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Sordello:
You need to remember, Matt! You’ve got to try! You’re the only one who can stop it! Only you! And if you don’t, this world,the real world—
Analysis Note: No less than three automatic weapons fired into Sordello’s chamber. Her body jerked and slammed against the back of her chair. Although she was probably dead instantly, they kept firing until their magazines were empty. When I glanced over at the other chamber, the one housing our subject, I realized he was gone. We had lost Virgil Matthew Maro, again.
END OF REPORT
111
Matt
THE BREEZE COMING DOWNoff Mount Washington had a slight edge to it. Just enough to cause Deputy Matt Maro to shiver and remind him that fall and yet another harsh New Hampshire winter were not as far off as they were yesterday. Thanks to a brief cold spell last week, the leaves were putting on a show—all golds, reds, and yellows—so much so half the drivers edging out of town toward Route 112 had their heads in the trees rather than on the road. It was a wonder none had kissed fenders.
Give it time, his mind muttered.The day has just begun.
Matt crossed the street and pushed through the door of the Stairway Diner. A bell above the door let out a chime sharp enough to be heard above all the voices, and he stood there a moment taking in the smells of breakfast, long enough to catch Gabby’s eye.
“You don’t grab your stool, someone else will!” she shouted to him from across the room. “We’re on a twenty-minute wait as it is for tables!”
Matt grinned back at her. Her skin was flushed, her uniformwas covered in various stains, and she never looked more radiant. “We’re still on for barbecue later, right?”
She gave him a wink before turning back to the large booth holding all eight of the Lockwood family.
Matt made his way through the diner, saying his hellos, and paused when he reached the counter. There was a woman sitting on his favorite stool, the one in the far corner against the wall. Her face was buried in a book, the remnants of an omelet on the plate next to her. She looked vaguely familiar, but Matt couldn’t place her. Lucky for him, the stool between her and Roy “Buck” Buxton was still open. When Matt got closer, he saw the sign Gabby had taped in front of it:
RESERVED FOR DEPUTY SHITHEAD
Buck gave him a sideways glance as he balled up the sign and tossed it into the sink behind the counter. “Not my place to meddle in your business, Deputy, but when your woman takes to calling you shithead publicly, it might be time to pack a bag or buy flowers, as circumstances may dictate.”
“She’s just messing around.”
“Uh-huh. Aren’t they all.”
The fact that Buck then looked across the diner at Addie Gallagher, sitting in a booth by herself, wasn’t lost on Matt, but they had something more pressing to talk about.
“You can’t keep drinking yourself into a stupor, Buck. You’ve clocked far too many hours sleeping it off at the station.”
Buck pierced a bite of sausage with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. Said nothing.
“Complaints aside,” Matt added, “you’re not getting any younger. Your body can’t take much more of that.”
“My body is doing just fine.”
The woman sitting on Matt’s favorite stool took out a credit card and set it on the counter. He stole a glance at the name:
Beatrice Sordello
The name didn’t ring any bells, but there was something about her he couldn’t quite place. He finally just asked. “Excuse me, did you go to UNH? I feel like we’ve met.”
The woman held up one finger to silence him for a moment as her other finger slowly drifted down the text of the page she’d been reading. When she got to the bottom, she looked over at him, studied his face for a moment, then shook her head. “I went to Princeton.”
Buck let out a quiet huff and said softly, “Nice try, Romeo. You might want to dial it back; girlfriend number two is on her way over.”
