Page 37 of Denim & Diamonds

“I got twenty he’s from the Big Apple.”

I looked over. The guy was probably early thirties and had hair he spent too much time on, but he wasn’t bad looking. Sort of reminded me of a Ken doll. It irked me that I thought he’d look the part standing next to someone like Feb. “Not taking that bet,” I grumbled. “He’s definitely from New York.”

Hank shrugged. We spent the next fifteen minutes debating whether or not it made sense for me to put solar panels on the house I was building for myself. Then Plaid Suit lifted his arm like I was a damn taxicab.

Hank caught it too and smirked. “Probably jerks off looking in the mirror.”

I chuckled but went down to see what the guy wanted.

“You want a refill?”

“Please.”

I poured two fingers of vodka into a glass and grabbed the seltzer gun.

“Can you make that a double?” he asked. “I’m visiting a woman who drives me fucking nuts.”

“Is there a different kind where you come from?”

He smiled. “Guess not.”

I finished mixing his drink and slid the glass over to him. When he took it, I couldn’t help but notice the big, shiny Rolex on his wrist. “You from New York?”

“How’d you know? My accent?”

I shook my head. “We don’t get a lot of suits coming inhere.”

He eyed the deer head hanging over the bar. “That’s probably because we’re afraid you’ll shoot us.”

I smiled. Maybe he wasn’t as big of a douche as he looked. “Taxidermist gets freaked out when we bring him Wall Streeters. He’s worried his stock portfolio will suffer.”

Plaid Suit sucked back half his double vodka. “What’s a taxidermist do on Tuesdays?”

“What?”

“Nothing special. Just the usual stuff.”

I chuckled. “So why does a city boy travel all the way to northern Maine to visit a woman who drives him fucking nuts?”

“Sex, of course. It’s addicting. She’s freaking gorgeous, too. If only I could tape her mouth shut.” He looked at his big watch. “Speaking of which, I should get going. Visiting hours end at four.”

A sinking feeling settled into the pit of my belly. “Visiting hours? She in the hospital or something?”

“Nope. At a wellness-type place. It’s called Sierra something. GPS said it was only about a mile down the road from here.”

I gritted my teeth. “Woman you’re visiting from the area?”

He shook his head. “New York. Don’t ask me why her board couldn’t pick a place closer to home.”

I swallowed. “Her…board?”

The guy knocked back the rest of his drink, pulled out his billfold, and peeled a fifty off, tossing it on the bar. “Long story. But I’ll leave you with one piece of advice. Make sure the mic is off when you bend your archnemesis over the table it’s sitting on.”

***

Hours later, I was still stewing.

“Hey, Brock. Can I get another beer?”

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