LLOYD, PAUL R. (2 page)

The angry barista wore blue jeans
and a long, green blouse not tucked into her pants. Micah guessed her height at
about five-feet six-inches and her weight close to three hundred pounds, possibly
more.

 “Don’t you dare say ‘no’ to me.
Get out right now.” The barista glowered. She placed her hands on her hips and called
over her shoulder, “Bob, throw this criminal out of here.”

Micah raised both hands, palms out.
“I didn’t mean ‘no.’ I meant ‘no way’ as in ‘no way, is that you?”

A man of stocky build, wearing a plaid
flannel shirt and blue jeans approached. Micah estimated the man’s height at
about five-two or three. The man looked up, smiled and then turned to the woman
behind the counter. “What’s up, Peevy?”

“Get this bum out of here.” Peevy’s
blue eyes flashed. Micah remembered years long past and a teenaged girl once
much thinner.

“We don’t throw the customers out,
Peevy. In fact, we don’t become angry at them. We’re supposed to smile, take
their order and their money. And we say thank you when we’re finished. Did I
mention the part about their money?”

“Men! He’s not a regular customer.
Throw him out.” Peevy picked up a bar towel and slammed it on the counter. She
stormed to the other end of the counter.

Bob smiled. “Appears regular enough
to me.” To Micah, the short man said, “Don’t pay any attention to Peevy. She
gets like this every month.”

An empty small paper coffee cup
bounced off the short man’s bald spot.

“Hey!” Bob grabbed the top of his
head.

Micah headed towards the front door
with his head down. “I don’t mind. I’m not pleased to see her either.”

“Wait,” said the short man. “Anyone
who can piss off Peevy O’Malley by ordering a cup of coffee is somebody I want
to know better.”

Micah stared at Bob. “Yes, sir, but
I didn’t order yet.”

“Even better.” Bob waved toward a
chair. “Have a seat.”

“As long as no one throws stuff at
me.” Micah approached the chair.

“Relax. We can always toss you out
later. Besides, Peevy is busy with other customers.”

Micah took the seat at a round table
by the window. The short man headed behind the counter, grabbed a small coffee
cup and filled it with high test. “What can I get you?”

“Something strong.”

“What size? Medium okay?” Bob held
up a paper cup.  

“Yeah.”

Bob filled the medium cup with dark
roast and handed it to Micah. “So you’re a friend of Peevy?” The short man sat down
at the table across from Micah.

“Ex-boyfriend.” Micah reached in
his back pocket for his wallet, but he opened it upside-down. Cash and credit
cards tumbled to the floor. He chased down his scattered dollars and plastic.

Bob yelled, “Didn’t know it was a
lover’s spat, Peevy. Do you still want me to toss him out?”

“Yes!” Peevy poured coffee for a female
customer. Three more customers waited in line.

“In a bit. I want to find out what
kind of man turns you on.”

Another empty paper coffee cup,
this one medium-sized, bounced off the short man’s balding head.

Micah jumped when the paper cup
flew by while he was returning his wallet to his pocket. He nearly lost his
money again. He placed a fifty-dollar bill on the table and slid it across to
Bob.

Bob raised his eyebrows at the
fifty. “Is finding Peevy in your favorite coffee shop the reason you look so
down?” He raised his voice when he said Peevy’s name.

“Didn’t know she was here. And I’ll
get back to you on my favorite coffee shop.”

“Depends on the quality of the brew
and the friendliness of the crowd?”

“Yeah. It takes time, but if the
rest of your menu is as good as this coffee, I’ll be back.”

“Next time, don’t look so down when
you come in.”

“Sorry. I had a bad night.” Micah
sipped the brew.

“Want to talk about it.”

“No. You can hear about it on the
news.”

“That bad, huh?”

Micah paused before he took a deep
breath. “Found a body.”

“A human body?”

Micah searched Bob’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Alive, I hope.”

“No.” Micah noticed how dark brown
Bob’s eyes were.

“Man or woman?”

Micah faced the window. His voice
was soft. “Young teenaged girl, a kid.”

“What happened?” Bob put a tiny
hand on Micah’s muscular arm.

Micah adjusted his position to face
Bob. “Somebody cut her heart out.”

“Don’t tell me that stuff.”

“You asked.”

“Yeah. I can be stupid sometimes.”
Bob called over his shoulders. “Hey, Peevy, you hear anything about a murder
last night?”

