The Maine Events by Rodney Riesel (spanish books to read .TXT) 📗

appreciate youradvances, I take it?”

“He pretended not to. That little redneck—Timmy, Ithink the other guy called him—is gayer than a baton twirler in a prideparade.”

Allen was sipping his wine and did a spit take. “Gotta say,I never heard that one before.”

“Believe me, I've collected an encyclopedia of he's gayerthan lines.”

“I met Mya at the restaurant up the street—Stones Throw.She's a hostess there, and she also waits tables at the Stage Neck Inn.”

“And volunteers at a nursing home. Sounds like a hardworker.”

“Looks that way. That reminds me, I need to ask Jacob if hecan watch Frankie Thursday and Saturday night.”

“What's going on Saturday night?”

“I was invited to dinner at the home of a local policesergeant and his wife.”

“Wow, Blue Eyes, you are the definition of the term socialbutterfly. Maybe I should take you out with me Friday night and use you as my wingman.”

“I don't even know how that would work.”

“You've never been a wing man before?”

“Not for picking up a dude.”

“It works exactly the same as it does for picking up awoman.”

“I'm just going to take your word for that, Donnie.”

Just then a Nissan Frontier pulled into a parking space. Theengine shut off and the headlights went out. Jay Palmer climbed out of the caband slammed the door. He stretched his arms at his side and yawned loud enoughfor Allen and Donnie to hear.

When Jay was halfway across the parking lot, Allen said,“Late night, Jay?”

Jay searched the darkness. “That you, Allen?” he called out.

“It is.”

“How ya doin' tonight?”

“Good. Gotta drink over here for you, if you're interested.”

“Thanks, Allen, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. Maybenext time.”

Jay continued to his room and went inside.

“He was working up in Ogunquit today,” said Allen.

“I wondered why I didn't see him on the seawall today,” saidDonnie.

Allen picked up his glass and downed the remainder of hiswine. He stood, took one last puff on his cigar, and tossed the butt into theparking lot. Donnie shot him a side-eye.

“That's littering,” he said.

“I know. But it's just a butt.”

“No, you're just a butt. Don't you know that could be toxicto a bird?”

“Yeah, it is just about the right size for a seagull tosmoke.”

“Not funny, Allen. I saw a photo of a black skimmer down inFlorida feeding a cigarette to its chick, after mistaking it for food. I'm astaunch proponent of keeping the environment clean and safe. Now, you pick thatup.”

Allen smirked. “Or what, you'll kick my ass?”

Donnie half-rose from the chair. “If I have to,” he saidwith a smile.

“Hmm, I believe you would.” Allen picked up the butt. “Well,I guess I better get inside as well. I wanted to write a few more pages beforeI go to bed.”

“What's the book about?” Donnie asked.

“A Jersey crime family that moves to Maine.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“I hope so.”

“Feel free to use my line about the baton twirler in a prideparade.”

Allen chuckled. “I'll see if I can work it in.” He turnedand started walking away. “Come on Frankie.”

Frankie jumped up and ran to the office door.

“Make sure I get a dedication if you use it.”

“You got it, pal.”

Allen and Frankie went through the door and up the stairs.Once inside, Allen chucked the cigar butt in a trash can, then walked to theedge of the mattress and lifted it. His gun was undisturbed.

“Jacob feed you tonight, Frankie?” Allen asked. “I'mstarving. Too late to get a pizza?”

Allen walked to the fridge and took out the last half of acan of dog food. He turned it upside down over Frankie's bowl. He gave it agentle shake, and the contents plopped into the bowl.

“Bone apples tight,” Allen said.

Chapter Thirteen

Thursday dawn, Allen took a break from writing to watch thespectacular sunrise through his picture window. He'd gone to bed late and wokeup early. He made himself a pot of coffee and drank both cups while writing,and then made another pot.

“Funny how you only get two cups of coffee out of a four-cupcoffee pot, eh, Frankie?” he quipped, while stuffing the filter pouch into thebasket.

He filled the reservoir, closed the basket, and hit thepower button.

“A few more pages and we'll get breakfast,” he promised Frankie.

He returned to the table and sat back down. The sun was justsun at that point. It had risen far enough into the sky that there wasn't anymore reds or oranges. The Weather Channel said it would be in the high eightiesby one and sunny all day. That's when it dawned on him that he had only been onthe beach once since arriving in town and hadn't even taken his swim trunks outof his bag.

“Maybe we should go for a swim later, Frankie.”

The coffee maker gurgled and belched a small cloud of steam.Allen got back up and poured his third cup of coffee.

“You gotta shit yet, dog?” Allen walked to the door andpulled it open. He breathed in deep and stepped out onto the walkway.

Frankie jumped off the bed and ran past him and headed forthe stairs.

“Well, why didn't you say something?”

He left the door open and followed Frankie the through thedoorway, down the stairs, and into the parking lot.

Frankie made a beeline for the grass.

Allen waited in the parking lot, not wanting to get hishouse shoes wet in the dewy grass.

The door to room four opened, and out walked Jay Palmer. Heturned and kissed his wife on the lips.

“Love ya,” said Jay.

“Love you too,” Tess replied.

“Morning, Allen,” Jay said as he climbed into his truck.

“Morning. Gonna be a hot one today.”

“That's what they're saying. See ya later.”

The Frontier groaned and grumbled, refusing to crank. Jayand Allen exchanged a manly look of sympathy, and when the engine finallyturned over, they grinned and nodded, and their thumbs shot skyward simultaneously.

As Jay drove away, Tess lingered in the doorway, clutchingher robe closed with one hand and waving goodbye with the other. Jay blew her acomically dramatic kiss. Tess laughed. Observing the simple scene of domesticbliss, like so many he and his wife had shared, Allen felt an all too familiarpang of sadness.

“How's the writing going?” Tess shouted, breaking