“And this is gonna sound crazy, but Judy, I halfway think somebody followed me there. Do you know Levi, the paper guy?”
She nodded and started to speak but I interrupted her. “Well, he was parked outside my driveway about five this morning, at least I thought it was him because that’s what time the paper usually comes … only now I’m not so sure. Either way, I’m wondering if maybe he saw something suspicious. Or maybe he saw somebody lurking around outside the Kellers’ house…”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and she looked down at the table for a brief moment. I could tell she wasn’t convinced. “Honey, I think you better go see a doctor.”
“Now you sound like Morgan.”
“Well, Dixie, did you faint or not?”
I didn’t know whether to nod, shake my head no, or shrug, so I did a combination of all three.
She put one hand on top of mine and sighed. “Maybe you just need some food in you and a little rest. Just stop thinking about it and maybe it’ll all make sense tomorrow. You’ve just been working too hard, that’s all.”
I felt my eyes start to well with tears, much to my surprise, but I rubbed my eyelids with my thumb and forefinger so Judy wouldn’t notice. If she did, she pretended not to.
“And I know you don’t want to, but you need to stop by Dr. Dunlop’s office and let him take a look at that bump on your head. It looks like you’re growing a little horn, and it’s high time you got your head examined anyway.” She slid out of the booth and straightened her apron. “Now eat your breakfast and don’t worry. I’m gonna fetch you a couple of slices of bacon. That’ll get you feeling back to normal in no time.”
I nodded. “Okay. And bring me the newspaper, will you? Maybe that’ll help distract me.”
She reached over and picked up my coffee cup. “Well, I would if I could. That’s what I was gonna say before. The damn paper never came this morning.”
She turned and took two steps toward the kitchen, and froze.
As our eyes met she whispered, “Oh, Dixie, you don’t think…”
* * *
I remember reading once about Carl Jung, the Swiss psychologist who blew everybody’s minds in the 1920s when he came up with the whole idea of synchronicity. The way Jung saw it, anybody with a central nervous system was part of a collective unconscious, maybe even some kind of world soul, where the thoughts and actions of one being could touch, on some basic level, the thoughts and actions of every other being on earth. Of course, that just freaked everybody out because it meant that two seemingly unrelated events could actually have some kind of relationship with one another, even if you couldn’t exactly draw a straight line between them.
I think on any other day, the fact that the diner hadn’t received its morning newspaper wouldn’t have registered as even the slightest blip on my radar, but the idea that I’d spent the whole morning with Levi hovering in the back of my mind made it stand out, and I knew Judy was thinking the exact same thing. She’d done a quick poll of her other tables, and the results made the hair on the back of my neck stand up: more than half of her customers hadn’t received their morning papers, either.
After I wolfed down my breakfast, including two scrumptious pieces of Tanisha’s world-famous, lip-smacking bacon, I took a cup of coffee out to the bench on the sidewalk just outside the front door and slipped my phone out of my pocket. I had no idea what I was doing or what I hoped to accomplish, but that’s never stopped me before.
“Hello, and thank you for calling the Sarasota Herald-Tribune. If you’re a new customer, press one. If you’re calling to cancel your subscription, press two. If you plan on being out of town and would like to stop delivery, press three. If you didn’t receive your paper today, press four.”
The woman on the recording had a smooth, silky voice. I pulled the phone away from my ear and pressed four.
“Thank you. You have chosen to report a problem with your delivery. Please enter the telephone number associated with your account, beginning with the area code.”
“Oh, shoot.”
I tried my best to remember the diner’s telephone number, but after I punched it in, the voice said, “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize that number. Please enter the number associated with…”
I hung up and sighed. There was no point going on. First of all, the chances of getting an actual human being on the phone were pretty slim, plus I didn’t think my silky-toned friend would ever say, Press five if you think your paperboy may be in danger.
Just then Judy popped her head out the front door. “Any luck?”
“No, I couldn’t get a connection with a real person.”
“Ha. Story of my life.” She stepped out and leaned her hip against the bench, squinting into the sun. “Tanisha says he lives in her neighborhood.”
“Who, Levi?”
“Yep.”
“Where does she live again?”
“Grand Pelican Commons. She walks her dog past his place every night, so she said she could stop by and check on him when she gets off here.”
“Grand Pelican Commons. Isn’t that the trailer park across the bay?”
She tipped her chin up. “I think the preferred term is ‘mobile home community.’”
That was all I needed. I stood up and gave her a quick thumbs-up. “Perfect! Then I’m off the hook. I was starting to think I was overreacting anyway.”
She nodded. “Well, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time.”
“And just because a few people are missing their newspapers doesn’t mean diddly.”
“Nope. Doesn’t mean a thing, and Tanisha said he’s kind of wild anyway. Probably up late partying and just called in sick or something.”
I passed her my coffee cup and pulled my bike out of the rack next to the bench. “Well, if your paper ever shows up let me know.”
“Yes, ma’am. And if you faint while you’re on that bike and veer into traffic and get your head busted open like an overripe watermelon, be sure to give me a call.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m on my way to Dr. Dunlop’s now.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. I’ll stop by on my way home.”
“Good girl. Let me know what he says.”
“Okay. And tell Tanisha I said thanks.”
She swung open the door to the diner but stopped it with her foot. “For what?”
“For checking in on Levi. What do you think?”
Her eyes narrowed as I pedaled off, and I could feel her watching me all the way down to the end of the block.
* * *
This time of year, when the sun hangs just a few feet over your shoulders and the heat feels like it has weight to it, anybody with a lick of sense stays indoors in the middle of the day. If they absolutely have to go outside, it’s only for as long as it takes to walk from their air-conditioned house to their air-conditioned car, and then they park as close as possible to the front door of their air-conditioned destination. It’s only the tourists who don’t know any better.
I reminded myself of that as I pedaled through the throngs of heat-soaked vacationers wandering around the center of town: gaggles of teenagers in flip-flops and Ray-Ban sunglasses with candy-striped towels like sarongs around their waists, hand-holding gray-haired couples with blissful smiles and dabs of chalk-white sunblock on their noses and ears, parents with kids in tow all happily negotiating their melting ice-cream cones, and young lovers without kids in tow happily negotiating their four-wheeled beer coolers down to the beach to work on their tans.
It was like riding through an obstacle course, but as soon as I got down to the end of the Village, the crowds thinned out and I was able to pick up speed. By the time I got home I was drenched in sweat. Normally I would have gone right upstairs to my apartment, taken a nice long shower, and collapsed in bed for a quick nap before I was out again for my afternoon rounds, but not this time. I rolled into the carport, leaned my bike under the steps, and hopped right into my Bronco.