Peevy stopped rubbing the counter
and stared at Bob for a few seconds. “No.”

“Micah found a body.”

“His latest victim. Call the
police.” Peevy resumed polishing.

Bob shook his head. “That’s harsh,
Peevy.” He picked up Micah’s fifty, rubbed it between his fingers and handed it
to Peevy at the counter. She held it up to the light while Bob returned to his
seat.

Micah pointed with his coffee. “Didn’t
realize Peevy worked here. I just moved back from Phoenix.”

“So you’re new in town?” Bob rose
from his seat and picked up two empty coffee cups from the floor.

“New again. Grew up in Naperville.”
Micah played with a rip in his faded blue jeans.

“Childhood sweetheart thing,
right?” Bob tossed the cups in the trash before returning to his seat again.

“Yes, sir. High school. After high
school.” Micah tried to duck as a wad of cash and several coins pelted him. More
than a few customers ducked out of the way. Peevy turned her back to Micah.

“Peevy, you’re not nice,” Bob said.

Peevy turned around and stared blue-eyed
bullets at Micah. “Get out means you put your rear end on the other side of the
door.”

Bob approached the counter. “Peevy,
give these nice customers here each a drink on the house. And stop scaring
people away.”

Bob rejoined Micah at the table.
“Some of us act like we’re still in high school, but it was such a long time
ago for you two to be so angry with each other now. Did college break you up?”

“No.” Micah stuffed the wad of
bills in his pants pocket without counting it. He ignored the coins scattered
about the floor.

“Another girl?”

“Ask Peevy.” Micah took a sip of
coffee.

“Ah, another boy. Tough luck,
fella. Say, what’s your name anyway?”

“Probert.” He stared at the top of
his coffee cup.

“That your first name?”

“Sorry, sir. Micah Probert.”

The short man stuck out a small
hand with stubby fingers. “Bob. Glad to meet you.”

“You too, Bob.” Micah noticed a
flash of color when a man strolled into the coffee shop.

The man wore blue jeans, a red
shirt and brown leather lace up boots, the type a construction worker might use
in the mud. A copy of Mark Twain’s
Letters from the Earth
stuck out from
under his arm. Blood dripped from the book.

“You know that guy?” Micah asked.

“Yeah, he’s an angel. Why?” Bob
sipped his coffee.

Micah’s stomach flipped. “His book
is dripping blood.”

Bob turned to the man again. “No,
it’s the color of the book.”

Micah glanced over again and didn’t
see the blood. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “My eyes must be
playing tricks on me. Anyway, he flew by my window this morning?”

“Low flying airplane?”

“No, gossamer wings.”

Micah admired a pair of well-formed
legs on his front porch as he returned from Bob’s Coffee Emporium. Above the
female thighs, he appreciated the beauty of the woman in her short pink silk
robe.

“May I help you?” Micah walked up
the steps to stand behind her.

“You stole my cat.” The top of the
woman’s dark brunette hair reached below Micah’s shoulders. She carried a few
pounds beyond a perfect figure. “Are you the new dude?”

“I’m a new guy in town.”

The young woman pointed to the house
next door with her thumb. “We’re neighbors. What are you doing with my cat?”

Micah dropped his eyes to the faded
gray wood floor of the porch. He mumbled, “Didn’t steal anyone’s cat.”

“I can hear him meow inside your
house. I’d recognize Fritz’s call anywhere. He puts an ‘R’ in it.”

Micah scratched his head. “Somebody’s
cat stole me. Made me feed him milk. He meows with a lisp, you know.”

“You poison my cat?”

“I have a worse confession.” Micah
reached for his keys.

“You killed him already and that’s
his ghost I hear?”

“No. I let him sleep with me. He
must have snuck in after the police found that body. Hope you’re not the
jealous type.”

She stamped her right foot and
pouted. She smiled. “A little, maybe. What about the police?”

“The body out back last night.
Didn’t the police wake you with their noise?”

“Once I’m down for the night,
that’s it. You saw a body? A dead person?”

“Murder victim.”

“I can read about it in the newspaper.
And I’m sure the cops will canvas the neighborhood. So unless you plan to stop
me, I’ll collect my cat.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Come on in.”
Micah unlocked the door and waited while the young woman stepped into his
house. The feminine aroma of flowered perfume wisped the air as she passed. The
cat ran up the stairs as Micah entered. The girl charged up the steps in
pursuit of the cat while her robe flew up to present an image of pink silkiness
beneath.

