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CALVIN BIGALOW

Siren Song, Maine

C alvin Bigalow stood in line at yet another coffee shop.

One worker retrieved baked goods from the case, and a teenage girl made drinks.

This was the fourth homespun village he had searched.

Every time he thought of giving up his quest, he thought of Shadow Man or her kidnapper, Leo Jameson, harming Sofria.

Two people were in front of him. A minister in a clerical collar stood patiently behind a cherry-cheeked woman ordering a box of assorted pastries.

“Six muffins, four of the Danish, oh, and a few of the cinnamon donuts.” She turned to face the reverend with a bright smile. “I’m hosting bunko.”

He smiled. “How nice.”

She continued chatting. “What brings you to Siren Song, Father? If you’re looking for Father McCoy, I think he’s in Boston.”

He chuckled. “We do occasionally have friends outside the church.”

“Of course.” She blushed. “I just assumed.”

Calvin observed as the reverend rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. Most of my travels are to visit members of the clergy. This time, I’m visiting my niece and her beau.”

“Enjoy your visit. If you need anything, my husband and I own The Outfitter, just up the street.” She paid for her purchases and stepped to the side with her bakery box.

“Well, I may just. I was paying for gas in Portsmouth and accidentally threw away her address.” He retrieved a photo from his wallet. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

Calvin peered over the man’s shoulder and froze as the man withdrew a picture of Sofria.

“Oh, yes. They were in the shop the other day. She bought a rain jacket.” The woman leaned closer. “To be honest, I wouldn’t have noticed her, but that man of hers.” She fanned herself. “Darwin, that’s my husband, told me to pick up my eyeballs!”

Calvin hung on every word. She was talking about Leo Jameson.

The minister asked, “You wouldn’t happen to know where they’re staying? I’m supposed to meet them at their place for lunch.”

“Oh, sure. They’re at Cliffside House. When you walk out of here, look up. You can’t miss it.”

The minister thanked the friendly woman and stepped back as she balanced the two white pastry boxes and turned to leave. In doing so, the man stepped on Calvin’s foot.

“Excuse me,” he apologized.

Calvin stood frozen in shock. He had gray hair and a cross on a long chain around his neck, but Calvin couldn’t shake the feeling he had seen the man before.

The minister narrowed his gaze at Calvin’s stunned silence.

“Next!”

The minister turned and placed his order at the counter. “Coffee with five Splendas.”

Calvin abandoned his spot in the coffee line, raced out of the shop, and ducked behind a delivery van. He was sure of one thing: that guy was no holy man. It was Shadow Man in a clever disguise. Ironic that he was dressed as a man of the cloth; the guy radiated evil.

Shadow Man exited the store with his drink and walked down the sidewalk.

Keeping a safe distance, Calvin followed.

The “minister” glanced behind him, and Calvin pretended to read a flyer on the octagonal noticeboard.

From the corner of his eye, Calvin saw the man glance up at the imposing white house on the cliffside.

That had to be the house where the woman told Shadow Man Sofria and her captor were staying.

Calvin returned to the coffee shop. The line had dissipated, and he stepped to the counter where a teenager wearing black lipstick took his coffee order. On second thought, Calvin added a cranberry fritter. He’d need caffeine and sugar; he was going on his first stakeout.

THE PRIEST

O ut on the sidewalk, The Priest sipped the brew through the hole in the plastic lid.

He took in the quaint setting without sentiment.

Out of habit, he scanned his surroundings, seeing nothing of note.

As the lady had said, Cliffside House was impossible to miss; it was an imposing structure on the bluff with a large deck taped off and under repair.

The Priest continued walking until he came to an older man in a white apron hosing off the rubber matt in front of his market.

“Morning, Father,” the man said.

“Morning. Lovely day.”

“That it is. Are you visiting, Padre?”

“I am indeed.”

The grocer extended his hand. “Eddie Malloy.”

The Priest shook it without returning the introduction. He tipped his head to the winding road leading up the cliff face. “Is that the only way up to the bluff?”

“It’s the shortest. The road at the north end of The Hug takes you about five miles out of town and then connects with the state road.”

“The Hug?”

“Oh, that’s what we call the town center. It’s warm and welcoming and shaped like open arms.” The store owner gestured to the curved street.

“I see,” The Priest replied.

“You heading up to Cliffside House?”

The Priest was already turning away as he said, “Enjoy your day.”