open. “After the game? What happened? Are you hurt?”
She related the whole story, except the part when Antonio asked her to go hiking with him. At the mention of Antonio’s name, Tim’s brow furrowed and a dark expression crossed his face.
“Good thing Antonio was there,” he said in clipped tones.
“Yeah. Anyway, I figured I’d look into a few things, that’s all. While I’m off, I mean.”
He smiled. “Well, how about I take you out for some ice cream and we can talk some more?”
“You don’t have to entertain me.”
“Believe it or not, I like hanging out with you. Usually you’re surrounded by people wearing Nomex, and I can’t get close unless I happen to be on fire or something.” The bitter thought rose before he could stop it. Even with Antonio gone, you’re still out of reach. He squelched the thought and opened the passenger-side door. “I’ll drive.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he propelled her into the seat.
On the way to the ice-cream shop, Ivy asked Tim to stop at Corner Street Bookstore. “I’ve got to ask Mr. Evans about Cyril. Madge said Cyril worked at the bookstore.”
The bookstore owner, Sergei Evans, greeted them with a smile. “Good afternoon.”
The shop featured wooden shelves crammed full of books of every description and a long ladder that rolled between them. There was a small section with new bestsellers, but most of the volumes were older, with an occasional antique sprinkled in.
“Hello, Mr. Evans,” Tim said.
The man piled his papers in a tidy stack next to the cash register and came around the counter. “Hello. Can I help you find a book?” He looked at Ivy closely as he slipped on wire-rimmed glasses. “I would say you are not the kind who would like to read about needlework or floral arranging.”
“You got that right on the money,” Tim said as he thumbed through a sports magazine. “The only needles she uses are the kind to administer an IV.”
Tim smiled at the look Ivy shot him as they followed Mr. Evans around the small shop.
He pulled a book off a high shelf and handed it to Ivy. “Perhaps a memoir by a blind man who climbed Mt. Everest?”
She took the book and read the back. “That’s interesting, but…”
He handed down another. “And maybe a story of Peary’s expedition to the North Pole?”
“That sounds great, Mr. Evans, but that’s not why we’re here,” Tim repeated. “Do you happen to know a man named Cyril?”
“Cyril?” He frowned. “A short man, rather fragile-looking?”
Tim nodded, his pulse quickening. The image matched the description Madge had given them.
“He asked me for a job several months back, but I couldn’t accommodate him. Why?”
“He’s a friend of a friend. We were told he worked here.”
“No, I didn’t hire him. I had no contact with him after that one encounter.”
Tim hid his disappointment. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”
Ivy paid for her purchases and they left the cool of the bookstore, practically running into Mitch. He jerked backward.
“Oh, hi, guys.”
“Hey, Mitch.” Tim noted the weary lines painted on his wide face and felt a tingle of alarm. “Did you have a rough shift? You look beat.”
“Shift? No. I’m off for a few days.”
Ivy clicked her tongue. “Taking time off isn’t going to get you closer to that boat you’re after. You need all the overtime you can get.”
His brow furrowed. “Who made you my mother?”
Tim blinked at Mitch’s tone. “Easy, man. She was just teasing.”
He gave a half laugh. “Yeah, okay. Sorry.”
“How about we all three go get some ice cream?” Tim gestured to Ivy. “We’ve gotta keep this girl out of trouble.”
“No, I can’t.” Mitch said. “I’ve gotta run.”
Tim tried to read his expression, to see if he was telling the truth, hating the suspicion that clouded his mind. He wished he wasn’t burdened by knowing Mitch’s secret. “Where are you headed?”
“Me?” He looked momentarily disoriented. “Oh, just out for a jog. Catch you later.”
Tim and Ivy walked the rest of the block and ordered ice-cream sundaes, settling at a table by the window to enjoy their treat.
He watched her dive into the sundae, her face as eager as a little girl’s. The image tugged at his insides.
Ivy took a spoonful of whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. “Do you think Mitch is acting funny?”
“Maybe.” Tim tried to focus on his black-and-tan sundae, willing her not to ask him anything else. Above all things, he did not want to lie to Ivy.
“Maybe?” She looked closer at him. “Tim? Do you have some idea of what’s bothering my cousin?”
“Oh, me? It’s not—” He broke off as her attention was riveted to a spot on the sidewalk outside. “What’s wrong, Ivy?”
The untouched cream dripped from the spoon suspended in her fingers. “That man. I’ve seen him before.”
Tim looked in the direction of her stare. A big man with blond hair ambled along the sidewalk. He paused for a moment, long enough to sweep his gaze across the window of the ice-cream shop. His eyes rested on the two as they stared back at him. Something in the way he looked at Ivy pricked at Tim. “Who is he?”
Ivy slowly put her spoon down. “I don’t know, but he sat next to me at your basketball game last night. I’ve got a funny feeling.”
“What kind of funny feeling?”
“I wonder…Oh, I don’t know.”
“What?” he prodded.
“I wondered for a second if he was the guy who tried to take my purse.”
Tim got up and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to talk to him. No harm in that.”
“No, Tim. Don’t.”
Tim ignored her and headed out of the shop. By the time he made it to the sidewalk, the man had already hurried away. He tried not to let his concern show as he returned to the table.
Ivy toyed with her spoon. “Maybe I was mistaken. It was dark and I never saw the purse snatcher’s face.”
“Maybe.” An uneasy sensation took root in Tim’s gut. Maybe not.
SIX
The clock crept its way to early evening. Ivy tried to keep busy by doing everything from dusting all of her books to reorganizing the spice cupboard.
She was twitchy as a caffeinated cat. She had made no progress on anything, including her healing. Flexing her shoulder brought only a lancing pain that seemed as intense as it had right after the injury.
She was sick of her own company to the point where she actually accepted her mother’s invitation to dinner. Granted, it was more an order than an invitation, and since Ivy had no work excuse this time, she made her way on foot over to her mother’s house. It was still hot, but a cooling wind whispered through the hemlock trees as she strolled to her mother’s block, a strip of tiny, well-kept houses set among massive conifers that seemed to