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“I understand he just recently lost his wife. Likes to wander at night.”
“Lucky for us. Otherwise, Jenny might have gotten washed out to sea.”
“When can I have a more formal interview with you? And your sister, of course.”
“Doesn’t this count as my formal interview?” Dak wanted to know.
“Afraid not.”
“I work six days a week. Ten to eight. My tattoo shop’s around the corner. Ink Well. Get it?”
“Yeah, clever. Small town keep you that busy?”
“I’ve built a rep. Lots of folks from Jonesport, Machias, and Cutler. And I have clients from all over New England. Even Canada.” “Nice,” replied Devine.
He ran his gaze over Devine. “You got tats? You look the sort.”
“None voluntarily. But I’ve got a real wicked one around my ankle and calf. Picked it up in the Middle East on the biting end of an IED.”
Dak shot him a funny look. “Army or Marine?”
“The former.”
“You couldn’t have pulled the full ride. You’re way too young.”
“Decided to do something else with my life.”
Dak drained his beer. “Yeah, me too.” A pulse throbbed in the man’s temple.
He knows that I know about the OTH.
“We can grab some breakfast or late dinner. Your call. And my treat.”
“I’m not usually an early riser,” said Dak.
“Dinner then.”
“I only do organic.”
“They got a place here for that?” asked Devine doubtfully.
“Yeah. It’s called Only Real Food. I’m an investor. They get customers from all over Maine, Aroostook, Piscataquis, Waldo, Kennebec, York. Canada, too. Just like my tat shop. It’s no coincidence. I push all my investments with my clients.”
“Congrats. So nine o’clock tomorrow night?”
“I guess,” said Dak.
“I’d like a more definitive reply.”
“Okay, nine it is. The restaurant is two blocks south of here, take a left on Hiram Silkwell Street.”
“Seriously?”
“Named after the man who was born and grew up here and made all that money.”
“Less than three hundred people now. What happened?”
“It’s always been a toy town. But outside the town line is our version of the burbs, where we have nearly four thousand people.” “And your sister? Where can I see her?”
