Oasis of Night (47 page)

“We received a tip that lights had been spotted offshore in Conception Bay, so we went out to check. We didn't find anything.”

“So how'd you know… Bulgarian?”
I wonder if you could direct me to… ah, Parade Street?
“There was a man in my cafe that same day, the day of the fire. He was little, not much over five feet tall, and he had an accent. There was something strange about his face, too. I remember he had no eyelashes.”

Picco gazed at me while we waited for the traffic ahead of us to move. I thought I saw anxiety flit across his features, but it was gone almost immediately. “You didn't tell me? Jesus, Jack.”

This was new; Picco never, ever swore. “What was I supposed to do? Call you up and report it? ‘There's a man here with no eyelashes. I think you ought to arrest him.'”

He dragged his gaze away from me. “Either way, if this… eyelashless man in your cafe is who we suspect he is, he may well have started the fire. His name is Yosif Tzvetanov—”

“I'm impressed. Say it again.”

“Yosif Tzvetanov, and he is a Nazi collaborator. He was probably working with Jonah Octavian.”

A Greek working with a Bulgarian? “Uh-huh.”

“The fire was deliberately planned as an act of sabotage.” Picco pulled up in front of the Heartache. “Stoyles, be careful. Octavian's buddies know all about you. You better watch yourself. Carry a gun if you got one.”

I opened the door and put my foot on the sidewalk. “Thanks for the ride. Come in for a coffee?”

Picco raised his nonexistent eyebrows dismissively. “I'm on duty.”

I got out, but leaned back in and grinned at him. “Seeing Chris tonight?”

He kept his gaze fixed on the front windshield. “None of your business.”

“Where do you guys do it, anyway? You live with your sister—”

Picco put the car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk so fast I nearly went down, but his reaction made me laugh, and I was grateful. If Picco was still a jerk, then some things were definitely right with the world. I went inside, stopped long enough to say hello to Tex and Chris, and went through to my office. Normally, I wouldn't abuse the telephone lines, this being wartime and all, but I'd decided upon a course of action, and I needed to carry it out before I lost my nerve. The hostel fire had set some things in motion, things I was powerless to stop. The only thing I could do now was strap in and hope I survived the ride.

I got Kevin MacBride's line on the first try, but there was a wait since Cairo was four and a half hours later than Newfoundland and the young woman who took my call said she believed the captain was at supper. It took about fifteen minutes for them to locate MacBride and get him to the telephone; the first thing he did was apologize for the wait. “So you've decided, then?”

“Yeah.” I pushed away the crossword puzzle I'd been working on. “Yeah, I'll do it. What we talked about—” I wasn't dumb enough to say it over an open wire. “I'll do it.”

MacBride let out his breath into the transcontinental silence. “Right. Good on you.” He laughed. “Great to have you aboard. Someone will be by to see you in a day or two and give you some instructions. That all right?”

“Sure. After the year I've had, I'm game for anything.”

 

 

I'
M
NOT
sure exactly when it was, except I know it was noon and the sun was shining, even through the December cold. The Heartache was empty of customers, and I was working behind the bar, sorting through the previous night's receipts, when I became aware of someone standing in front of me, waiting patiently for me to look up. I guess I'd expected a lot of things: maybe MacBride himself would come, or maybe Tex would turn out to be my contact, or Chris or Picco. I took my time before I gave him my attention and in retrospect, I'm glad I did.

“I wonder if you might help me. I am looking for a particular building.”

Maybe he said something else; I don't know. It seemed like the cafe, the street, the sun through the windowpanes, the world—all of it vanished into meaningless chaos, and there was only him. “Sam.”

“
Salam alekum
, Jack.”

I was trembling so much, I had to hold on to the bar to keep from falling. “Sam, you… why… I mean—MacBride said—did you come all the way from Cairo?”

He laughed, the laugh I loved so much, and reached out a hand to steady me. “No, Jack. I regret even I am not capable of spanning the globe in a mere eye blink.” His gentle gaze took me in. “After Tareenah….” There was a long silence, while he composed himself. “No, I have been here for some time now, helping out your Sergeant Picco and lending a hand wherever I might. It was me you saw that day, outside your cafe, watching you from across the street. I hope you didn't mind too much. Are you glad to see me?”

“You have to ask?” I wanted to rush to him, to leap over the bar and grab him, tell him how much I loved him, how much I had missed him, but I was afraid. “H-how are… I mean, your children, how are they?”

“My children are well, thank you. My sister came from Alexandria to care for them. They are… managing, as am I.” His elegant mouth curled up at one corner. “Is that all you have to say to me, Jack?”

“Well, I think—”

I came out from behind the bar and there he was, standing in front of me, so close it would have been impossible to insert a hand between us, and he was gazing up at me and smiling. “Do you know what your problem is, Jack?”

It was suddenly very hard to speak. “No.”

“You think too much.”

And I took him in my arms and kissed him.

J.S. C
OOK
was born and raised on the island of Newfoundland. She holds a B.A. and an M.A. in English Language and Literature and a B.Ed in post-secondary education. She makes her home in St. John's, Newfoundland, with her husband Paul and Lola, her spoiled rotten dogter.

J.S. Cook also writes as JoAnne Soper-Cook.

But Not For Me

Come to Dust

Famous Last Words

A Little Night Murder

The Lovely Beast

Oasis of Night

The Quality of Mercy

Sixteen Songs About Regret

The Stranger at My Door

The Winter Dark

Published by
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS

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Stranger at the Door

 

By J.S. Cook

 

South Carolina lawyer Calvin Amos is confident he can gain Thomas Basinger his freedom on appeal. Thom was convicted of a murder during an armed robbery gone bad. But Basinger's case proves more difficult than Cal anticipated, and the battle he assumed he'd win turns into a devastating failure. Remorseful over the personal defeat, after Basinger is executed, Cal throws himself out of his office window.

Bizarrely, the fall doesn't kill him. Even stranger, Thom Basinger rings Cal's doorbell looking for a job. Both men are drawn to each other. Before long, the two forge a unique, heartfelt connection that transcends the boundaries of life and death.

Calvin Amos always imagined himself in possession of some great love or other. He didn't know he had to die to find it.

 

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Famous Last Words

 

By J.S. Cook

 

When former Indiana farm boy William Henry Rider goes on a bank robbing spree in Benedict Fouts's corner of Depression Era Illinois, it's up to Ben to bring him in. But Rider is no ordinary criminal. Famed for robberies that happen in the blink of an eye, Rider becomes a folk hero who steals from the rich and burns the mortgage papers of poor farmers teetering on the edge of financial ruin.

Intrigued to learn that Fouts has been assigned to his case, Rider approaches him in a darkened movie house with a unique proposition: “We'll have ourselves a game of Cops and Robbers. I'll run, and you catch me. The clock starts right now, Ben.”

Ben knows he's the only one who can stop the Bureau from murdering Rider, but he's soon struggling with another reason to chase the enigmatic fugitive.

 

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