“I’m sure you would be if you weren’t already taken.”
“Now you’re being unctuous.”
I grinned. “Where is she from?”
“Minnesota, I think.” He took another bite of pie. “Yes, Minnesota. She doesn’t talk much about her life before Midway.” He leaned back and his voice softened. “I worry about her, though. I worry about her a lot.”
“Why is that?”
“She has eyes of sadness. Deep, deep sadness. It’s pretty, in a way—vulnerability can be pretty. But hers . . .” He sighed. “Every year the light in her eyes is a little less bright. I wonder if someday the candle will just flicker and go out.” He took a deep breath. “Loneliness gets to you. You know what I mean?”
His words filled me with sadness. “I do.”
We briefly languished in the moment, then Ray took another bite of pie and said, “Well, onward, right? Did you make use of the phone book I gave you?”
“Yes. I made a list of all the LHs in the area. I came up with eighteen possible candidates.”
“Do you have the list with you?”
“Yes.” I pulled the list from my pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to him. He smoothed it out against the table, looked at it for a moment, then took out a pen.
“Okay, the first name here on your list, Leslie Hall, is not a woman.”
“That would have been good to know yesterday.”
He looked up at me. “You went and visited old Les?”
“Old Les? Yes.”
Ray smiled. “How did that go?”
“Awkward. But he did invite me over for brats and a basketball game.”
“His wife left him last year. Took their two kids and ran off with a lawyer from Salt Lake City.” He looked back down at my list. “Don’t know about the second name here. But Linda Hanks, she’s older. Probably wouldn’t know how to turn the computer on, but sweet as divinity.”
“Yes, I met her. Had a long talk.” I sat back. “Those three were pretty much my day yesterday. I should have shown you this first. Would you mind going through the rest of it?”
“I would not mind.” He ran his pen down the list, occasionally stopping to cross someone out.
Hall, Leslie B.
Hanks, Linda
Harding, Linda
Harman, Lindsey
Hardy, Liz
Harkness, Lori
Heger, Laurie
Henrie, Lillian
Heughs, Layla
Hewitt, Lisa
Hickman, Leah
Higham, Louise
Hill, Lorraine
Hitesman, Laurel
Holbrook, Lilly
Howard, Lydia
Howell, Lisa
Hoyt, LaDawn
“You can take Layla Heughs, Leah Hickman, Lilly Holbrook, and Lillian Henrie off your list. Layla and Leah are in their eighties. Lilly and Lillian are in their nineties. In fact, Lilly might have passed last month.” He thought for a moment then said, “Yes, she passed.
“Laurel Hitesman is hot and heavy on the golf pro over at the Homestead Resort and has a boyfriend in Connecticut, so I don’t think she’s your lonely woman.”
I wondered how he knew so much about these people, but didn’t ask.
“I think LaDawn’s in her fifties. She’s still a possibility. She’s a checker over at Ridley’s, the grocery store off Main Street. She’s well preserved. She does a lot of yoga and stuff.”
“That leaves just ten people,” I said.
He handed me back the list. “Ten people out of an entire city. That’s not bad. You could do that in a couple more days.”
“Then I best get at it.”
“Yes, you best,” he said. He closed the container around his pie and stood. “I hope you don’t mind if I take this with me.”
“Of course not.”
He started to turn, then stopped and looked back at me. “And Alex?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When you see Aria again, thank her for the pie.”
“What makes you think I’ll see her again?”
He slightly leaned forward. “You noticed that she had a ring.” He winked at me, then turned and walked away. After he was gone I laughed to myself. Smart man.
After I finished breakfast, I went upstairs to gather my things, then went back out into the cold to find LBH.
CHAPTER
Twenty-one
It didn’t take me long to find my first stop. Lindsey Harman. Her redbrick house, with its white gingerbread trim under the eaves, was picturesque, looking more like one of the Swiss-themed stores along Midway’s Main Street than a private residence. In keeping with the season, it was strung with red and white Christmas lights matching the Swiss-themed elements as well as bestowing a festive holiday feel to the façade.
