County Line Read Online Free PDF Page A

lemonade fortified with tequila.
    “There was a man there. He was dead.”
    Marcy blinks again. I’m beginning to see this was a mistake. “A dead man? Like, dead-dead ?”
    “Yeah. Dead-dead in the clawfoot tub.”
    “That’s fucked up.” Her face loses a shade. “What’s a dead guy doing in RJ’s bath tub?”
    “It looks like he’d been staying there. Did she say anything to you about that?”
    She draws on her cigarette, releases smoke without inhaling. I lick my lips.
    “A man was hanging around the day before she left.”
    “What man?”
    “I don’t know. She didn’t introduce him. An old guy.”
    “How old?”
    “Old. Older than you.”
    “Did he arrive in a coffin?”
    “What?” She misses the joke. Maybe not so much a joke.
    “Did she talk to him?”
    “Yeah, for a bit. I think. She made him leave.”
    “Why? Was he causing a problem?”
    “Not that I noticed.” Suddenly she stands up and waves. Cigarette ash flutters over her bare arms, grey snowfall on entwined vines. “Fells! Hey, Fellsner! Over here!”
    I draw an impatient breath. “Marcy?”
    “Yeah?” She looks back at me as if seeing me for the first time.
    “Can we go somewhere a little quieter? It won’t take long, I promise.”
    She’s still waving to Fellsner, I think, but then she stops and turns to the woman with the red hair. “I’m gonna go buy some crack from my friend here. When I get back, my spot better be waiting for me.”
    “In your dreams, ho.”
    Marcy unwinds from the seat, grabs her cup. Her cigarette vanishes, I hope not down the back of someone’s shirt. She takes my arm and pulls me through the crowd. We head past Whiffies, where I see Summer waving to me from inside the cart.
    “Skin! Your pie.”
    Marcy shifts direction without breaking stride. “Man’s gotta eat.” I take my pie and thank Summer. Marcy choo-choos us through the redolent aroma of deep-frying pies and past the chemical tang of the port-a-potties. She pulls up short on the sidewalk at Hawthorne.
    I’ve known Marcy for a couple of years now. She was one of Ruby Jane’s first hires, came aboard not long before RJ opened her second shop. She started as a part-time barista, but through a combination of native talent and a work ethic rivaled only by Ruby Jane’s rose to become Uncommon Cup’s first official store manager.
    “What’s going on with RJ, Marcy?”
    “Seriously, man. I don’t know.”
    “Not even a guess, maybe from something she said? How was she when she was getting ready to leave?”
    She thinks for a moment. “Focused.”
    “She would be.”
    “I figured maybe she had a death in the family or something.” Her thin eyebrows furrow for a moment. “I didn’t think she’d leave him in her bath tub.” Her eyes appear to vibrate and her voice drops. “Do you think it could have been her dad?”
    “I don’t know. She’s never spoken of her parents.”
    “Her brother’s still in San Francisco, right?”
    “It wasn’t him.”
    I met James when he visited Portland a couple of years back. I don’t remember him well, but well enough to know he’d have had to come back in time from 2055 to be the fellow in the tub.
    “You’ve been running the whole shebang while she’s away?”
    “Yeah. It’s been a little hectic. I’m not used to taking care of three shops, but it’s been good, you know?”
    “And she hasn’t checked in?”
    “She said she probably wouldn’t get the chance.”
    No matter the emergency, it’s hard for me to believe she wouldn’t be on the phone at least once a day. Uncommon Cup is her baby.
    “Tell me about the old man.”
    “Not much to tell. He came in to Ash Street and they talked.”
    “Did you hear what they said?”
    “Only a little. The old dude was wheedling her about something he lost and trying to get her to buy his medicine. She hustled him outside and they sat at one of the tables outside for a while.”
    “And she said nothing about him.”
    “To be honest, I