Point Pleasant (20 page)

“You do that. And while you’re at it, try and come up with anything you can to get the sheriff to persuade Stewart to call off the festival.”

Ben lifted both eyebrows in exaggerated surprise. “It might be easier to make those silver bullets.”

A wry smirk tugged at Tucker’s chapped lips. “You’ve got my journals with the list of all the people I found that ever saw it,” Tucker started. “Cross-check the dates with the archives at the
Gazette
. Bet you my favorite hat you’ll find some kind of accident or death attached to all the people on that list if your theory holds up. Sheriff’s a hard-ass, but
he
saw
it. His knobby little knees were shaking just as bad as yours that morning I came across you two.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Ben said. “And I didn’t have knobby knees.”

Tucker rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna boil some coffee and get started. You do the same.”

Ben took his notebook and scribbled his cell phone number onto a blank sheet inside. “Call me if you find anything,” he said as he ripped out the paper and passed it to Tucker. “Your number’s listed?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Happy hunting,” Ben said with a weak smile.

“Watch yourself,” Tucker replied. “You said it called twice.”

The meaning of Tucker’s words jolted through Ben as he fumbled for his car keys. He thought of the Camaro’s radio, and the nape of his neck prickled with goosebumps.

Ben could not bring himself to go home, but he felt uncomfortable with the idea of sitting around Nicholas’ empty house. He parked his car on Main Street and walked over to Dawson’s with his messenger bag draped over his shoulder. He ordered a black coffee to take advantage of the Wi-Fi and sat in the corner where his laptop screen was hidden from passersby.

Two cups of coffee and as many hours later, Ben had cross-checked all the names he could manage on Tucker’s list with articles on the
Gazette’s
online archive. He would need to go back to the library to check the chronicled hardcopies of the paper, but he felt he had enough evidence to suffice for the moment. It was nearly five o’clock, which meant the library would be closing down for the day.

There was about half an hour to kill before Ben needed to head over to Dunmore. He had just started a preliminary search on the Mingo tribe when Lizzie walked into the café.

“Busy working on your
article
?” she asked as she snapped her head around in time with her sarcasm.

Ben glanced up from his research and darkened. He was not at all in the mood for this conversation. “I spent yesterday in jail because of you.
Thanks
.”

“Well, that’s hardly my fault. How
dare
you make a mockery of what we do?”

“What you
do
?” Ben asked and narrowed his eyes.

“
Writing
, Ben.
Journalism
. We may be some small-town paper, but there’s a lot of integrity behind our work at the
Gazette
. You wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Ben would have laughed if he felt better.

“You think you can just come into town and pretend to have some respectable job when everyone always said you were probably just some bum,” Lizzie continued. “I used to think,
‘
No
, not Ben
. He’ll do something with his life. He’ll make something of himself.’ But the best you can do is come back and tell everyone lies? To make yourself feel better about being some loser who gets off on making up stories about a life he doesn’t even lead?”

“Lizzie, I am having a really shit day, so I’m going to advise you to walk away.”

Lizzie recoiled as if Ben had physically struck her. “You are
such
an ass,” she said. “I can’t even. You could at least apologize.”

Ben closed his laptop and shoved it into his bag as he stood. “Fine, sorry for a minor lie that has a lot of complications behind it. Sorry for coming back to this goddamn place. Sorry for buying you coffee and being happy to see you yesterday. Now get out of my way before I have to be sorry for the language that will come out of my mouth if you don’t.”

Lizzie crossed her arms and moved aside. “You’re not welcome here. I told people. It’ll be all over town by now. Whatever ruse you’re trying to pull, whatever you’re trying to stir up, it won’t work. Everyone knows what a liar you are now.”

Ben clenched his jaw and paused by the door. “Why would you do that?”

“Why would you lie to my face and insult my town?”

“I never insulted the town.”

“You did. By thinking you could get away with some scam and prey on the trust of us
simple townsfolk
,” Lizzie said, putting on an especially West Virginian twang as she finished.

The few customers in the café seemed enthralled by the argument and Lizzie’s incendiary words. Ben uttered a sigh.

