Cobalt by Nathan Aldyne Read Free Book Online Page B

plaques of sailboats, sunsets, and endangered species. The ceiling was a tinkling sea of glass, bamboo, and metal wind chimes. Everything had “Olde Cape Cod” stamped prominently on its bottom or back. Clarisse began a game in which she searched the shop for a color that was found in nature, but soon gave it up as a waste of time.
    She had been so stunned when she first saw the shop that she had been scarcely able to reply to Beatrice Rowell’s pleasantries when Valentine had introduced the two women. Beatrice, the shop’s owner, was probably forty-five, and something about her screamed divorcée, but she was very pleasant, and dressed—if not with flair—then at least not without taste. Clarisse thought that perhaps the Provincetown Crafts Boutique was some sort of elaborate joke, with Beatrice laughing every time a tourist made a purchase. Clarisse wasn’t laughing yet.
    She picked up the instruction booklet for the machine in the corner which heat-pressed decals onto T-shirts, but then reflected that perhaps she ought first to master the intricacies of the electronic cash register, which after half an hour’s experimentation, she hadn’t yet been able to open.
    It was nearly eleven o’clock and the tourists were just beginning to show themselves on the street in oppressive numbers. Each time someone entered the shop, a music-box chime played the first four notes of “Lara’s Theme.” Clarisse experimented with keeping the door propped open, but the early heat of the day was unpleasant and she satisfied herself with disconnecting the wire that triggered the music. When a customer wanted to know the price of one of the carved fishermen—which was clearly marked $2.98—Clarisse replied, “It’s forty-five dollars, not including tax,” because she was afraid the man would want to buy it and she would have to admit her ignorance of the cash register.
    The door of the shop was held open for this rapidly retreating customer by a policeman. He turned to a fellow officer who was standing outside and said something which Clarisse did not hear. The fellow officer wandered off, and the handsome policeman—Clarisse had rapidly determined that —came inside with a smile.
    He stepped up to the counter, rested his hands flat on the edge, and let his eyes sweep boldly over her. Since Clarisse had already done the same for him, she allowed her eyes to remain demurely on his face. He was tall and slender with skin that looked incapable of burning or blemishing. His closely cut wavy black hair framed a strongly featured face with high cheekbones, a sensual pouty mouth, and large nearly black eyes bordered with heavy lashes. His uniform, unlike those of the other cops she’d seen in town, seemed tailored to fit his body.
    â€œThe last time I saw you,” said Clarisse, “there was a corpse between us.”
    He nodded, but said nothing.
    â€œHave you come to take me away from all this?” She glanced around the shop with a little grimace. “For questioning, I mean?”
    â€œMy name is Matteo Montalvo.” He spoke his own name with an accent, and Clarisse immediately conjectured that he had been raised in Provincetown’s Portuguese community. “Call me Matt though.”
    â€œI like Matteo better,” said Clarisse. “Do you want me to lock up?” she asked. “And come down to the station with you for a few hours? Say until closing time, whenever that is?”
    â€œNo,” he smiled, and glanced around the shop. “I wish I worked in a place as nice as this.” Clarisse charitably supposed that he referred to the air conditioning. “I came to ask you out.”
    Clarisse paused only a moment before answering. “Sure! Just let me close up.” She hopped down off the stool.
    â€œNo!” laughed Matteo. “Wednesday night.”
    Clarisse sighed, then looked up. “Oh,” she sighed