Nick of Time (A Bug Man Novel) by Tim Downs Page A

Nice homey touch , he thought. I wonder if they serve ice-cream sodas here .
    The office was small—essentially a single square room with an old oak desk that faced the front door and a smaller desk perpendicular to it on the right. The big desk was the apparent seat of power, if power was necessary in a town this size; judging by the number of photos and personal items displayed, the smaller desk belonged to an administrative assistant—a woman. There was an arched doorway on the left that led to some back room, probably even smaller than this one; Nick had no idea what it could be needed for. Looks like a one-cop shop , Nick thought. I’ll bet the assistant’s only part-time .
    He took a step into the room and looked at the walls; the only official-looking item on the bulletin boards was the occasional push-pinned notice offering a modest reward for the return of a lost pet or a pilfered snowblower. Tough town , he thought. Most of the bulletin boards were covered by Pocono Mountains tourism brochures flaunting the local antique shops, B and Bs, and the big casinos down toward Stroudsburg; there were also plenty of Lake Region brochures filled with enticing photographs of nearby Lake Wallenpaupack taken from the bow of a boat. Nick smiled; it looked like the sheriff was sharing office space with the Chamber of Commerce.
    There was a brass nameplate on the big desk with the name YANUZZI in bold letters; on the wall behind the desk there was a yellowed newspaper clipping displayed in a simple black frame. The headline announced, “From the FBI to Pine Summit,” with the explanatory subheading, “FBI Agent Edward Yanuzzi Takes Over as Pine Summit Sheriff.” Nick was just beginning to read the article when a man stepped into the arched doorway holding a white ceramic coffee mug.
    “Thought I heard that bell,” the man said. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
    Nick looked at him. Now we know what’s in the back room , he thought. A coffeemaker and a La-Z-Boy . The man was shorter than Nick, maybe five-eleven, but much stockier in build. His hair was thick and wavy, and even though the black was clearly losing out to gray there was no sign of thinning or receding. His chest was no longer wider than his waist, but Nick thought he looked like a man you wouldn’t have wanted to mess with in his prime. His face was the oldest part of him, thoroughly weathered and wind-worn, and his eyes were large and so deep a brown that they almost looked black.
    “You must be Yanuzzi,” Nick said, pointing to the clipping.
    “‘FBI Agent Yanuzzi Takes Over.’”
    “That’s me.”
    “Was there much to take over?”
    Yanuzzi smiled. “What can I do for you, Mr. . . . ?”
    “Polchak—Nick Polchak. Boy, you must have really screwed up with the FBI to end up here.”
    “I take it you’re not a small-town guy,” Yanuzzi said.
    “I guess not.”
    “Well, some of us are. I left the Bureau about five years ago—came up from New York. My wife and I used to vacation up here every summer and we fell in love with the place—so I took early retirement and we decided to stay.”
    “And take the job of sheriff? Doesn’t sound like the golden years to me.”
    “A man can’t sit around all day.”
    “ ‘From the FBI to Pine Summit,’ ” Nick quoted. “That’s what I’d call culture shock. Ever miss the Big Apple?”
    “Not much,” he said. “In my line of work you tend to see the bad side of a town; this town doesn’t have one.”
    “What about all these missing pets?” Nick said. “Sounds like a conspiracy to me.”
    Yanuzzi walked to his desk and pulled out the chair. “I’m assuming you didn’t stop by just to be a wise guy.”
    “No, but I like to stay in practice,” Nick said. “I just drove up from Philadelphia. I work with an organization down there called the Vidocq Society. Ever heard of us?”
    “Vidocq,” Yanuzzi said. “Sure—the guys who take on all the cold cases.”
    “I’m impressed,”