Mr. Clifton took a step forward. “Does Buchanan know where you are?”
“It’s none of his business,” she said shortly, wanting only to be on their way again.
He angled himself closer. “I don’t think he’d want you being seen with…questionable company.”
Behind her, Cal remained silent, but a quick glance at him suggested Mr. Clifton’s words had not been soft enough. Cal stood as ominous and threatening as the storm bearing in over the lake.
“I choose my own company, Mr. Clifton, regardless of my brother’s opinion,” she replied, surprised by how cool and lofty her response was. She could hear an echo of her mother’s voice in there somewhere.
Before he could say another word, Fern turned to walk away. “Good evening.”
His reply came at her back. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He sounded like a petulant child who’d thought he’d been slighted, and she couldn’t imagine how she’d ever found him handsome.
Fern walked on, and Cal fell into step beside her. She held her breath as they weaved through the crowds, until her head started to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen.
“Let me guess,” she said as Cal took the lead again. “He knows you from the Lion’s Den?”
“Never seen him,” he answered as they entered a less crowded part of the promenade. “A lot of people just know me.”
They didn’t converse for the rest of the walk out to the end of the Pier. The revelry bloomed again there, bursting out in light and sound. A brass band played, and a carnival-type strength tester clanged endlessly as men took whacks with an oversized mallet and shoved each other around. Fern nearly lost Cal as he hooked a left and made a straight line for a row of food carts set up near the pier railing. There, a big, yellow pretzel-shaped sign was propped up over a cart. The man behind the cart didn’t look like he was boarding up, as Cal had put it, but he also didn’t have many soft pretzels left to sell. A spare half dozen or so hung on a glass-enclosed rack under warming lamps. He was leaning on the counter with one elbow, watching passersby when his eyes caught on Cal.
He instantly straightened, and the bored expression tightened with alarm.
Mostly, I get fear.
She understood now what Cal had meant.
Pretzel John swallowed visibly as they approached the cart.
“Cal.” The name squeaked from his lips, which Pretzel John licked and then wiped with the back of hishand. He had a fading bruise around his right eye and some healing scrapes along his right cheek and chin.
“John.” Cal’s hands settled into his pants pockets. He stood before the cart and waited.
John fidgeted for a moment before a light clicked on in his eyes. He laughed at himself and opened the pretzel case. He pulled down a pretzel and wrapped it in a white paper napkin.
“Two,” Cal said, and John paused. He saw Fern then and blinked. She didn’t hold his stare. Instead, she glanced toward the hot dog stand set up a few yards away.
“Oh,” he spluttered. “Oh, right. Two. You got it, boss.”
Boss?
The vendor took out another pretzel and handed both to Cal, who turned and held one out to Fern. It was warm, the dough soft and shiny, with clinging flakes of sea salt.
“Thank you,” she said before catching John eyeing her again. He’d seemed to relax a little.
“You got the other thing I’m here for?” Cal asked around a mouthful of pretzel.
John’s face tightened again. “Listen, Cal…I already told Vinny I don’t know nothin’ about that?—”
“I need a name.”
“Maybe I know some faces, but I don’t got names.”
“Vinny says you do.” Cal calmly brushed the salt from his pretzel before taking another bite. Fern hadn’t touched hers yet. Vinny’s name had set her on edge. Their exchange was obscure, but John looked as if he hadswallowed something, and it was choking him. His eyes darted around, searching the Pier as if expecting someone to interrupt.
“Give me a little time, and I can maybe ask around, find out some more?—”
“I need a name now,” Cal said, still eating.
