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You want to see the map?
No, I believe you. I ve got to go. Theo turned to leave.
Gabe caught him by the shoulder. Theo, is, uh&
What?
Is Val Riordan single?
Divorced.
Do you think she likes me?
Theo shook his head. Gabe, I understand. I spend too much time alone
too.
What? I was just asking.
I ll see you.
Hey, Theo, you look, uh, well, more alert today.
Not stoned, you mean?
Sorry, I didn t mean&
It s okay, Gabe. Thanks, I think.
Hang tough.
128 / Christopher Moore
Jenny
As Jenny passed Estelle Boyet s table, she heard the old Black gentleman
say, We don t need to tell nobody nothin . Been fifty years since I seen
that thing. It probably done gone back to the sea.
Still, Estelle said, there s a little boy missing. What if the two are
connected?
Ain t nobody ever called you a crazy nigger, did they?
Not that I can remember.
Well, they have me. For some twenty years after I talked about that
thing the last time. I ain t sayin nothin to no one. It s our secret, girl.
I like it when you call me girl, Estelle said.
Jenny went off to the kitchen, trying to put the morning together in her
mind, pieces of conversations as surreal as a Dali jigsaw puzzle. There was
definitely something going on in Pine Cove.
fourteen
Molly
Pine Cove was a decorative town built for show only one degree more
functional than a Disneyland attraction and decidedly lacking in businesses
and services that catered to residents rather than tourists. The business
district included ten art galleries, five wine-tasting rooms, twenty restaur-
ants, eleven gift and card shops, and one hardware store. The position of
hardware clerk in Pine Cove was highly coveted by the town s retired male
population, for nowhere else could a man posture well past his prime,
pontificate, and generally indulge in the arrogant self-important chest-
pounding of an alpha male without having a woman intercede to remind
him that he was patently full of shit.
Crossing the threshold of Pine Cove Hardware and breaking the beam
that rang the bell was tantamount to setting off a testosterone alarm, and
if they d had their way, the clerks would have constructed a device to at-
omize the corners with urine every time the bell tolled. Or at least that s
the way it seemed to Molly when she entered that Saturday morning.
The clerks, three men, broke from their heated argument on the finer
points of installing a wax toilet seal ring to stare, snicker, and make snide
comments under their breath about the woman who had entered their do-
main.
130 / Christopher Moore
Molly breezed past the counter, focusing on an aisle display of gopher
poison to avoid eye contact. Raucous laughter erupted from the clerks
when she turned down the aisle for roofing supplies.
The clerks, Frank, Bert, and Les all semiretired, balding, paunchy, and
generally interchangeable, except that Frank wore a belt to hold up his
double knits, while the other two sported suspenders fashioned to look
like yellow measuring tape planned to make Molly beg. Oh, they d let
her wander around for a while, let her try to comprehend the arcane func-
tion of the gizmos, geegaws, and widgets binned and bubble-wrapped
around the store. Then she would have to come back to the counter and
submit. It was Frank s turn to do the condescending, and he would do his
best to drop-kick her ego before finally leading the little lady to the appro-
priate product, where he would continue to question her into full humili-
ation. Well, is it a sheet metal screw or a wood screw? Three-eighths or
seven-sixteenths? Do you have a hex head screwdriver? Well, then, you ll
need one, won t you? Are you sure you wouldn t rather just call someone
to do this for you? Tears and/or sniffles from the customer would signal
victory and confirm superior status for the male race.
Frank, Bert, and Les watched Molly on the security monitor, exchanged
some comments about her breasts, laughed nervously after five minutes
passed without her surrender, and tried to look busy when she emerged
from the aisle carrying a five-gallon can of roof-patching tar, a roll of
fiberglass fabric, and a long-handled squeegee.
Molly stood at the counter, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Bert
and Les squinted into a catalog set on a rotating stand while concentrating
on sucking in their guts. Frank manned the register and pretended he was
doing something complex on the keyboard, when, in fact, he was just
making it beep.
The Lust Lizard Of Melancholy Cove / 131
Molly cleared her throat.
Frank looked up as if he d just noticed she was there. Find everything
you need?
I think so, Molly said, taking both hands to lift the heavy can of tar
onto the counter.
You need some resin for that fiberglass fabric? Les said.
And some hardener? Bert said. Frank snickered.
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