like you comes in and looks at it like that.” He tipped his chin at the man behind the bar. “It belonged to his wife.”
“A sort of tribute?” Reid stared doubtfully at the front corner of the room, where a hot-pink salon chair faced a full-length, gilt-framed mirror draped with leopard-print garlands.
“More like a warning. She took everything he had, except for this place.”
Ouch. Reid followed Gallahan to the bar. Behind the scarred wooden counter a tired-looking man with a droopy mustache and purple half-moons under his eyes arranged cubes of cheese on a plastic platter.
Had to be Snoozy.
They ordered two brews. A man the size of an upright freezer with white-blond hair down to his shoulders and scabbed-over knuckles slapped the bar. The wood trembled.
“How about that chili I ordered?” he demanded. He pivoted to his left and caught Reid staring. “Something I can do for you, Sport?”
“Depends.” Reid swigged his beer. “Know anything about geraniums?”
The bar went quiet. Behind him Gallahan made a strangled noise. The blond behemoth narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth. Reid tensed, waiting for either an invitation to step outside or a punch to the kidney. The behemoth leaned in. Maybe a head-butt.
“Storksbills or cranesbills?”
Reid stared. Gallahan laughed and thumped him on the back. “Corporal Reid Macfarland, meet Noble Johnson, Castle Creek’s award-winning librarian. You should stop in sometime, listen to him read The Velveteen Rabbit to the kiddies. It’ll make you weep into your whiskey.”
“Kiss my ass, Gallahan.” Noble frowned at Reid. “You serious about geraniums?”
Reid’s lungs started working again. “For the next several weeks, I will be. Parker Dean’s putting me to work.”
Noble eyed Reid’s haircut. “Knew her husband, did you?” Luckily he didn’t wait for an answer. “You want my help, there’s three things you gotta do. Make a donation to the library, buy me a beer—” Snoozy slid a bowl of chili in front of Noble, who picked up his spoon and jabbed it at Reid “—and pay attention.”
* * *
“MA’AM? MA’AM. YOU all right, ma’am?”
With a start Parker realized she’d drifted away at the deli counter. She straightened out of her slouch and smiled blankly at the woman with the hair net and the curious stare. Dorothy? Delia. Parker pointed at random. “A pound of that, please, Delia.”
Delia frowned. “But you don’t like pastrami.”
Parker blinked. “Of course.” She felt a sudden swell of affection for the small community she lived in and gave Delia a grateful smile. “I’ll take the usual, please.” Three minutes later she was accepting two pounds of smoked turkey and a pound of provolone cheese. The warm-and-fuzzies lasted until she guided her cart toward the produce section and one of the wheels bumped a cardboard stand. An entire row of flower seed packets rustled and slapped to the floor. With a quiet sigh, Parker bent to scoop them up.
Maybe she’d better save the shopping