Remarkably Bright Creatures(48)

“Someone called for you bit ago,” Ethan says. “From some airline? Left a number to call back when you got home.”

“Thanks, Ethan.” Cameron’s pulse quickens. His duffel bag. Good thing he added Ethan’s landline to his claim last time he checked the status. His phone battery lasts about two seconds these days. The thought of replacing his phone has been out of the question, but with his jewelry-containing bag on the way and a job, he’ll check out the new model they released this spring, the one with six cameras or whatever. The one that can practically cook dinner for you.

Still grinning, he ducks into the camper and dials.

“JoyJet baggage services,” a woman answers, sounding anything but joyful.

Cameron gives his claim number. “So, when will my bag be delivered?”

“One moment, sir.” She types on a keyboard for what feels like an hour. The keystrokes echo through his phone speaker: click-click-click. Is she writing a novel? Finally, she says, “Yes, we did find your lost item.”

“Awesome. You need my address?”

“Sir, I’m afraid your item is in Naples.”

“Naples . . . Florida?”

“Naples, Italy.”

“Italy?” Cameron’s voice jumps up an octave. “Does JoyJet even fly to Italy?”

“Hold on a moment, sir . . . Let me check something.” The woman’s keyboard strokes sound even more aggressive now, somehow. “Ah, I see what happened. Somehow, your item was transferred to one of our European partners.” She lets out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s pretty awful, even for us.”

“Yeah, you think?” Cameron fights to keep his voice calm. “So how do I get it back? There are some . . . things in there that are . . . important.”

“Sir, we advise all passengers to remove any valuables before they check—”

“But I didn’t have a choice.” Cameron explodes. “They made me check my carry-on at the gate, along with a million other people, because your overhead bins are the size of matchboxes. Do the people who design your airplanes have any idea what a typical suitcase looks like?”

After a long pause, the agent says, “Sir, I’m going to have to transfer you to our European partner’s office, who will assign a new claim number. I can get the paperwork started here, then I’ll patch you over. If I could start with your last name . . .”





Epitaph and Pens


Tova’s day starts early. She has much to accomplish.

First, she drives downtown and parks her hatchback, which is no small task because of this enormous ramshackle camper taking up two spaces between the realtor’s office and the paddle shop next door. Blocking the view of oncoming traffic. Not that there’s much oncoming traffic in downtown Sowell Bay at nine in the morning on a Thursday, but one can never be too careful.

Shooting one last perturbed glare at the hulking vehicle, she shuffles into her destination. Jessica Snell tilts her head curiously as she comes through the door.

“May I help you, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“Yes, I should say so.” Tova calmly recites the explanation she rehearsed, then leaves the office thirty minutes later with an appointment for the realtor to come for a preliminary walk-though at the house this afternoon.

Next, she walks down the block to the bank. The Charter Village application requires a cashier’s check and a copy of her account balances. To make sure she can afford it, Tova supposes. She wishes they would take her word for it that her finances won’t be a problem. Her accounts at Sowell Bay Community Bank have always been robust; the substantial sum she received from her mother’s estate has hardly been touched all these years. Tova has never needed to spend much.

As she pulls open the bank door and steps into the lobby, which smells like fresh ink and peppermint candies, as usual, it occurs to her Lars must have used up most of his half of their parent’s inheritance with his stay at Charter Village. When the lawyer followed up about the other assets, it was only a few hundred dollars. Practically speaking, Lars died with only a bathrobe left. For a moment, she hesitates. It really is an extravagant sort of lifestyle they promote at Charter Village. Not her style. But at least it’s clean. And Lars lived there for over a decade. The monthly dues add up.

“Thank you, Bryan,” she says to the teller, who hands her the check with an ever-so-slightly raised brow. Bryan’s father, Cesar, used to play golf with Will. She wonders whether Bryan will phone him and tell him about today’s transaction.

She makes a deliberate decision not to care. Such things are going to happen. People will talk. People in Sowell Bay always talk.

Her next stop is Janice Kim’s house. Janice’s son has some fancy computer scanner, and when Tova called this morning to ask if she could stop by and use it, Janice agreed immediately.

“You hanging in there?” Janice lowers her glasses, eyeing Tova’s boot skeptically. Tova isn’t known for requesting spur-of-the-moment visits.

“Of course. Why do you ask?” Tova keeps her voice even. The application requires a copy of her driver’s license, but when Tova explains this, she declines to elaborate on the nature of the paperwork.

Janice helps her scan the card and shows her which buttons to press on the printer. When they’re finished, she asks, “You want to stay for coffee?”