7.
 The book shop door bell jingled as Jack entered. Rose Fennel stood at the cash register, tallying accounts on a calculator. “Hi, Jack. Rounding up suspects?” A long black glove covered her hand and arm today.
“I was going to wrestle you to the floor and cuff you—big ugly scene with you screaming helplessly and me bellowing barbarically. I decided it would be less stressful just to share coffee.”
“I’m so relieved.” She waved her pen toward a coffee setup in a tiny corner wet bar. “Wash off your war paint, please, and bring me one too—black, no sugar.”
“I’ll try to hide my savage nature, and sneak up on the coffee pot before it runs away.”
“Or we can catch coffee at the food court, honey.”
“No food court, no lunch hour, since the bombing.”
“After work then.”
“I like when you say honey.”
She tippety-tapped her calculator furiously, frowning. He walked across the richly carpeted floor. The pot was full, and the coffee smelled good. He poured two black, and threw sugar in his.
A man on crutches, wearing a baggy gray suit, hobbled by. “You work here too?” He was thin, and looked professorial, with mussy hair. He had gray beard stubble, and blue eyes behind thick glasses.
“I’m having coffee with Captain Bligh.”
“My name’s Victor.” He poured a cup. “I started today. You new?”
“I’m Jack. I work across the street.”
They shook hands. Victor had a dry grip. “At the VA? You’re a veteran too?”
“Yeah, Army.” Jack eyeballed Victor’s twisted frame, and Victor said: “Marine Corps. Two tours in Afghanistan, until I took a round near the spine.”
“Have you tried for a Government job? They give you extra points.”
“I know. I’m working on it. Problem is, who needs a cripple with marksmanship skills who’s on pain killers all day?”
“There’s always bookstore jobs,” Jack said. “I took a bullet in the ribs; spent time in the hospital with a deflated lung. Now I sit around with my eyes closed, and count veterans jumping over a fence. It’s very restful, and the pay’s decent.”
“I’d like to catch the bastards who bombed that building.”
Jack handed Victor his business card. “You see anything, you call me, okay?”
Victor shook Jack’s hand sincerely. “I’ll be your eyes and ears.”
Jack brought Rose her coffee.
“Thanks.” They sipped their coffees. “Jack, I need to square with you. I didn’t mean call you honey. I can be a doofus. I was just being affectionate.”
“I like to tease, to see where it goes.”
“It goes nowhere, sorry. I’m a friendly skate, but I’m married.”
Jack felt a physical pang. He could not hide his disappointment. “I see.”
“I’ll give you a coupon for a book,” she offered lamely, sipping her coffee.
“I like books. I was talking with your new hire there.”
“Victor. I have a soft spot for veterans.”
“That’s nice. I’m one too, don’t forget.”
“Come have coffee with me any time you like.” Her eyes were large and pleading. She looked uncomfortable with herself. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. I could use a friend, Jack. That’s all. Nothing more.”
“I’ll take you up on that coffee. Answering the unasked question, I’m not married. I have girlfriends, but nobody steady. Unless you count a cockatiel named Lucy.”
“My husband has been missing in action for over a year. He was going to call it quits, and come home so we can start a family.”
“Was going to?”
Her eyes looked wet. “He’s a Special Forces captain. He and his team were on a mission far out in some mountains, and the chopper went down.” She set her coffee down carefully, using the fingertips of both hands—awkward, with the black glove. “I love him, Jack, and I won’t give up unless they find the chopper and all the bodies. I’ll still demand DNA samples before I close the book.”
“I don’t blame you, Rose.”
She turned to speak with a customer on the other side of the cashier podium.
From old detective habit, Jack leaned closer to glance into her open purse. A big red wallet lay open, showing credit cards and other I.D. He stood behind her and briefly rifled a fingertip over her cards. Rose Fennel…Rose Magee...then a military dependent I.D. card with her picture on it…and her Social Security card. He backed away just in time as she turned.
Jack picked up his coffee. “We could be bookstore friends, Rose.”
“Oh really?” She looked surprised, puzzled, and pleased. “What’s that?”
“Two people who work across the street from each other, and occasionally have coffee in a bookstore.”
“You make every little thing into a circus, Jack.” She laughed, visibly relieved. “Come back when you think of more silly things to say.”
“I will,” he said earnestly, fresh out of silly lines.
“I’d like that.” Her chin heaved in a faint sob. “Thanks.” She hurried away into the store, and he returned to work across the street.
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Thank you for reading. If you love it, tell your friends. Please post a favorable review at Amazon, Good Reads, and other online resources. If you want to thank the author, you may also buy a copy for the low price of a cup of coffee. It's called Read-a-Latte: similar (or lower) price as a latte at your favorite coffeeshop, but the book lasts forever while the beverage is quickly gone. Thank you (JTC).
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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