Read Online Riptide by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child
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seen a ghost.
“Well,” said Hatch. “How’ve you been, Bud?”
Suddenly, the grocer lumbered around the counter and crushed Hatch’s right hand in both of his. “Look at you,” he said, grasping
Hatch’s shoulders and holding him at arm’s length, a huge grin lighting up his plump face. “To think you’ve grown up into
such a fine, big young man. I don’t know how many times I wondered what happened to you, wondered if we’d ever see you again.
And by God, here you are, plain as day.”
Hatch inhaled the grocer’s scent—a mixture of ham, fish, and cheese—and felt both relieved and embarrassed, as if he were
suddenly a boy again.
Bud gazed up at him a little longer, then glanced back at the licorice drawer. “You son of a gun,” he laughed. “You still
eating licorice? Here’s one on the house.” And he reached in, pulled one out, and slapped it down on the counter.
6
T hey sat in rocking chairs on the back porch of the store, drinking birch beer pop and gazing out over a meadow to a dark row
of pines. Under Bud’s probing, Hatch had related some of his adventures as an epidemiologist in Mexico and South America.
But he had successfully steered the conversation away from his own reasons for returning. He didn’t feel quite ready to start
the explanations. He found himself anxious to get back to the boat, hang his portable grill over the taffrail, throw on a
steak, and sit back with a sinfully dry martini. But he also knew that small-town etiquette required his spending an hour
shooting the breeze with the old grocer.
“Tell me what’s happened in town since I left,” he said to stopper a gap in the conversation and forestall any probing questions.
He could tell Bud was dying to know why he’d returned, but that Maine politeness forbade him to ask.
“Well, now,” Bud began. “There’ve been some pretty big changes here.” He proceeded to relate how the new addition was built
onto the high school five years ago, how the Thibodeaux family home burned to the ground while they were vacationing at Niagara
Falls, how Frank Pickett ran his boat into Old Hump and sank it because he’d had a few too many. Finally, he asked if Hatch
had seen the nice new firehouse.
“Sure have,” said Hatch, secretly sorry that the old wooden one-berth house had been torn down and replaced with a metal-sided
monstrosity.
“And there’s new houses springing up all over the place. Summerpeople.” Bud clucked disapprovingly, but Hatch knew perfectly
well there wasn’t any complaining at the cash register. Anyway, Bud’s idea of houses springing up everywhere translated to
three or four summer houses on Breed’s Point, plus some renovated inland farmhouses and the new bed-and-breakfast.
Bud concluded with a sad shake of his head. “It’s all changed around here since you left. You’ll hardly recognize the place.”
He rocked back in his chair and sighed. “So, you here to sell the house?”
Hatch stiffened slightly. “No, I’ve come to live here. For the rest of the summer, anyway.”
“That right?” Bud said. “Vacation?”
“I already told you,” Hatch said, trying hard to keep his tone light, “I’m here on a rather delicate business matter. I promise
you, Bud, it won’t be a secret long.”
Bud sat back, slightly offended. “You know I wouldn’t have any interest in your business affairs. But I thought you said you
were a doctor.”
“I am. That’s what I’ll be doing up here.” Hatch sipped his birch beer and glanced surreptitiously at his watch.
“But Malin,” the grocer said, shifting uncomfortably, “we’ve already got a doctor in town. Dr. Frazier. He’s healthy as an
ox, could live another twenty years.”
“That’s nothing a little arsenic in his tea wouldn’t fix,” said Hatch.
The grocer looked at him in alarm.
“Don’t worry, Bud,” Hatch replied, breaking into a smile. “I’m not going into competition
“Well,” said Hatch. “How’ve you been, Bud?”
Suddenly, the grocer lumbered around the counter and crushed Hatch’s right hand in both of his. “Look at you,” he said, grasping
Hatch’s shoulders and holding him at arm’s length, a huge grin lighting up his plump face. “To think you’ve grown up into
such a fine, big young man. I don’t know how many times I wondered what happened to you, wondered if we’d ever see you again.
And by God, here you are, plain as day.”
Hatch inhaled the grocer’s scent—a mixture of ham, fish, and cheese—and felt both relieved and embarrassed, as if he were
suddenly a boy again.
Bud gazed up at him a little longer, then glanced back at the licorice drawer. “You son of a gun,” he laughed. “You still
eating licorice? Here’s one on the house.” And he reached in, pulled one out, and slapped it down on the counter.
6
T hey sat in rocking chairs on the back porch of the store, drinking birch beer pop and gazing out over a meadow to a dark row
of pines. Under Bud’s probing, Hatch had related some of his adventures as an epidemiologist in Mexico and South America.
But he had successfully steered the conversation away from his own reasons for returning. He didn’t feel quite ready to start
the explanations. He found himself anxious to get back to the boat, hang his portable grill over the taffrail, throw on a
steak, and sit back with a sinfully dry martini. But he also knew that small-town etiquette required his spending an hour
shooting the breeze with the old grocer.
“Tell me what’s happened in town since I left,” he said to stopper a gap in the conversation and forestall any probing questions.
He could tell Bud was dying to know why he’d returned, but that Maine politeness forbade him to ask.
“Well, now,” Bud began. “There’ve been some pretty big changes here.” He proceeded to relate how the new addition was built
onto the high school five years ago, how the Thibodeaux family home burned to the ground while they were vacationing at Niagara
Falls, how Frank Pickett ran his boat into Old Hump and sank it because he’d had a few too many. Finally, he asked if Hatch
had seen the nice new firehouse.
“Sure have,” said Hatch, secretly sorry that the old wooden one-berth house had been torn down and replaced with a metal-sided
monstrosity.
“And there’s new houses springing up all over the place. Summerpeople.” Bud clucked disapprovingly, but Hatch knew perfectly
well there wasn’t any complaining at the cash register. Anyway, Bud’s idea of houses springing up everywhere translated to
three or four summer houses on Breed’s Point, plus some renovated inland farmhouses and the new bed-and-breakfast.
Bud concluded with a sad shake of his head. “It’s all changed around here since you left. You’ll hardly recognize the place.”
He rocked back in his chair and sighed. “So, you here to sell the house?”
Hatch stiffened slightly. “No, I’ve come to live here. For the rest of the summer, anyway.”
“That right?” Bud said. “Vacation?”
“I already told you,” Hatch said, trying hard to keep his tone light, “I’m here on a rather delicate business matter. I promise
you, Bud, it won’t be a secret long.”
Bud sat back, slightly offended. “You know I wouldn’t have any interest in your business affairs. But I thought you said you
were a doctor.”
“I am. That’s what I’ll be doing up here.” Hatch sipped his birch beer and glanced surreptitiously at his watch.
“But Malin,” the grocer said, shifting uncomfortably, “we’ve already got a doctor in town. Dr. Frazier. He’s healthy as an
ox, could live another twenty years.”
“That’s nothing a little arsenic in his tea wouldn’t fix,” said Hatch.
The grocer looked at him in alarm.
“Don’t worry, Bud,” Hatch replied, breaking into a smile. “I’m not going into competition
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