“That was certainly not my intention, and I
am
sorry if that is what came across.”

“Just go back to wherever you came from. You won’t get whatever it is you came here for.” With that, Lizzie turned to the register to place her order.

Ben debated whether to try to smooth the issue over even further, but he thought better of it. He slipped out of the café and crossed to the square where he slumped on a vacant bench with his messenger bag at his side.

The entire town would have heard Lizzie’s condemnation. The story would no doubt morph into something far more scandalous by the time it made a full circle around the town gossips.
So much for getting anyone to talk to me.

He would still try Warren and Lewis; they were top priority as far as Ben was concerned. If they told him to fuck off,
oh well
. But he would at least try.

Tomorrow would be another busy day. He needed it, though. Researching the accident reports and matching them against Mothman witnesses was the only thing that kept his mind off Andrew. Ben was engrossed in his thoughts and did not notice the man in the dark coat who had appeared behind the bench until he spoke.

“Muffin, cupcake?” the man asked. His thick, drawling southern accent was more alarming than his sudden appearance.

“Excuse me?”

“Muffin?” the man repeated as he held out a small paper bag to Ben. “You were in my fine establishment for hours and didn’t try the muffins.
Scandalous
. I make the best in town, you know. I hope you like blueberry.”

Ben took the bag and frowned with uncertainty. “You’re Dawson?”

The man sat down next to Ben without asking if he would mind the company. “I’d give you a cookie, but I think a free muffin is enough for now.” He adjusted a folded magazine he carried under his arm and extended his right hand. “Lionel Dawson.”

Ben shook Dawson’s offered hand. “You give out free baked goods often? Your business plan could probably do with some tweaking.”

Dawson laughed, and the smirk that accompanied it showed off a set of teeth that reminded Ben of a shark. “I just saw you get your pretty little ass handed to you by a girl half your size. I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

“Thanks,” Ben replied and shrugged with discomfort. “I’m Ben.”

Dawson arched an eyebrow in a gesture that was almost elegant. “Are you
really
?”

“Should I be someone else?”

Dawson eyed Ben like he was appraising a new car. “Oh, I get it,” he said. “It’s a pseudonym.”

Ben faltered, and his mind raced as he tried to place the man. “What is?”

“Well, sir, either you have a doppelgänger, or you’re the same man in this copy of
The New Yorker
.” Dawson tossed Ben the magazine, which was open to the interview he had given to promote his signing event in New York. “I suppose it’s fair to assume your average denizen of Point Pleasant isn’t exactly an avid reader of such a highbrow publication, but I’m not exactly from around these parts. Nice photo, by the way. Very serious.”

Ben nodded in understanding and hoped it was polite enough as a response, but the man’s continued grin was disquieting. The more Ben looked, the more he saw Dawson was not like a shark at all but rather a rogue orca. With his slicked-back hair, black coat, and deceptive smile that brimmed with unnaturally white teeth, the man seemed like the type who preferred to play with his food before he bit it in half.

“Oh,” Ben said and closed the magazine before he returned it to Dawson. “Thanks.”

“You know,” Dawson drawled, “I’m something of a writer myself.”

“I thought you were in the café business,” Ben replied to redirect the focus of the conversation if the man was intent to sit and chat. It was not that Ben felt the need to discourage fellow writers, but years of
‘Maybe you could read my manuscript,’
and
‘Could you get me an appointment with your publisher?’
queries from vague acquaintances who knew of his career as a published author had worn thinner than threadbare tires.

“For now,” Dawson replied. “In all truth, the economy made it an easy venture. Property is so cheap, I bought up a few lots around the eastern coast. I’m already a chain, you know.”

“Congratulations.”

Dawson apparently missed the weak sarcasm of Ben’s response. “I’ll be the Pinkberry of muffins. But I dabble in fiction. It’s always nice to be able to tell your side of the story, don’t you think?”

“I guess I never thought about it like that,” Ben replied with measured civility. “Listen, if you could keep a lid on the whole pseudonym thing. It’s kinda important to me.”

Dawson held up his hands in an innocent gesture. “We’re friends now, Ben. And I’m very good to my friends. I’m even better at keeping secrets.”