Micah headed for the kitchen where
he picked up the empty bowl of milk. When he reached for the red bowl, it was filled
with blood. Around the bowl, more blood was splashed. Micah gasped and backed
against the counter. He put the milk bowl in the sink.  

“I have him,” said a feminine voice
from above.

Micah listened to the patter of
bare feet down the steps and smiled at the appearance of the young lady in the
kitchen.

“Thanks for taking care of Fritz.
And I’m sorry I misjudged you. You’re not the catnapper I took you for.” She
reached out her hand.

“Your cat caught his own
breakfast.” Micah pointed down at the red bowl of blood.

“Looks like a bowl of water.” The
girl’s eyes formed question marks that captured Micah’s own inquisitive eyes.

Micah glanced down again. The blood
was missing. 

“Nice eyes.” The girl touched Micah
on the arm. He jumped.

Micah wiped a hand across his face.
“Sorry. I… I… don’t like to be touched, ma’am.”

“Not touching could take the fun
out of a relationship.” The girl petted her cat.

“That kind of touching is cool. I
mean the surprise kind, like now.” Micah dropped his eyes to the floor where he
checked out the girl’s bright red toenails.

“Look at me.”

Micah looked up until his eyes met
the girl’s.

“Like I said, you have nice eyes
and I don’t give many compliments.”

“Wh…wha… what did you say?”

“Brown. I love dark brown eyes.
Most girls like movie star blue, but I’m all about dark pools of liquid love.”

Micah’s eyes pointed to the floor
again. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

“Oh, please, stop calling me
‘ma’am. My name is Miss Appleby. You may call me Denise if you like. I live
next door.” She extended her hand for the second time.

Micah gave her hand a gentle shake.

Denise dropped Micah’s hand. “I’m leaving
now.”

Micah shook his head while struggling
to keep his smile from slipping off his face.

“Goodbye.” Denise headed for the
front door. She stopped and spun around. “What’s your name? Fritz will want to
know.”

“I already told him.”

“Oh.”

“Just kidding, ma’am. I’m Micah
Probert.”

“That’s not a name you hear
everyday.”

“I hope not.”

“Are you famous, Mr. Probert? Your
name sounds familiar.”

“Famous is not the right word.”

“Infamous?”

“So how long have you lived in
Naperville, ma’am? And call me Micah, okay?”

“Okay, Micah, if you promise to
stop calling me ‘ma’am. See you later.” Denise managed to close the door behind
her without spilling the cat, or at least without spilling it as far as Micah
could tell from his position in the kitchen by the sink.

“That long, eh?” Micah picked up
the red water bowl from the floor. The blood had returned.

The rock rolled around in the pit
of Megan McCormick’s stomach and parked on a sore spot as she entered the
principal’s outer office. Megan breathed easier when she spotted Mrs. Rinaldi
behind her desk in the reception area. Megan’s imaginary rock shrunk to a pebble
and rolled off the sore place.

 “Dr. Langdon sent for me, Mrs.
Rinaldi.”

“Have a seat, dear.” Mrs. Rinaldi
popped her head into the principal’s office. “Megan is here, Dr. Langdon.”

Megan fixed her gaze on Mrs.
Rinaldi who returned to her desk. She became bored watching Mrs. Rinaldi
pecking at her keyboard.

Megan almost bit down on her purple
and green painted nails before catching herself. She placed both hands on her
lap and sighed when she noticed they fell below the hemline of her short black skirt.
She could see her navel with the tiny gold ring through her thin white blouse.
She fastened two top buttons she had left undone.

Dr. Langdon strolled out to the
reception area. He wore a brown sports coat and khaki trousers.

“Please come in, Megan.” He stood
aside to allow Megan to pass into his office. She waited by Dr. Langdon’s desk
and listened.

“You don’t have to wait around,
Mrs. Rinaldi.”

“But you’ll be alone, Dr. Langdon.
I mean with her. Is that a good idea?”

“Evelyn, you say that every time I
have an afternoon student appointment, and I always tell you not to worry. It’s
your choice, if you prefer to stay after hours. But there has never been a
complaint since the day I took over as principal.”