Always Love a Villain on San Juan Island by Sandy Frances Duncan, George Szanto

across the street from the pub. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, said the menu beside the door.
    He went in. A young woman with spirally black hair, good cheekbones and a few small zits asked, “Just one?”
    â€œYes.” Noel glanced about. Seemed he was the only customer for the moment. Spirally Black seated him by the window. “Tom will be with you in a moment.”
    â€œThank you.” Tom. The Tom that Peter had mentioned, one of Jordan’s buddies?
    Tom arrived with a pitcher of water. “Morning. You’ll be having lunch?”
    â€œBreakfast still being served?”
    â€œYep.” He glanced at his watch. “For another twenty minutes.”
    Noel ordered. Tom left, returned quickly with hot coffee, and filled Noel’s cup. “Thanks, Tom.” He sipped. Excellent. If Kyra were here they could ask each other what they now knew that they hadn’t known yesterday, a tactic they employed in most of their investigations. Noel knew Peter Langley had possible but uncertain cause to question Jordan’s honesty, that the novella was far better written than any of Jordan’s other work, that Peter was stalling on Jordan’s grade, his judgment of the work. Noel sipped more coffee. Even good as it cooled. He also knew that he admired Peter for his insistence on certainty. In fact, Noel knew he’d enjoyed his time with Peter Langley altogether. Knew too that he’d better be careful on that front.
    Breakfast arrived, eggs over easy, crisp ungreasy bacon, the potatoes more roasted than hashed; always good. Toast and honey. He held out his cup toward Tom. “A little more, please. It’s first-rate.” And now a lie: “Just as Jordan said.”
    â€œOh, hey, you know Jordan?”
    â€œA little. Friend of yours?”
    â€œWe hang out.”
    â€œJust met him, really. I hear he’s a good writer.”
    â€œYeah, he’s been doing a master’s up at the college.”
    â€œRight. He said that. You read any of his stuff?”
    â€œMe? Nope, I don’t read much. Except magazines, newspapers sometimes.”
    â€œMust be a hard thing, working on a long piece of writing.”
    Tom laughed. “Anything that takes a long time’s got to be hard.”
    â€œYeah, kind of lonely too.”
    â€œJordan gets around.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œYeah, he’s one cool dude.”
    â€œA cool dude?” In those doubly held-up shorts?
    â€œYou know, never any come-on. Waits for people to come to him. Some of the babes who hang out here, oh man. Come back in the evening, you’ll see.”
    â€œHe have a special girl?”
    â€œKinda. He likes ’em smart as well as gorgeous. Me, I settle for lookers. If you know what I mean.”
    â€œI do. Believe me. I like ’em that way too.” Just easy now. “So who are the smart and gorgeous around here?”
    Tom laughed. “You got to make your own introductions. Come by tonight.”
    â€œWouldn’t want to cut in on Jordan. Who’s the one he likes most? I’ll stay away from her.”
    â€œHey, no problem. Susanna Rossini. But you don’t have to worry; probably she won’t be here tonight.”
    â€œOh? Well then, no problem.”
    â€œHasn’t been around for a while. We all kinda miss her. She’s—”
    The hostess with the spirally hair had taken Tom’s elbow. “New customers,” she whispered.
    â€œOh yeah, sorry Pica.” And to Noel, “Good talking to you.”
    Noel glanced around. Half a dozen new guests. “And to you.” He’d leave Tom a larger than usual tip. Good breakfast, and it’d hold him till supper. At the Wild Pacific? With Kyra. A double-edged evening . . .

FOUR
    SOMETHING WRONG WITH Larry? He’d called Peter again this morning to cancel their tennis match. Unlike him—he not only enjoyed the game but knew the exercise was essential. He