Misery Loves Company by Rene Gutteridge Read Free Book Online

pulled out his picture. “I’m looking for this woman.”
    “She was here on Tuesday at 10:47 a.m.”
    Chris held the picture closer. “You’re sure? Her?”
    “Yes. Positive. She comes every Tuesday.”
    “But I’m concerned only with this last Tuesday.”
    “She was here.”
    Now Chris was concerned about why he knew so much about Jules’s grocery store habits. “What makes you sure that you’re right?”
    “I’m right.”
    “How do I know you haven’t mixed up the dates?”
    “I never mix up dates.” The boy finally made eye contact, looking highly offended.
    “Maybe you’re remembering wrong.”
    “I am not,” the boy said emphatically.
    “What was she wearing?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “You know she was here, down to the minute, but don’t know what she was wearing?”
    “I don’t like clothes. Colors bother me. I try not to look at them.”
    Chris took a deep breath. “Did you talk to her?”
    “I don’t talk to customers. I only sack their groceries, and we don’t offer plastic, so their only choice is paper. I don’t have to ask them which they want.”
    “So she bought groceries?”
    “Yes.”
    “What did she buy?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I’m still having a hard time understanding how you remember this,” Chris said pointedly.
    “I have a memory of her for two reasons. First, she is nice. She always says hello to me even though I don’t say hello back.”
    “And the second?”
    “It was the day that he came in.”
    “Who?”
    “Patrick Reagan.”
    “The writer?”
    “Of course. He’s one of the most brilliant writers our country has to offer. He was raised on a farm in Pennsylvania. His mother was a seamstress. His father worked the mines. He’s sold over ten million books, though his critics believe he sold out to commercialism. Before that, he won a Pulitzer for fiction when he was only twenty-eight.”
    “That’s grand. I don’t read his stuff.”
    “You should.”
    “So let me get this straight. You remember that Juliet Belleno came in on Tuesday at 10:47 a.m. because it was the same day that author Patrick Reagan came in.”
    “The same time, too.”
    “Okay.”
    “It was unusual that he was here in the winter. He does not live here in the winter. He has a cabin up in the mountains somewhere.”
    “Let’s get back to Juliet. Do you remember her leaving the store?”
    “Yes.”
    “Did she seem distraught?”
    “No.”
    “Did she talk to anyone while she was here?”
    “I don’t know. Not while she was checking out.”
    “Okay. Thank you for your help.”
    Chris turned to find Maecoat walking toward him, a small sack in his hands.
    “What? It’s a snack for later. Find out anything useful?”
    “Yeah. She was definitely here on Tuesday, according to Seth over there.”
    “Well, we know they don’t have surveillance footage. None of these stores are equipped for it,” Maecoat said. And it was true. Much of the town had not caught up to the technology that would greatly help the police department. And liked it that way. Some of the lobster boats weren’t evenequipped with GPS, much to the frustration of the Coast Guard.
    “At least we know she was here. That’s where we start trying to figure out what happened.”
    “Where to next?”
    “The beach.”
    “I was hoping you’d say the speed trap.”

IT WAS THE SAME DAY, she assumed, when Jules woke again. By peering out the window, she could tell the approximate time. The sun’s light was warmer and softly hued. She’d been sleepy all day, napping on and off as if it were a lazy Sunday and she had a paper to read. But there was nothing to do but lie on the bed and try to figure out her circumstances.
    She’d concluded a while back that she was not dreaming. There was something extremely tangible about it all, her dizzy head notwithstanding. More than anything, it was the vivid smells around her that caused her to believe this was all real. The soup was the most fragrant she’d