He had a sinking feeling everything the old man had said was true. He tried really hard not to think about that as he drove down the misty mountain and into town.
Tenebrae Cove looked exactly the same, except he noticed Tobin’s boat was back at his jetty. He couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through him at the thought of seeing Ciaran again.
Even though he didn’t know why.
The man clearly hated him, though Sawyer had done nothing to him.
And who knew, if Ciaran was back in town, Sawyer might even get to speak to him and ask him what his problem was....
Sawyer pulled up at the station, the cruiser unusually loud in an otherwise quiet town, and shut the engine off. The silence was louder.
Even closing the car door was far too loud.
Instead of going inside, he headed straight up to the store, walking past the antiques store, which still had the Closed sign on the door, though there was a light on in the back that hadn’t been on before.
He’s in there....
Ignoring why he was so intrigued by Ciaran Brenner—because of the mystery, that was all—and feeling a little mad that he was so intrigued, Sawyer rolled his eyes at himself and went into the store.
Otis was behind the counter with Tobin, their whispered conversation coming to an abrupt end when Sawyer walked in.
“Afternoon,” Sawyer said, aiming for cheerful. He reached into his inside coat pocket and retrieved the envelope and offered it to Otis. “From Mr Brown to you. A cheque, I believe.”
He took it with a bit of a nod. “Thanks. You went up and saw him?”
“I did.”
“How was he today?”
“Good, I think. Seemed well. I told him I could go back up once a week, so if you need me to take his groceries, might save you the trip.”
“We don’t mind,” Otis said.
“Is he really one hundred and two years old?” Sawyer couldn’t help but ask.
“No one really knows,” Tobin replied, tone indifferent. “Least of all him.”
Hmm. “I dunno. I thought he was pretty switched on for a guy of his age.”
Otis smirked and opened the envelope. He pulled out the cheque and held it up for Sawyer to see. He noticed the scratchy cursive handwriting first, then the bank...
Oh.
Hobart Commercial Bank.
That bank hadn’t existed since the ’90s.
“Oh, shoot,” Sawyer said. “Is that.... What the hell? Is that intentional? Or does he not know?”
Otis snorted. “He hasn’t paid for groceries in all the years I’ve known him.”
“But... you just give him supplies every week?”
“Sure.” Otis shrugged. “Can’t see the man starve. We just send up a small box every week. The man eats like a bird.”
Tobin eyed him cautiously, his nose scrunching. “Did you cut yourself?” he asked. “Your hand.”
Sawyer looked at his palms. “Ah, yeah. Manual labour. It’s been a while.” He showed them the open and torn blisters. “I chopped some wood for him. Better me than him, I guess.”
