Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [17]
Tyler said, “Dessert, Becca?”
She said, grinning up at Mr. Bradstreet, “Yep, that’s what I am, dessert for a newspaper. I’m low on a priority list, very low.”
“No,” Tyler said. “I mean real dessert. Coffee and dessert for you, Bernie?”
Bernie couldn’t stay. His wife was at the far table with one of their grandkids. “They make special hot dogs for kids here,” he said; then, “Why don’t you drop by with some of the articles you’ve written, Ms. Powell? Actually, bring me the feta cheese article.”
“I didn’t bring any of them with me, sir, sorry.”
Tyler gave her a look but didn’t say anything. But his eyes had widened just a bit. He’d finally realized that this was the last thing she needed. Good, she thought, she was out of it. But no, he ruminated awhile, looking at her, then said, “All right, write me up one—whatever topic you like—not over five hundred words, and we’ll see.”
She nodded, wishing the guy was more hard-nosed. She watched him walk back to his table, stopping at three more tables on the way. She looked at Tyler and raised her hand to stop him. “No, I can’t work for him. I don’t have any ID I can use. I doubt he’d want to pay me in cash.”
He said, “I didn’t think of that. I finally realized that the more he saw you, he might put you together with the Rebecca on TV.”
“It’s okay. I’ll write up an article or two and give them to him, tell him to see how the readers like them, then we can talk. He shouldn’t get suspicious then. I don’t need the money. I’m not going to starve. It’s just that I do need something to keep my mind busy.”
“Are you any good with computers?”
“I guess I’m what you’d call a functional genius, but a technological moron.”
“Too bad. Since I’m a small-time consultant, I don’t need any frills, either.”
The night was clear and warm, with a slight breeze off the Atlantic. The stars were brilliant overhead. Becca stood by Tyler’s Jeep, staring up at the sky. “Nothing like this in New York City. I could get used to this real fast, Tyler. Too bad you can barely hear the ocean from here. The briny smell is fainter, too.”
“Yeah, I found I missed it so much I had to move back, and so I did a couple of years after I finished my master’s degree. But you know, more and more young people leave and stay gone. I wonder if Riptide will still be here in another twenty years or so.”
“There are lots of tourists to boost the economy, aren’t there?”
“Yes, but the entire flavor of the town has changed over the past twenty, thirty years. I guess that’s progress, huh?” He paused a moment, staring up at the Milky Way. “After Ann went away, I thought I wanted to leave Riptide and never come back—you know, all the memories—but I realized that all of Sam’s friends are here, all the people who knew Ann are here, and memories aren’t bad. I can work anywhere, and so I stayed. I haven’t regretted it. I’m glad you’re here, Becca. Things will work out, you’ll see. The only thing is winter. It’s not much fun here in January.”
“It’s not much fun in New York, either. We’ll see what’s happening by January. I don’t understand about your wife, Tyler. Did she die?”
She wanted to take it back at the look of pain that etched lines around his mouth, made his eyes look blank and dead. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it’s all right. Of course you’re curious. Everyone else in town is.”
“What do you mean?”
“My wife didn’t die. She just up and left me. She was here one day, gone the next. No word, no message, nothing at all. That was fifteen months, two weeks, and three days ago. She’s listed as a Missing Person.”
“I’m very sorry, Tyler.”
“Yeah, so am I. So is her son.” He shrugged. “We’re getting by. It gets better as time passes.”
What an odd way to put it. Wasn’t Sam his son, too?
“The townspeople are like folk everywhere. They don’t want to believe that Ann just up and left Riptide. They’d rather think I did her in.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I agree. Now, Becca, don’t worry. Things will get better.