Point Pleasant by Jen Archer Wood Page A

around here.”
    “True,” Ben said. He walked with her as she crossed through the square to the Gazette’s office. “Listen, we should talk again. I’ll ask about the festival next time, I promise.”
    “Yeah, you do that. You had better feature me in your story. I want a quote and everything.”
    “You got it,” Ben said, but he felt a pang of guilt over the lie. He could name a character in his next book after her. “See you later, Liz.”
    “Bye, Ben.” Lizzie waved and disappeared into the building.
    Ben strolled down Main Street and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. He paused outside Abernathy’s Antiques; the shop was dark, and there was a hand-lettered sign on the door. “ Open Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. 10-4. For private sessions with Marietta Abernathy, please redirect yourself to The Purple House on Main .”
    As it was Wednesday, Ben supposed he could forget the idea of a browse. He snickered to himself, wondering if the business of fortune-telling was more lucrative than antiquing, and continued on his way.
    He considered driving out to the Freemont farm; it was a bit further than Tucker’s, but if Ben were honest, he was unsure if he would be able to stand the silence.
    There was a steady set of vibrations against his hip, and Ben pulled his phone from his coat pocket. The phone continued to vibrate to alert him to a call, but there was no number listed on the caller ID, not even the usual ‘Unknown Caller’ message.
    Ben slid his finger across the touchscreen and held the phone up to his ear.
    “Hello?”
    The sound of static greeted him from the other end of the line.
    “Hello?” he repeated, and he nearly dropped the phone as a whining, electronic screech blasted into his ear. When he listened again, the line was dead.
    A black and white Dodge Charger pulled into the empty parking space Ben had stopped by to answer his phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the LED light bar atop the Charger’s roof and froze. Ben cast a furtive glance to the side and saw the word SHERIFF written across the driver’s side of the vehicle. He focused on his phone and moved to walk away.
    “Ben,” Nicholas said, stepping out of the car.
    Goddamnit .
    Ben paused and peered up from his touchscreen. “Sheriff.”
    Nicholas lifted an eyebrow and shut the cruiser’s door. He said nothing in response as he joined Ben on the sidewalk. Ben returned his attention to his call log and hoped Nicholas would carry on his own course.
    When Nicholas did not budge, Ben faced him. “Can I help you with something, Sheriff?”
    His question was met with an unflinching stare from the other man. Ben knew this was undoubtedly because of his frosty reception and the way he kept saying ‘Sheriff’ rather than Nicholas’ name.
    “Have a nice drive this morning?” Nicholas asked.
    “I did, thanks.”
    “Couldn’t help but notice you were coming from River Bend Road,” Nicholas said.
    “That’s right,” Ben said. “Thought I’d go sightseeing.”
    “See what you wanted to see, then?” Nicholas asked, regarding Ben through narrowed eyes.
    “For now.”
    “It would be a good idea for you to keep your adventuring to a minimum, Ben.”
    “I’m just visiting old friends. I didn’t realize that was against the law, Officer.”
    “Who might those friends be exactly?” Nicholas asked, and Ben could tell the other man was trying to ascertain whether Ben had gone to speak with Tucker or perhaps Freemont. Probably so he can assess which line of damage control to use . Ben could almost hear Nicholas’ voice in his head, logical and cutting in its rationality. Tucker’s old and reclusive, Ben. Freemont’s the town drunk. You can’t believe anything they say.
    “Anyone. Just not you,” Ben replied.
    Nicholas’ eyes shuttered. For a flutter of a second, it looked like someone had punched him in the gut. “Ben,” he said after a beat of silence, and Ben puzzled over the shifting emotions he could