Curiosity Didn't Kill the Cat by M. K. Wren Page B

identity.
    “Ah! Misster Flack—”
    *
    Conan closed the door, bringing his thoughts into focus with an effort. Then he found himself relaxing, his smile coming easily.
    Miss Dobie was at the counter checking out some books for Mr. Dominic.
    Anton Dominic was one of his favorite local characters, and a welcome diversion at the moment. He was a retired carpenter, an immigrant from Greece, and Conan had become quite fond of him in his two-year residency in Holliday Beach.
    “Well, good morning, Mr. Dominic.”
    The old man’s face was creased with a broad grin, his sky-blue eyes glowing behind his thick glasses; but his wispy gray hair and moustache were even more unkempt than usual, and he wore a cumbersome wool scarf around his neck. His thin, pointed nose was red, and there was a pale cast to his skin.
    “Mr. Flack, how are you being today?”
    “Very well, but what about you?” He crossed to the counter, pushing back the hood of his jacket. “I haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks.”
    “Oh, I been a liddle—as you say—under the weather. But I be fine now.”
    Miss Dobie frowned solicitously. “You really should have let us know.”
    He looked down at the floor shyly, burying half his face in the scarf.
    “No, no, Miss Dobie, you should not be worry about me. I only haf liddle cold iss all.”
    Conan smiled privately as he glanced at the books Dominic was checking out: a book on recent developments in nuclear particle accelerators, and a thin, scholarly treatise published by MIT on Mu mesons.
    “I’m sorry you’ve been ill, Mr. Dominic, and you should have let us know. Oh—by the way, I saved my last copy of the Scientific American for you.”
    Dominic’s lively eyes glinted with anticipation.
    “Ah, that iss be very nice, Mr. Flack.”
    “It’s in my office,” he said, taking out his keys. “I’ll go find it for—” He stopped, looking past Dominic as the front door opened.
    Major James Mills.
    Mills nodded impersonally as Miss Dobie smiled and wished him a good morning.
    “Can I help you with something?” she asked.
    “No, just browsing, thanks.”
    His eyes shifted curiously around the shop, then he moved to one of the paperback racks lined up to the north of the entrance and began looking over the books. He didn’t so much as glance in Conan’s direction.
    Conan refocused his attention on Dominic, who was still smiling diffidently, sparing Mills only a brief, disinterested glance.
    “Wait just a minute, Mr. Dominic,” Conan said as he unlocked the office door. “I’ll find that magazine for you.”
    He stripped off his dripping jacket, then went to the desk and began searching through the drawers hurriedly, his brows drawn together in an intent, angry line.
    Why was Mills here? Why was he taking the risk of open recognition?
    Testing, perhaps. Testing Conan’s reactions.
    That was the only reasonable explanation, and it wasn’t too reasonable. But it was too early for the monitored phone calls to have brought him around; his attitude suggested no willingness to talk. Of course, those calls might have aroused his curiosity enough to induce him to scout out the situation in person, if not to discuss it.
    Conan found the magazine, closing the drawer with an unintentionally hard push that sent a pile of papers fluttering off the top of the desk. He returned to the counter, noting that the Major was still at the paperback rack, apparently fascinated with the books.
    He called up a smile and handed the magazine to Anton Dominic.
    “Here you are. Sorry it took so long to find it.”
    The old man took the magazine with an expression of delighted, almost hungry anticipation.
    “Ah, t’ank you, Mr. Flack. T’ank you very much. I bring it back soon.”
    “No hurry. I have plenty to keep me occupied.”
    Dominic took a knit cap from his pocket and pulled it down over his wispy hair almost to the top of his glasses. He smiled at Miss Dobie as he put the magazine in the sack with his