He headed for the convenience store, regretting not bringing anything with him from Hobart. Inspector Hadeom probably could have worded him up on perhaps bringing some groceries with him. He surely doubted anyone in this town had even heard of Uber Eats.
He’d have to get used to the lack of city conveniences, that was for sure.
He walked past the antiques store, spotting one of the guys from the jetty now inside at the counter. He glanced up at Sawyer and gave him a sneer as he walked past the glass storefront.
Not a fan of newcomers, I see.
Or maybe he just hated cops.
The guy had been on the jetty this morning, wearing nothing but board shorts, his ripped body dripping wet, with what looked like red flame tattoos up his right arm. His drenched dark brown hair falling into his eyes hadn’t done much to hide the glare he’d aimed Sawyer’s way.
Much like he was doing now.
It made Sawyer smirk.
The two businesses he walked past surprised him. One was a doctor’s office, currently closed, the other a café. Only when he went into the convenience store could he see that the café was part of the store. It was bigger than Sawyer had been expecting. The café side had a service counter and five or six old tables and chairs that could have been a time capsule from 1950. There was a man sitting at one table, coffee in hand as he read some papers. Possibly mid-thirties, sandy-coloured floppy hair, glasses.
The store had two aisles, and, to Sawyer’s utter surprise, a larger selection of foods than he’d anticipated. There was also a hot food section, offering what looked like fish and chips, and Sawyer had to admit, he was impressed.
He noticed Tobin, the man from the boat, was behind the counter with another guy—a tall man who appeared to be an islander, perhaps Maori. Tobin seemed pleasant enough. Brown hair and sharp eyes, polite, courteous, and could handle the boat like a pro. Sawyer now realised all the crates he had noticedearlier aboard the boat contained supplies Tobin had brought to the town.
“Hello again,” Tobin said, greeting him.
Sawyer gave him a nod, and, figuring he better start trying to be nice, he headed toward the two of them. “Thanks again for bringing me down,” he said, then looked at the taller guy. “Name’s Sawyer. It’s a great little store you have here. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.”
“Otis,” the big guy said with a cautious smile. “And thank you. It’s not like the big supermarkets you’re probably used to, but it does us fine.” Then, after seeming to think twice about saying it, he added, “If you need or want anything in particular that we don’t have, just let us know. Tobin does a town run twice a week, and we can order it in.” Then he pointed his thumb at an Australia Post sign on the wall behind him. “Mail drop-off and pickup Mondays and Fridays, and hot food from twelve to two and five till seven.”
Wow.
“Great, thanks. Good to know,” Sawyer said. It wasn’t what he’d expected, but it wasn’t all that bad at all. “I’ll just grab a few things, but the hot food is handy, thanks.”
Otis grinned. “Hope you like fish.”
Tobin snorted, and when Sawyer looked at him, he cleared his throat and gave Otis a nod. “Ah, he bought some fishing rods with him.”
Otis grinned like it was an inside joke. “Oh. Fishing, right.”
Sawyer wasn’t sure what to make of that, and he was almost certain there was something they weren’t telling him. It was an old fishing village, after all. “Yeah,” he replied. “I just brought the essentials. Fishing rods and my coffee machine. Don’t suppose I’ll be needing much else.”
“How long is your stint here?” Tobin asked. His tone was conversational, but Sawyer knew they wanted details. “Is it a contract thing?”
“Or did you piss your boss off?” Otis asked with the grin Sawyer assumed he wore most of the time. “To get posted here. Think that’s what the last guy did, anyway.”
“I actually put my hand up for this job,” Sawyer replied. Not entirely a lie; according to the Tasmanian Police paperwork, he’d requested the transfer. “I’ll be here five years.”
A loud clanging of something hitting the floor made them all turn and look. The guy from the jetty, from the antiques store, was in the café, talking to the other guy who’d been having a coffee. He’d dropped the stainless-steel sugar container, the sachets now all over the floor.
The guy who’d been drinking coffee was quickly on his feet and whispered something to the guy who’d made the mess. The guy then shot Sawyer a filthy glare before stalking out of the café, the door banging in his wake.
Tobin and Otis were clearly stunned. They’d tried to act like it was nothing out of the ordinary, but Sawyer was adept enough at reading people to know they were surprised.
The man in the café collected the sugar sachets and sat them on the table. Then Tobin went over, and they had a whispered conversation about whatever the hell had just happened.
“Were you after anything in particular today?” Otis asked, diverting Sawyer’s attention.
Right.
Groceries.
