A Chance Mistake (2 page)

Chapter 2

“Are you into reading horror?” Kory looked for a name tag on her person. No such luck.

“Actually, no.”

“Uh, well. Don’t bother with that one.”

“Why is that?” She turned to head back to the desk. “I thought it seemed quite the solid scare. Hits you like bleach sort of tale.”

When he didn’t answer, she turned to study his expression.

He rubbed his forehead. How could he tell her? Ah, maybe it was nothing. His nerves were paper thin due to all the stress. Thanks to
crank-another-one-out
Ed. To be fair, it wasn’t all his fault. “The plot is weak.”

“Really, now?”

He nodded. The plot wasn’t weak. It twisted and turned like an old oak tree’s roots trying to grow in the remains of a buried junk yard next to a cemetery. But there could be someone on the face of the earth who thought so.

When they reached the counter, she gave him a closed lip smile and showed him the back of
The Unseen
.

He lifted his eyebrows. “What? You think that’s me?”

“It’s
not
you?” She scrutinized the book. “Could you smile for me?”

Could he indeed. He gave her a fake, cheesy grin. Her fingertips covered part of her lips as she laughed. The platinum princess got a genuine smile out of him.

“It is you. Plus you’re wearing the same sweater as your picture on the first book.”

He winced, took in a breath which he held, and nodded. “You’re right. It’s me.”

“Why on earth would you talk someone out of reading your book?” Her eyes widened. She waited four seconds for an answer as he tried to formulate it into words then said, “Are you ready to ring up?”

“Yes.” He handed over the items and added a paper fold-up map. “It’s…too…over the top.”

“Top of what?” She typed on a calculator.

“The phrase you used. Hits you like bleach?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s worse than that. In fact, you might want some bleach when you’re done reading it. It’s not worth it. Agatha Christie is much better.”

“Eh…well.” She acted like his words had no meaning and slipped his items in a bag.

He read the amount on the read-out screen and handed her some bills. It almost seemed she’d forgotten he had to pay.

She took the currency, counted it, and handed him some coins. “So you’re a long way from home? What brings you to Wales?”

“It’s complicated.” He hated the worn out phrase.

“More complicated than your book?” She batted eyelashes at him. Oh, she was a spunky one.

“Yes.”

“Well, have a good day. Come again.”

“I will.” He laughed at her light-hearted teasing attempt to shoo him away, since he gave no further information. “Oh, could you tell me where I can get a mountain bike?”

“Surely. Next door at the antique shop. He sells bikes, too. Has some in the back, he does.” She sat on the stool. “Riding some trails while you’re here?”

“I thought I would. That way I can take my time and see all the beauty that is Wales.”
Watch it Kory.
That was a bit on the sarcastic side. But what he’d seen so far was like a dream—a good one of a far way place with old-world buildings. And the princess was—

“Do a lot of biking, do you?”

He blew out air in a whooshing sound. What had happened to him? He’d turned into an old teapot. “Not since I was a kid.”

“Think you still can?” She seemed to take inventory of his leg muscles.

“I should. Since a person is able to remember doing it. Just like riding a bike.”

“Some of the mountain trails are pretty tricky, I suspect. One wrong turn and vroom.” Her hand did a swan dive off the desk. “Why don’t you rent a car?”

Oh, boy. “Er…um.” She was going to think he was nuts. “I haven’t driven a car in…about…ten years.”

“What?”

He’d enjoyed watching her eyes get bigger with each part of his sentence. “I live in New York City. No cause for a car there. I take the subway, a bus, or a taxi. Or I walk.”

She frowned.

“At any rate, I do have a driver’s license, but—”

“Good, good. Well, I do hope you’ll be careful.” She tapped a pen. “Oh! Will you sign my book?” She slid
The Unseen
toward him and handed him the pen.

“Sure. Your name?” He held the pen and clicked it a couple of times. The doorbell jingled. Two shadowy shapes moved from the front of the store to an aisle. He wanted to see more than his peripheral vision, but the goddess in front of him made it impossible.

“Dafina. D-a-f-i-n-a.” She leaned close as she spelled her name. A fresh smell of flowers and mint wafted his way.

He smiled as he wrote, glad to know her name, but he’d never see her again. The things that might have been, only to be dissuaded by circumstance. Why did his inner voice always have to sound like a narrator? He closed the book, set the pen on top of it, and slid it back to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Slate. Enjoy your Agatha Christie, map, journal, and pens.”

He shook his head.

“You won’t enjoy your Ag—”

“I will. But please, it’s Kory.”

She wore a worried expression. “Thank you, Kory.”

He held up the bag. “Thank you, Dafina.”

“Be careful, now.”

“I will. Bye.” He moved toward the door. Why was parting so sorrowful?

“Bye.” She waved. “Come again.”

“I will.” Now he must make sure to come again. Perhaps when he was ready to leave the country. He opened the door. It jingled. He turned back. She waved. He waved. That wasn’t awkward at all.

Dafina picked up the phone and punched in numbers.

“Hello?” Irritation came through along with the greeting.

