“Valid point,” Levi agreed. “I would’ve gone with his character from the Dark Knight trilogy.”
“I know him from ‘The Bucket List,’” Jeanna contributed.
“Regardless, white male, over forty,” I reaffirmed.
“Fantastic,” Reese remarked dryly. “That narrows it down to about a thousand guys in Garden Cove.”
“Including me,” Broyles confessed. “Just hit forty. Although, in my defense, I have no idea who EZ Reader is.”
I was eager to conclude this discussion before I got labeled a Boomer again. “What about the other stuff? Do you think he was talking about the soap?” Because I didn’t think so. Something told me the nitric acid was a warning, a prelude to something much bigger. This wasn’t just revenge for this psychopath. He was enjoying the game and was playing to win at any cost.
ChapterFourteen
Pippa packed up and headed to Moo-La-lattes to meet Tippi and the kids shortly after the paramedics arrived for Levi. I was glad she went. I would worry less knowing she was with Jordy and her family. It had taken a few hours, but the police thoroughly searched the shop front and back to ensure that my nemesis had not left any more caustic gifts lying around for me. Thankfully, the place was clean. When they began to clear out of the store with their equipment in tow, I stepped out front for some fresh air.
That’s when I saw Carol Billingsly, the editor of the Garden Cove Gazette, interviewing people across the street from the shop. Carol, an attractive woman in her fifties with sandy blonde hair and a professional appearance, had been responsible for the anonymous letter getting published in the paper, and now she was speaking with Mr. Lems in front of my store. And she had a camera guy with her. Anger boiled inside me, but I wasn’t about to let it be immortalized on film. Still, I couldn’t believe Mr. Lems had agreed to be recorded. I bet the old sourpuss was giving her an earful about me.
I spotted his son Waylon, standing under the awning of his father’s shop. When he met my gaze, he had the good sense to look embarrassed. I stormed over to him.
“Why is your dad talking to a reporter?” I demanded.
“Hello to you too, Nora,” he replied. “Sorry, but I’m not in charge of my dad today.”
I felt a twinge of embarrassment for being rude. Waylon had always been nice, unlike his dad. “I sincerely apologize. I haven’t had a lot of sleep, but that’s no reason to take it out on you.”
He glanced at the cop cars and the ambulance parked along the street. “What’s going on with your place?”
“We got broken into last night,” I explained. “The police are investigating.”
Waylon’s eyes widened. “Man, that’s terrible. Did they steal much?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure anything was taken at this point.” Except for the bar of soap the guy removed to replace it with the nitric acid one, I thought.
He glanced back at his dad’s furniture store. “Maybe I should get an alarm system put on Dad’s store. But it’s hard to justify the monthly payments for a store that’s only open during the summer and only three days a week.”
“I get that,” I sympathized. “We had an alarm system, and it did jack to prevent getting burgled.”
“Huh,” he grunted. “Bad luck. There’s been a lot of that going around lately.”
Edgar Jones, his arm still slung, was stopped by Carol as he walked past her interview with Mr. Lems. He shook his head vigorously, to the effect of saying “no comment.” Poor Edgar. The man had been put through it yesterday. I hoped he was taking care of his injury. He put his head down and kept walking.
Waylon tipped his head to me. “Welp, I gotta get going. People to do, work to see.”
I groaned at his attempt at humor, and he laughed.
“Are you leaving?” I asked.
“Yeah, there’s not much to help Dad with today, and it’s Sunday.”
“Okay,” I said, absently watching Carol gesticulate toward my shop while she talked to Mr. Lems. They were far enough away that I couldn’t tell what she was asking, but I imagined it had to do with me.
“You really don’t like that reporter,” he observed.
“That woman hates me,” I murmured. “And I’m beginning to hate her back.”
“Why does she hate you?” Waylon asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied honestly. Any theories I had were all speculation.
