died, he told me about a book with all the days in it. Does that mean anything to you?"
Peasley stood in front of the refrigerator dribbling the basketball. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because I—"
"Can you take the time to explain what the book has to do with finding out about the history of Three Peaks?"
"I'm not—"
"You're not really here to find out the broader history of our town, are you?" Peasley glared at him as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
Cameron sighed. "No, I'm not."
Peasley squinted at him as if he were studying a map, deciding on the best route to his destination. "Since you've come clean with me, I'll be fairly transparent with you. Yes, I know exactly what you're talking about."
"And?" Cameron raised an eyebrow.
"I said fairly transparent. Not fully. There's a couple of people to talk to, but you might want to start with him."
"Him?" Couldn't he get a straight answer from this guy?
"Yes, there's always been rumors that he knows more about the book than the rest of us, but he won't talk about it. Maybe you can get him to open up." Peasley drummed his fingers on the counter.
"All I want to know is what the book is."
"Ah, so disappointing. We were doing well, and there you go lying to me again." Arnold shook his head. "No, no, no, you want to know far more. And if you knew what the book really was, you'd want to know far more than you're imagining right now. You'd want to know it all."
Cameron gritted his teeth. Yes, he wanted to know everything about the book. If he confessed that, would Peasley stop talking like Mr. Cryptic?
Arnold opened his refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher filled with something light brown. "Can I interest your taste buds in something cool and refreshing?"
"Sure." Cameron nodded and swallowed. He'd better choke down at least a little of what looked like well-aged iced tea, or Arnold might stop talking altogether.
Peasley poured two tall glasses and handed one to Cameron. The other he left on the counter. "I grew up around here. I never left."
Cameron took a sip of the tea. Not bad.
"I played guard on the high school basketball team in '68 and '69 you know. You're staring at the Three Peaker who took the assist record to new heights those years."
"Who scored the points?"
"Taylor Stone did, of course, but if I hadn't seen the lanes with my eagle eyes, he wouldn't have gotten the ball. Taylor always mentioned that about me when he was talking to the paper about his record-breaking performances. Always. Good man, Taylor was. We had the most consecutive wins in the history of the town. The '82 team came close to breaking it but didn't quite make it. They missed the record by two games."
Arnold Peasley undoubtedly knew his history. Basketball at least.
"I have pictures of the team from both seasons I played, both seasons—did you know that? And the photographer those years? Whew. Good photos. Action photos."
"Will you tell me anything about the book my dad told me about?"
For the first time since their conversation began, Arnold stopped fidgeting. He turned and stared straight into Cameron's eyes, basketball clasped between his palms. "Maybe later. But I'd start with him, and if you get anything interesting from him, we'd love to hear about it."
"Who is 'him,' Arnold?"
"Taylor Stone, of course." Peasley shook his head. "I was giving you clues the whole time and you didn't pick up on them. Are you going to go see Taylor?"
"I'll think about it. Thanks."
"I probably wouldn't waste my time trying. He most likely won't talk to you. Certainly not about the book."
"You just said I should talk to him."
"I said you should, I didn't say you could. In fact, it's pointless to try and if I were you, I'd head back to Seattle as soon as you can." Arnold bounced his ball once. "Did you play basketball growing up? You're going to love these pictures. C'mon, I'll show them to you. Come along."
Arnold Peasley grabbed his iced tea and clipped back into his living
Peasley stood in front of the refrigerator dribbling the basketball. "Why should I tell you?"
"Because I—"
"Can you take the time to explain what the book has to do with finding out about the history of Three Peaks?"
"I'm not—"
"You're not really here to find out the broader history of our town, are you?" Peasley glared at him as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other.
Cameron sighed. "No, I'm not."
Peasley squinted at him as if he were studying a map, deciding on the best route to his destination. "Since you've come clean with me, I'll be fairly transparent with you. Yes, I know exactly what you're talking about."
"And?" Cameron raised an eyebrow.
"I said fairly transparent. Not fully. There's a couple of people to talk to, but you might want to start with him."
"Him?" Couldn't he get a straight answer from this guy?
"Yes, there's always been rumors that he knows more about the book than the rest of us, but he won't talk about it. Maybe you can get him to open up." Peasley drummed his fingers on the counter.
"All I want to know is what the book is."
"Ah, so disappointing. We were doing well, and there you go lying to me again." Arnold shook his head. "No, no, no, you want to know far more. And if you knew what the book really was, you'd want to know far more than you're imagining right now. You'd want to know it all."
Cameron gritted his teeth. Yes, he wanted to know everything about the book. If he confessed that, would Peasley stop talking like Mr. Cryptic?
Arnold opened his refrigerator and grabbed a pitcher filled with something light brown. "Can I interest your taste buds in something cool and refreshing?"
"Sure." Cameron nodded and swallowed. He'd better choke down at least a little of what looked like well-aged iced tea, or Arnold might stop talking altogether.
Peasley poured two tall glasses and handed one to Cameron. The other he left on the counter. "I grew up around here. I never left."
Cameron took a sip of the tea. Not bad.
"I played guard on the high school basketball team in '68 and '69 you know. You're staring at the Three Peaker who took the assist record to new heights those years."
"Who scored the points?"
"Taylor Stone did, of course, but if I hadn't seen the lanes with my eagle eyes, he wouldn't have gotten the ball. Taylor always mentioned that about me when he was talking to the paper about his record-breaking performances. Always. Good man, Taylor was. We had the most consecutive wins in the history of the town. The '82 team came close to breaking it but didn't quite make it. They missed the record by two games."
Arnold Peasley undoubtedly knew his history. Basketball at least.
"I have pictures of the team from both seasons I played, both seasons—did you know that? And the photographer those years? Whew. Good photos. Action photos."
"Will you tell me anything about the book my dad told me about?"
For the first time since their conversation began, Arnold stopped fidgeting. He turned and stared straight into Cameron's eyes, basketball clasped between his palms. "Maybe later. But I'd start with him, and if you get anything interesting from him, we'd love to hear about it."
"Who is 'him,' Arnold?"
"Taylor Stone, of course." Peasley shook his head. "I was giving you clues the whole time and you didn't pick up on them. Are you going to go see Taylor?"
"I'll think about it. Thanks."
"I probably wouldn't waste my time trying. He most likely won't talk to you. Certainly not about the book."
"You just said I should talk to him."
"I said you should, I didn't say you could. In fact, it's pointless to try and if I were you, I'd head back to Seattle as soon as you can." Arnold bounced his ball once. "Did you play basketball growing up? You're going to love these pictures. C'mon, I'll show them to you. Come along."
Arnold Peasley grabbed his iced tea and clipped back into his living
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