Xander strode forward, hand extended. “I’ll be damned. I’m Xander Anagnos.”
“Garrett Becker, at your service. If you’re hungry, that is.”
They clasped hands, and Garrett gave him that same wide grin he had as a gawky kid, all knees and elbows and big feet. Now tall and lean, he’d grown into those clumsy limbs. His friendly smile immediately put Xander at ease.
Garrett lifted his chin in the direction of the shore. “Remember when we tried to climb the rock wall to Ivan’s Hollow?”
“Hell yeah.” Xander rubbed his elbow. “We both fell—what?—ten feet? I’ve still got the scar.”
“You in town to visit your uncle?”
“He asked me to come.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Place is looking kind of sad.”
Garrett nodded, his smile fading. “Afraid Gus hasn’t been doing so well. The Pandemic hit us all hard, you know? Most businesses have bounced back, but Gus—” He spread his hands. “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here.” He backed toward the bakery. “Hey, I’ve got cookies in the oven, but stop by when you get a chance. Let’s catch up.”
“I’ll do that.”
Worry wormed into Xander’s gut as he approached the shop. Its lights were off, except for a pale glow from Gus’s office in the back. He tried the door. Locked. A handwritten sign in the window said ‘Back at one.’
Xander checked his phone. Four-fifteen.
“Uncle Gus?”
No answer. He called Gus’s cell—probably still had his old flip phone. It went straight to a voice mail announcement that Gus’s inbox was full.
Well, shit.He made his way to the “Employees Only” door behind the dumpsters. Maybe, if he was lucky…
Gus was notoriously bad about losing keys, so he used to hide a spare shop key…damn it, where? Scowling, Xander searched his memory.
“Gotcha!” Extracting the key hidden beneath a plaster alien in an overgrown, weedy planter, he let himself in.
The smell hit him first—the unmistakable whiff of mildew. He fumbled until he found a light switch.
“Sweet Jesus.”How long since this place had a good cleaning? Cobwebs dangled from glass fishing floats and nets overhead, and dust coated mangey taxidermized creatures mounted high on the walls. The shelves were jumbled with no discernable order, which was out of character for Gus, who always kept his merchandise organized in his own oddball way.
Worry scrabbled in Xander’s stomach. Something was majorly wrong if Gus let his beloved shop deteriorate to this state.
“Gus?” he called. “It’s me, Xander.”
No reply, not even the sound of Gus’s ancient transistor radio, permanently set to a talk-radio station.
He made his way through the aisles, past an even bigger assortment than he remembered of space aliens, big and small, staring from mugs, ashtrays, wine glasses, and soap dishes. The once-impressive display of exotic seashells looked picked-over, and most of the penny arcade games bore‘out of order’signs.
Even the “mermaid’s” case was grimy with fingerprints. Actually a mummified monkey with false eyelashes attached to a fish tail, its aquarium home had a new label: ‘Celestia, Space Siren from Planet Xormak, Crash Landed on Earth in 1942.’
“Going all in on the alien angle, eh, Gus?”
He pushed through the swinging doors to the back storage area where Gus kept his office. A light burned behind the frosted glass office door.
“Uncle Gus?” He opened the door, then bolted backward and collided with rickety metal shelves, tumbling them and himself to the floor with a loud clang.
“No no no,” he moaned, pushing painfully to his feet. “Please, God, let him be okay.”
He wasn’t okay. Gus lay face-down, his limbs sprawled at awkward angles, clutching a sheet of paper.
Stomach knotted, Xander stumbled to Gus’s crumpled form and knelt beside him. He pressed two fingers to his uncle’s throat. No pulse, just cold, waxy skin.
Gus was gone.