The house was close enough to the fairgrounds that LBH would have definitely seen a lot of festival attendees. There was a For Sale sign in front, which would also make sense, since she was planning on moving back home.
I walked up to the front door. There was no doorbell, so I knocked. Nothing. I knocked again. After a few minutes without any response, I walked around the side of the house and knocked on a side door. Still no answer.
I walked back to my car and made a notation on my list to return later on. Then I drove on to find the next candidate, Liz Hardy.
This next house was only a few blocks from the first but not nearly as nice. It was dated and looked to be made of old, handmade bricks—the large kind with thick mortar between them. Its snow-laden shake roof peaked in the middle of the house, above the front door, which was beneath a small second-floor balcony with a door opening out of it. There were white shutters and finials over the windows.
The door opened slowly. “Yes?” The man was slightly shorter than me and a few years older. He wore a sweater and thick-rimmed glasses.
“Hi. My name is Alex, I’m looking for Liz Hardy.”
“You are?” he said with a condescending tone. “You’re looking for Liz.”
His response baffled me. “Yes, sir.”
“And how do you know Elizabeth?”
“From the Internet.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been following her blog.”
He just continued to gaze at me with the same peculiar expression, then he said, “All right. Just a minute. I’ll get her.”
He walked back into the house, returning a moment later carrying a bright copper urn. “Here she is. What would you like to say to her?”
I stood there looking at him. “She’s where?”
“Here,” he said, holding out the urn. “She’s in here.”
I couldn’t decide which was worse, that he was joking or that he wasn’t. Either way, it was time to leave.
“Sorry for your loss,” I said. I turned and walked quickly back to my car, almost slipping on a patch of ice. Interesting people.
CHAPTER
Twenty-two
The fact that the next house had at least a dozen No Trespassing and No Solicitation signs and the welcome mat said GO AWAY should have been clues enough to stay away. Whoever lived here clearly wasn’t fond of visitors.
I rang the doorbell and a moment later the door opened just a few inches. I could see the eclipsed face of a gaunt, angry woman.
“Why are you on my property?”
“I . . . are you Ms. Harkness?”
“Who are you?”
“I’m with . . . the census. I’m just verifying that you are the occupant of this home.”
“You’re not with the census.”
“I just need to verify your record and I’ll be gone. Does your middle name start with a B?”
“Show me your identification. Census workers are required to wear id
entification.”
“If you could just . . .”
“You’re a fraud!” she screamed. “Show me your ID or I’m calling the police.”
“I’m not showing it to you.”
“Then I’m calling the police, you pervert. The police chief is a friend of mine, you can tell your story to him.” She lifted her phone and pushed a button.
“Look, I’m just . . .”
I could hear the phone ringing on the other end.
“Really? You have the police on speed dial?”
Just then she lifted a bottle of Mace. “Let’s see how you like this.”
I turned and ran across the snow, catching a whiff of the Mace she sprayed after me.
“Yeah, you better run, you sick perv! I’m taking a picture of your license plate.” She ran out after me holding the Mace in one hand and her phone in the other. I hit the gas and gunned my car out of there.
If she was LBH, there was a good reason she was lonely.
CHAPTER
Twenty-three
After the day’s failed visits I was ready to take a break for lunch. It wasn’t all failure. At least my list was smaller. I didn’t know whether or not Aria worked during the day, but I decided to drop by anyway. The truth was, I’d thought about her all day. The odd thing was, it made me feel sort of guilty—as if I was cheating on LBH.
As I walked into the diner, I saw Aria standing at the front counter ringing up a ticket for a stooped, elderly customer. She glanced over at me and smiled. She looked a little different, less tired, perhaps the difference between the beginning of a shift and the end of one.
As she handed the old man back his change he said, “I’m standing under mistletoe, do I get my kiss?”
