Gingerbread Man

my wife Jenny's sister," Martin explained.
    Vince nodded. "Holly mentioned that her uncle owned the cabins."
    The man looked at him and grinned. "I'm feeding the small town stereotype, huh? That everyone's related."
    Before Vince could answer, his cell phone bleated. "Make yourself at home, Marty, while I get this." Marty sat down as Vince pulled the phone out of his pocket, answering as he always did, with a terse "O'Mally."
    There was a hesitation on the other end, and his skin started to prickle. Was it the same guy who'd broken in here earlier—if there had been a guy at all? Then a soft breath whispered from the phone and he could almost feel it on his ear. He was just beginning to wonder if this was going to turn into an obscene phone call when she spoke at last.
    "Hi. It's Holly Newman."
    He glanced toward Marty, saw the guy grinning even wider than before, and carried the phone into the kitchen. "Did you remember something more about the guy you thought you saw, Red?"
    "No. I... look, my mother wanted me to invite you to the community bonfire, so I'm inviting you."
    He lifted his brows. "You don't sound happy about it"
    "I'm not. It's tomorrow night, down by the lake. You'll see the crowd gathering from your porch around sundown."
    "And when I do, I should... ?"
    "Meet us down there," she said.
    He thought for a moment. It would be a good chance to poke around some more, he figured. Meet more of the locals. Dig a little deeper into the mind of the strange little redhead. "Fine," he said. "It's a date."
    "No," she replied. "It's not."
    The click told him she'd hung up the phone. He looked at his phone, scowling, and wondering just why Holly Newman disliked him so much. There was something motivating it, and it was connected to his case, he felt it right to his bones.
    "So, you're going to the bonfire with Holly then?" Marty asked as Vince walked back from the kitchen. He was sitting on the sofa just to the left of the front door, one arm stretched across its back, sipping his beer.
    Vince frowned. "You psychic, or do you just have a bionic ear?"
    Marty grinned. "Doris asked me for your cell phone number. Told me Holly was gonna call and invite you."
    Vince said, "Now you're feeding another one of those small-town stereotypes. The one where everyone knows everyone else's business."
    Marty's grin faded. "Yeah, I guess so. It's just that, uh ... well, you know she
is
my niece."
    "Yeah. I know. Do you mind that she asked me?"
    "No. No, it isn't that. I just... look, Holly's ... fragile."
    Vince nodded. "I kind of picked up on that."
    "You could tell, huh? I didn't think it showed so much anymore."
    "It doesn't," he said quickly. "Not in her, anyway. But everyone else around here acts likes she's made of glass." It wasn't entirely true. He did see it in her, during that episode outside his cabin. But there was something rubbing him the wrong way about the protective attitudes of those around her. He wasn't sure why, but it bugged him.
    "Look, you only just met her. If we seem a little protective of her, we have reason," Marty said. Maybe a touch on the defensive side now.
    "I picked up on that, too," Vince said. "Would I be out of line to ask what the reason is?"
    Marty looked him in the eyes for a moment, then tipped back his beer, draining it, set the can on the coffee table, and got to his feet. "I'll come by in the morning to put that new lock in."
    Vince was aware he'd stepped over the line. "I might not be here in the morning. I have some errands to run. But don't let that stop you."
    "Didn't plan to," Marty said. "It's my cabin." Then he picked up his tool box and headed out. "Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow night at the bonfire."
    Vince nodded. Then he realized he'd just answered the man's initial question as to whether or not he'd accepted Holly's invitation.
    "Not bad, Marty," Vince said. "You'd have made a decent cop."
    "I make a better uncle," he replied. "You watch your step with Holly. I don't want to see her hurt." He gave a nod of good-bye, and walked down the steps to the path.
    "Don't you worry, Uncle Marty," Vince muttered as he watched the man vanish around the curve. "I like my women tough as nails with a hide like old leather. I don't do fragile."
    * * *
    VINCE HAD SOME serious shopping to do on Saturday. Marty had arrived early, ready to install the new lock, just as Vince was heading out to run his errands, which gave Vince a chance to ask him about the vacant phone jack in the bedroom wall.