important were the numbers 4712. This had to be the place. He grabbed his gun, stuck it in his belt, and headed down the snowy path to the house. From a distance, it didn’t look particularly inviting. It was hand-built and tiny, with shingles instead of wood siding. Huge icicles hung from the roof. As he got closer, he realized some of the windows were broken. And no one had shoveled any of the walks. The latch on the front door was rusted, coming off in his hand as he opened the door. Stepping into the dank front room, he saw the place was deserted. “Damn!” he exploded, realizing he’d been sent on a wild-goose chase. He kicked an old pot across the floor.
If this was the address in the post office log and no other address existed, he was at a dead end. He felt in his pocket for the letter Kate had given him. Sure enough, it was a Soldiers Grove postmark. Hawks had to be here somewhere. Perhaps if he went back to town and spent a few minutes asking around, he might put an end to this little game of hide-and-seek. It was worth a try.
Francie’s Cafe was located on Soldiers Grove’s main drag. On one side was a hardware store and on the other, the Soldiers Grove Washateria. Directly across the road was Dave’s Feed and Seed. As he entered the building, he noticed a familiar form sitting at the counter. The man’s face was partially obscured by a newspaper, but Hale recognized him at once. It was John Jacobi. The sight of the young man startled him into paralysis.
After considering the situation a few moments, Hale decided to sit down next to him. Play it cool. He grabbed a menu and began looking it over.
John read for a few more minutes and then lowered the paper, his hand finding his coffee cup. As he did so, he noticed Hale sitting right next to him. “Mr. Micklenberg!”
“Small world, isn’t it?” Perhaps young Mr. Jacobi was the answer he’d been looking for. If he was, it explained a lot. “What are you doing here?”
John seemed momentarily at a loss. “My … aunt lives in town. I come up fairly often.”
“Quite the family man.”
John seemed confused. “She collects bones and feathers for me — objects she finds in the woods. They’re my models. I need them for my work. I come up here every now and then to collect them — and to have a piece of her pie.”
“That’s all?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s your only reason for coming to this thriving metropolis?” Hale noticed the waitress give him a nasty look. He glared at her until she turned away.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
John put the paper down. “Look, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
“No. And what I do with my time is
my
business.” He held Hale’s eyes.
Hale could sense the threat. He knew he’d hit pay dirt. “I got your message this morning.”
“What message?”
“The one about childhood memories.” He watched him for a reaction, daring him to come clean. After a few silent seconds, he decided that the young man was a pretty fair actor. But not good enough. “Now I’ve got a message for you.” He leaned very close. “I want you to back off. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m onto you. Stay away from me. No more phone calls. No more cute little camp drawings. You got that?”
John leaned away. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Maybe.” He glanced briefly at a man eating a bowl of soup at the far end of the counter. “You’d be about the right age.”
“For what?”
“But you’re not him. I know that much. I’d recognize him anywhere — even twenty years later.”
“Mr. Micklenberg, don’t take this wrong, but you’re … babbling.”
Hale gave an angry snort. “What were you? Friends?”
John blinked.
“You can’t know anything. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to talk to
If this was the address in the post office log and no other address existed, he was at a dead end. He felt in his pocket for the letter Kate had given him. Sure enough, it was a Soldiers Grove postmark. Hawks had to be here somewhere. Perhaps if he went back to town and spent a few minutes asking around, he might put an end to this little game of hide-and-seek. It was worth a try.
Francie’s Cafe was located on Soldiers Grove’s main drag. On one side was a hardware store and on the other, the Soldiers Grove Washateria. Directly across the road was Dave’s Feed and Seed. As he entered the building, he noticed a familiar form sitting at the counter. The man’s face was partially obscured by a newspaper, but Hale recognized him at once. It was John Jacobi. The sight of the young man startled him into paralysis.
After considering the situation a few moments, Hale decided to sit down next to him. Play it cool. He grabbed a menu and began looking it over.
John read for a few more minutes and then lowered the paper, his hand finding his coffee cup. As he did so, he noticed Hale sitting right next to him. “Mr. Micklenberg!”
“Small world, isn’t it?” Perhaps young Mr. Jacobi was the answer he’d been looking for. If he was, it explained a lot. “What are you doing here?”
John seemed momentarily at a loss. “My … aunt lives in town. I come up fairly often.”
“Quite the family man.”
John seemed confused. “She collects bones and feathers for me — objects she finds in the woods. They’re my models. I need them for my work. I come up here every now and then to collect them — and to have a piece of her pie.”
“That’s all?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“That’s your only reason for coming to this thriving metropolis?” Hale noticed the waitress give him a nasty look. He glared at her until she turned away.
“Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I think you know.”
John put the paper down. “Look, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
“No?”
“No. And what I do with my time is
my
business.” He held Hale’s eyes.
Hale could sense the threat. He knew he’d hit pay dirt. “I got your message this morning.”
“What message?”
“The one about childhood memories.” He watched him for a reaction, daring him to come clean. After a few silent seconds, he decided that the young man was a pretty fair actor. But not good enough. “Now I’ve got a message for you.” He leaned very close. “I want you to back off. I don’t know what your game is, but I’m onto you. Stay away from me. No more phone calls. No more cute little camp drawings. You got that?”
John leaned away. “You’re not making any sense.”
“Maybe.” He glanced briefly at a man eating a bowl of soup at the far end of the counter. “You’d be about the right age.”
“For what?”
“But you’re not him. I know that much. I’d recognize him anywhere — even twenty years later.”
“Mr. Micklenberg, don’t take this wrong, but you’re … babbling.”
Hale gave an angry snort. “What were you? Friends?”
John blinked.
“You can’t know anything. I don’t even know why I’m bothering to talk to
Similar Books
