Yeah, a month’s gone by, and Fains I has gone through a few changes.
Or evolved.
Take your pick:
- What was “Chapter 10 – My Cousin Vinny” is now “Chapter 12 – My Cousin Vinny,”
- there’s a new Chapter 14 – Map of the Human Heart” (this post),
- what was “Chapter 14 – Voices in the Sky” is now “Chapter 15 – Breathrough Listen,”
- there’s a new “Chapter 16 – The Third Man,”
- the title “Voices in the Sky” is repurposed to a brand new chapter 17,
- “Chapter 17 – Big Yellow Taxi” is now “Chapter 18 – They Paved Paradise and Put Up a Parking Lot,”
- “Chapter 16 – Gone Fishing” is now “Chapter 19 – Big Fish,”
- not to mention twelve other brand new chapters you’ve not seen yet.
I won’t bore you with the rewrites and replacements. Let’s get going to the new stuff.
Tom sat at one of two tables Martin added to what would become The Acra Cafe towards the rear of his store. Stacey placed a large, knitted bag on one of the chairs. One of Frank’s ears poked out the top and it seemed the bag snored.
Tom laid Stacey’s surveyor’s map on the table. Unfamiliar with such maps, he smoothed it out with his hands and felt the hand-carved chess-and-checker board underneath. The amount of detail amazed him.
Stacey came up with two frothy cappuccinos in her hands. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”
Tom answered without looking up. “This is amazing. This is practically an ordnance survey. You could use this to target your artillery.” He pointed. “Did you know you have orchards? Timberlands? Fields? This Campbell guy knew what he was doing!”
“I meant the tables. Hand-lathed, not machine. Carved. I’ll bet these are from a numbered set.”
“‘hand-lathed’? Have you seen my sister? She came in with me just a minute ago.”
Stacey pushed the map aside and set the cups on the table. “John, do you know where Mr. Martin got these tables?”
Galt, stacking B&M bean cans, turned, looked at her, looked at the table, blinked, looked back at her, shook his head, and turned back to his stacking.
Tom watched him for a moment then turned back to the map. “Talkative, that one.”
“Shh.”
The bell over the door dinged and Quarrals walked in.The large knitted bag hissed.
Stacey stood by the Pavoni. “What’ll you have, Sheriff?”
Quarrals sat opposite the hissing bag. “Just a regular coffee, black, thanks. Why does your cat hate me?”
Stacey placed his coffee in front of him. “He can tell you’re not everything you seem, that you have a secret, and that secret needs to come out before we’ll know what’s really going on in the woods behind my farm.” She sat down, glanced at one point on the map then anther, and abstractedly sipped her cappuccino.
Tom and Quarrals stared at her. Quarrals jaw worked but no words came out. Tom put a hand on Stacey’s arm. “Stacey, are you okay?”
Her head snapped up and she blinked. “Huh?”
“What secret do you just think the Sheriff’s hiding about the farm?”
“What?”
Tom’s hand gently moved down her arm to her wrist, his fingers landing on her pulse. “Okay, what secret does Frank think the Sheriff’s hiding about the farm?”
Stacey glanced at Frank’s one ear poking out of her bag. “What are you talking about?”
Quarrals collected himself. “Let’s forget it. You’re not use to the sun, digging in the dirt. You said so yourself. Combine that with the altitude and country air, crazy things can happen.”
Stacey blinked again and her eyes returned to the map.
Tom slowly pulled back his hand, unsure of Stacey’s experience and grateful for Quarrals’ letting it go. “Could you help me understand this map, Sheriff?”
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