Page 36 of Everything You Hate
“First time in the Driftwood, hon?”
I’ve been here four days. Four days, and everyone has already assigned me a camp—the Merricks’ reporter, the one Dean fished out of the harbor, the one Mimi invited to dinner. But I nod and say, “First time.”
“Sit anywhere you like. The booth in the back corner’s the warmest.”
It’s also the farthest from the door, which means if I want to leave, I’ll have to walk past every single person in the diner, and every single person in the diner will stop talking to watch me do it.
I pick a different booth. Middle of the room. I can see the door.
Patty Sue watches me sit and doesn’t argue. She sets the coffee down and leans in. “The land transfer you’re asking about. 1895, right?”
My stomach drops. I haven’t asked a soul about it yet. Not on record. Not out loud.
“I read Malcolm’s proposal.” She shrugs. “He submitted it to the zoning board last month. Public record. You’re welcome.”
She walks away before I can say thank you, and I sit there with my mouth open and my coffee steaming and the unsettling knowledge that Port Haven has been reading my mail before I’ve sent it.
My phone buzzes. Malcolm.
Checking in. Any progress on the north shore piece? The historical society has a complete set of maps if you need them.
I set the phone face-down and don’t answer.
I open my notebook to a fresh page.Port Haven, Day 4. The Driftwood. 10:17 AM.
The bell above the door jingles, and Mimi Haven walks in like a windstorm looking for something to knock over.
Her dark curls are pulled into a messy bun with a streak of purple running through the left side. Same leather jacket from the farm, same combat boots, and she has her miniature schnauzer tucked under one arm like a football. The dog’s ears perk when he spots me.
“Well, fuck me sideways,” Mimi says, loud enough that the family by the door turns to stare.
So that’s where Captain picked up the phrase.
“Look who it is. Patty Sue, move her.”
“I’m fine here?—”
“Nobody’s fine in the middle of the room.” Mimi points at my booth. “You’re a sitting duck. Back corner. Now.”
The schnauzer barks once, seconding the motion.
Patty Sue appears with a fresh pot. “She’s right, hon. Back corner’s the interview spot. That’s where Donna sits for her morning coffee. That’s where I put new arrivals who need watching.”
“I don’t need watching.”
“You’re Malcolm Merrick’s reporter in a Haven-owned diner. You need watching.” Mimi slides into the booth across from me without waiting for an invitation. The schnauzer settles on the bench beside her, paws on the table, and stares at my toast with naked longing. “This is Sprocket. He’s a chaos gremlin. Ignore him.”
“Ignore who, you or the dog?”
She grins. “Both, ideally. But since you’re here, and I’m here, and this coffee’s not going to drink itself, let’s talk about why you’re not in Malcolm’s fancy archive digging through his version of history.”
I set my pen down. “How do you know I’m not?”
“Because you’re here.” She taps the table. “Smart reporters talk to people. Dumb ones talk to paper. You’re smart. I clocked that at dinner.”
The mention of dinner sends heat into my cheeks, and I pick up my pen again to cover for it. “I came to ask about the 1895 land transfer. Malcolm says the Havens bought the north shore that year, right after Evangeline Merrick died.”
“Honey.” Mimi leans forward. “You can ask about the land transfer in a minute. First, you’re going to tell me why your lips were swollen when you and Dean came back inside after dinner.”
