Page 18 of Aftermath
An older gentleman walked up a path I hadn’t noticed before at the edge of the yard. It trailed down the cliff edge, and from what I could see from where I stood, led off into the town below.
I had a great vantage point over town, where I could see all the houses and shops but still keep my distance. Or so I thought.
“You must be Nelson,” I said, noting the man looked exactly like his profile picture on the house rental listing, even wearing the same newsboy hat.
“I sure am,” he said with a cheery smile. “Welcome to Briarport.”
He added the last part like he was a salesman straight out of a commercial, baiting tourists to town, and his pronunciation seemed to drop the final ‘r’.
“Boston?” I asked.
“How’d you know?” he asked, tilting his head.
His pale skin and freckled cheeks, in addition to his blue eyes, had me guessing he was Irish. He likely moved from South Boston, and recently, judging by the remaining thickness of his accent.
“The accent,” I pointed out.
“You’ve visited, then,” he said.
“For work.” I shrugged.
It’d been two years prior when I’d worked on a case in Boston. A triple homicide with a threat left behind promising massive lives lost had the FBI visiting the New England city.
He nodded and ran a hand along his grey stubble peppering his chin.
“Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were settling in, was all,” he said. “I saw the car parked in the driveway while I was walking the path and thought I would stop by.”
“Thanks,” I forced out, even though it was breaking clause seven of the terms and agreement both of us checked we would comply with when renting the place. Technically, the agreement outlined that Nelson needed to give reasonable notice if coming to the property for anything. Showing up on the lawn, unannounced and two seconds into my stay, felt a little unreasonable. I supposed that was just what friendly, small town neighbors did, though.
I’d have to get used to the idea and account for it while working if I were to call minimal attention to myself. Poor relations with those who lived in Briarport year round could hinder my progress.
I wasn’t used to working these cases alone.
My last active case with the FBI, I had my partner beside me. She’d always known what to say, the type of person everyone loved.
I tried to channel a bit of her into myself.
“I just arrived, but I already love the place,” I assured Nelson with a small smile.
He nodded.
“Anything you need, feel free to call. You have my number on the fridge inside the place, and I am only a short walk away. I live in the small house at the beginning of this path,” he said, pointing back to where he’d emerged from. “Seriously, anything at all. This town is more than happy to provide. It isn’t often I have someone rent this place longer than a week. Most of the seasonal renters own their own places along the beaches.”
I wasn’t sure how to answer. It wasn’t often I grappled for answers, but the truth wasn’t something I wished to share with Nelson. I needed my work to be kept quiet and away from the FBI realizing where I had taken my break.
“I am just testing out the area before committing to anything,” I answered quickly.
“Well, I hope you find it all to your liking. I can tell already you’d fit right in.”
People were odd, the way they completely pulled things out of thin air sometimes. I’d just met Nelson, and nothing in my behavior or words exchanged could have possibly given the impression I would be a good addition to the town.
He turned and walked back to the path.
“I am sure I will see you around town soon,” he called back as he waved over his shoulder.
I gave a short wave and turned back to the driveway to retrieve my suitcase.
The handle extended up, and I pulled my belongings along the pathway to the porch, lugging them up the steps.
