“He was a professor at the University,” Jeri said quietly. “Archeology.”
Tom looked over at her slowly, masking his surprise at the fact that she was finally speaking candidly.
“He walked in one summer afternoon not long after I started working here,” she continued, absently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she spoke. “Strolled up to the bar wearing some ridiculous cowboy hat and those intense blue eyes and sat down on that same barstool he’s sitting on now. Before long he was a few beers down and explaining how he’d just wrapped up his last archeological dig with a group of grad students. Apparently the University had forced early retirement on several of the tenured professors in the department to make room for ‘fresh blood’ as he put it. Chip was one of the professors forced out. Not that he seemed that upset about it. A few hours after walking into the saloon he was toasting his freedom and talking to me like I was his long-lost daughter.”
Jeri suddenly paused and glanced around the room. “God, that was over a year ago. I can’t believe it’s been that long.”
“And he’s been coming in ever since, huh?” Tom asked.
“More or less. He’s been around more than usual lately… ever since the letters started arriving. But that’s probably because he’s convinced himself this mystery writer is out to kill me.” Jeri rolled her eyes and gave Tom the slightest hint of a smile.
Tom nodded his head. If only you knew the half of it he thought as he smiled back.
“Anyway, Chip’s a good guy,” she continued, glancing out the window at the snow that tumbled and collided before melting into the mirror-black pavement of the old highway. “He’s one of the last of the ‘old-school’ guys. One of those men who still sees everything in black and white and isn’t afraid to tell you what he thinks. And in case you haven’t noticed, he’s still pretty damn quick for his age.”
“I’ve never seen a man his age drink a beer faster,” Tom said with a wry smile.
Jeri nodded her head absently and opened her book. “So there you have it. Now you know as much about Chip as I do.”
“I doubt it, but thanks for the history lesson.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Only if it has nothing to do with the next obvious topic of discussion.”
“And what would that be?” Tom asked, feigning ignorance.
Jeri shot him a threatening look.
“Right, never mind.”
Tom took a defeated drink of his beer and glanced around the saloon. A few patrons stood in the far corner studying the letters and photos – the “shrine” as Joe the owner foolishly called it – pinned to the wall. He watched as they read and laughed, one of them even raising a hand to gently touch a Polaroid photo as if in some strange gesture of affection. Tom himself knew the letters and Polaroid images by heart. He had discreetly taken digital photos of each a few nights earlier and spent the last two days pouring over them in his office. Unfortunately, they had given him nothing more to go on, other than the frustrating realization that their author was a master of revealing just enough information to taunt him. The Polaroid photos were particularly maddening. Anyone passing by Tom’s cramped office as he studied the reproduced images on his laptop would have heard a chorus of expletives and frustrated sighs. This, followed by yet another failed attempt to talk to Jeri, was now turning Tom’s mood as dark as the late autumn sky outside.
Perhaps even worse, the e-mail he had sent to Alex three days ago had still gone unanswered.
Maybe I am going off the deep end Tom thought bitterly before quickly dismissing the thought with a shrug. “No, no… I’m right, and I know it,” he muttered under his breath before emptying his beer glass.
“Right about what?” Chip said, suddenly next to Tom as he slid back onto his stool.
“What? Oh, nothing… just thinking out loud.” Tom fell into silence, visibly brooding as he stared at the empty beer glass in front of him.
Chip watched him curiously for a moment before looking over at Jeri nestled in her corner behind the bar with her book. “Good lord… I leave for two minutes and the mood in the whole bar goes to hell.” He leaned towards Tom. “Wait, let me guess,” he whispered, nudging him on the shoulder. “You asked Jeri about the letters, didn’t you?”
Tom shook his head. “I didn’t even get that far.”
“Yeah, well, I could have warned you about that.”
Tom suddenly reached over and grabbed Chip’s arm. He was once again surprised by the firmness of Chip’s muscles as the older man tensed in alarm.