“I would appreciate it,” Ben said and checked his wristwatch in an effort to get the man to catch a hint and take his leave.

“Say no more. I’m like an impenetrable fortress. Well, sometimes penetrable for the right person.”

Ben tried to ignore whatever innuendo was behind
that
statement. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I’ve had a really shitty day, and I should be going.”

“What’s the matter, cupcake? Did Collins hurt your feelings? I can sic my dogs on her if you like. It’s about time someone crammed a sock in those red lips of hers.”

“My dad died this morning,” Ben said, focusing on the bubbling flow of water in the fountain.

Dawson lost his smirk and grew serious as he adjusted the lapels of his coat. “Oh, my sincerest condolences.”

Ben stood and slung his messenger bag across his chest. “It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Dawson rose and offered another handshake. “I’ll make certain you get another muffin,” he said. “Especially if you’d be willing to talk a bit of trade? I’d love for you to have a read over my manuscript. It’s something in the true crime genre. And cross my heart, your secret is safe with me.”

“Secret?” a deep voice asked from behind them.

“Ah, Sheriff,” Dawson said and dropped Ben’s hand. “Nothing illegal, I assure you. Ben was just telling me he hates banana in his muffin.”

Ben glanced to Nicholas, who had emerged from the other side of the square with Daniel at his side. A frown line creased across Nicholas’ forehead as he looked from Dawson to Ben.

Ben said nothing, and Nicholas’ frown deepened. He seemed to sense Ben’s unease. “Would you please excuse us, Dawson?” Though the question was politely phrased, the sheriff’s tone was sharp and commanding.

Dawson regarded Nicholas, and a curious expression crossed his face before he smiled again, his toothy grin all killer whale. “Why, I was just having a little chat with my new friend, Sheriff. I didn’t realize that was off limits.”

“Why don’t you slither back to your side of the square?” Daniel said, stepping forward.

The deputy’s stature was as imposing as Nicholas’, and Ben appraised the exchange between the officers and Dawson. Ben wondered what it was about the man that set their hackles up; Dawson seemed like a creep, not a criminal. But as Andrew had been quick to point out, Ben was simply not from here anymore. Whatever history Dawson seemed to have with the law enforcers of Mason County was probably none of Ben’s business. He was too tired to care anyway.

Dawson finally relented under the cold stares of the sheriff and his deputy, and Ben noticed that Nicholas made sure Dawson walked away before he turned his attention to Ben and Daniel.

“That fucking guy,” Nicholas said.

Ben offered him the paper bag. “Muffin? They’re the best in town. Or so I hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” Daniel snickered. “They taste like corruption and dubious funding.”

“
Ford
,” Nicholas said, his tone full of warning.

“I’m sorry about your dad, Ben,” Daniel said suddenly, dropping his broad shoulders. “I expect you’ll be hearing this a lot, but he was a good man.”

“Thanks,” Ben replied. He shifted from one foot to the next when he registered the stiffness he could detect in his own voice. “How’s your mom, by the way?”

“Very well, thank you for asking,” Daniel said, and he tried to smile. “Much better now that she doesn’t have idiots like us clogging up her piano lessons.”

“I still hate ‘Heart and Soul,’” Ben said.

“You and me both,” Daniel said, and he turned to Nicholas. “Did you need anything else, Sheriff?”

“No,” Nicholas replied. “Just check on the situation with Thomas when she gets back from her call.”

Daniel nodded to Nicholas, then to Ben, and headed toward the Sheriff’s Department.

“The situation?” Ben asked. The exchange between the two officers had been brief, but there seemed to be some underlying importance to Nicholas’ response.

“It’s just been one of those days,” Nicholas said. His face betrayed nothing of what ‘anything else’ could have meant. “I clocked out early,” he added, his tender tone a sharp departure from his demeanor with Dawson. “My place?”

“Yeah,” Ben replied. He tossed the paper bag with the muffin into a nearby waste bin.

“You okay?”

“Sure,” Ben said without conviction.

“So what’s your secret?” Nicholas asked, and Ben was thankful the other man did not press further into the current state of his wellbeing.