“Bobi. It’s me from next door. I have to make this quick because he’s heading right over.

“Dafina? What do you mean? Who’s on their way over?”

The bells on his door jingled through the phone. “Shhh. Keep your voice down and answer, so he won’t know that you’re talking to me.”

“What?” The sound of Bobi’s hand covering the phone swished in her ear. “Just a minute sir, be right with you.”

“Thank you.” Kory’s voice.

“The man—in your store, he’s looking for a mountain bike, and he’s never ridden anything but a child’s bike.”

“Huh? That’s odd.”

“No, no. I mean when he was a child. Keep on track, Bobi.”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat.

“Give him a nice sturdy bike, but not one with too many gears. And help him with the map. He doesn’t have any idea where he’s going or what he’s doing.”

“A regular dumbbell, huh?”

“Actually, he’s quite intelligent. But he needs guidance. Make sure to give him directions for the bike trail that goes by my house. You know the one. Poor fellow. If he can make it that far, it will be a blessing.”

“Ride to y—”

“Shhh! Now don’t blow it, Bobi.”

“I won’t. I won’t. Well, good bye, now.”

“Bye.” She hung up the phone.

Men.
Were they really the superior thinkers of the human race?

Dafina opened the book to see what Kory wrote.

Dear Dafina, The butler did it. Now you don’t have to read the horrible mess. Best wishes always, Kory Slate

She took in a surprised breath and scowled as Gweneth reappeared. Dafina would read it anyway. The butler indeed. In fact, she had more compulsion to read it than she ever did in the first place.

“You helped the customer?”

She nodded. “But he wasn’t any ordinary customer.”

“Hmm?”

“It was Kory Slate in the flesh.” Dafina pointed at the portrait on the back of the book.

“Oh, no, I thought it kind of looked like ‘im.” Gweneth lifted her palms upward and let them drop, “I missed the sexy writer of horror from America?”

“Don’t worry. He said he’d come again.”

A ray of hope shone on her face.

“And he’s not that sexy. He can’t even drive a car.”

Chapter 3

Kory circled the name of the little burgh on the map. He didn’t trust himself to remember the town where he met Dafina. He could go back to Cardith and hope a bus took him on the same route—but no. He also wrote the street address on the map for good measure.

He glanced back at the antique store where the man named Bobi looked out the window at him. When the antique dealer had talked on the phone, he’d stared right at Kory. It was almost like Bobi had called him a regular dumbbell.

Then again, Bobi was quite accommodating. He drew out a map of a riding trail not too far away and continued the map to the next town over, saying that Kory would have no trouble finding a place to stay.  From there, he could pick up another trail to another town.

After he paid for the bike, two old books caught his eye—
Dracula
, and
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
The covers were intricate and colorful in their turn-of-the-century design. He totally would’ve bought them and mailed them home, but he didn’t want any sort of a paper trail.

His mom, dad and sister thought he was still in the country. Not to mention his off again, on again girlfriend, Sundae. He’d made his destination vague on purpose, since he didn’t know where he’d end up. Assuring them that they could reach him by phone didn’t go over well, but they’d finally given up, even Sundae. She gave him a dark look like she was off again, but it didn’t take much with her.

He put on his backpack and set off down the road careful to follow the traffic on the wrong side. He took in a breath of fresh air, only to find it filled with car exhaust. He coughed and the bike wavered dangerously. What better way to find and reclaim his inner man than to risk life and limb?

After several long rows of businesses, the road sported peach colored apartment buildings, constructed as a long row of townhouses along either side of the road. No space could be found between them, no trees, no grass. At first they seemed a cheerful distraction, but then took on the grim prospect of a foreboding fortress. Blank, white curtained windows stared down on him with nowhere to hide.

He pushed harder to get past the uncomfortable claustrophobia the apartments caused. He rounded a bend and the blamed buildings rounded, too. Where was a side street? In the distance beyond the peach barrier, a traffic light shone. Thank goodness. There had to be a break from them there. He wouldn’t be setting up housekeeping on this stretch and hoped it wouldn’t be a live spark for his next nightmare. Or maybe he should be glad for it. Could be part of his next book. He groaned. No writing.
Remember?

Gritting his teeth, he looked in the distance to the misty tree covered mountains and the blue sky. How could he quit writing for a couple of months? The bike lurched into a pothole, nearly throwing him off. He steadied the bike as a dark green car sped by. White-blonde hair flowed in the breeze inside the car. Oh, no. Was it the platinum princess? Did she see him just in time to witness the wobbling? Ah, great. So much for restoring his faith in his manhood.

****

It was worse than Dafina ever imagined. Kory’s bike went out of control after the wheels took turns getting lost in a low dip of the road. “At least he didn’t fall down,” she said to Griff.

His ears lay flat then perked. He jumped to her lap and looked out the window.

“It’s too late now. The author is way back there. What are we going to do?”

No answer, only excitement. What did the little dog think?

“I feel responsible for him, I do. But what are you going to do when you can’t get people to listen? I warned him about the bike trails. And he isn’t even on the dirt roads yet.”