“Of course, George. You always get your kiss.” Aria walked around the counter and pecked the old man on the cheek. As the man turned toward me I saw the extent of his nearly toothless smile, which was so large I thought it might crack his face in two.
Aria turned to me. “Back already.”
I was pleased that she remembered me. “It was the pie.”
“The apple pie or the chicken pot pie you didn’t get?”
“Both.”
“Darn. And I was hoping it was me.”
This was flirting, right?
She glanced behind her. “Would you like to sit in the same place?”
“Sure.”
“It’s . . . Alex?”
She either had a photographic memory or I had made an impression on her. I hoped for the latter. “That’s right. And you’re Aria.”
“Still me.” She grabbed a menu. “Follow me, please.”
I followed her back to the same booth where I’d sat the day before and sat down. She handed me the menu.
“So, today, we do have our chicken pot pie.”
“Then that’s what I’ll have.”
“And, I should warn you, there’s just one piece of Thelma’s huckleberry pie left. If you think that might be in your future, I can set it aside.”
“Set it aside,” I said.
“You won’t be disappointed.” I wondered if I would ever meet Thelma—the pie goddess.
“Strawberry lemonade?”
Maybe she did have a photographic memory. “Just a plain lemonade today.”
“Lemonade it is. I’ll be right back.”
The diner was not as full as it had been at night, but Aria seemed to be running the floor by herself. As I watched her (I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her), I thought about what Ray had said about her eyes of sadness. I could see what he meant. At first I had mistaken them for fatigue, but beneath her constant greetings, I could see something restrained. Something hurt. Like a spiritual fracture.
Aria brought out a lemonade, setting it in front of me. “There you are. So how’s your car counting going?”
I gave her a slight grin. “It’s interesting.”
“Is interesting good or bad?”
“Just not quite how I expected it to go. That’s the thing about traffic—you can’t always predict how things will work out.”
“Does that mean you’ll have to stay longer than you expected?”
I liked the question. “It’s likely.”
She smiled. “I’ll be right back.”
As a salesman, I prided myself on my ability to read body language, but with this woman I felt illiterate. I really couldn’t read whether she was interested in me or she was just the world’s greatest waitress. Maybe both were true.
Or, then, maybe I was just an idiot misreading her kindness for flirtation. I’m told that happens a lot with men. I once had a female colleague tell me that she’d stopped smiling at men.
“Why would you do that?” I had asked.
“Because half of them are so hard up that if a decent-looking woman gives them any attention, they mistake it for a come-on.”
Was that me?
About ten minutes later Aria walked back to my table, carrying my meal. “There you go, Thelma’s famous chicken pot pie. I hope it’s worth the wait. Can I get you anything else?”
“I’m good for now.”
“I’ll be back to check on you in a minute.”
Not surprisingly, it was excellent. I hadn’t realized that Thelma had her magical hands in the chicken pot pie too.
When Aria came back I was ready for her.
“How’s the pie?”
“Worth the wait.”
“Good. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
She was about to leave when I took the leap. “I wanted to ask you, in the event that I do have to stay longer, is there anything to do in Midway?”
“There’s a lot to do here,” she said. “Not a lot compared to, say, New York or Paris, or even Florida, but there are things worth seeing.”
“What kind of things?”
“Have you seen the ice castle?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a castle made entirely of ice. The artist made it using something like twenty million pounds of ice. It has tunnels and caverns and archways of solid ice. Then he puts lights inside it. It looks like something out of a fairy tale. People come from all over the country to see it.”
“You just walk through it?”
“Yes. I mean, there’s a fee. It’s like ten dollars.”
“Do many people go?”
“The paper said that more than a quarter million people go through it each year. It’s almost getting to where you need a reservation.”
“What happens when the weather gets warm?”
An amused smile crossed her face. “It melts.”
I laughed. “Maybe I’ll go see it tonight. How late is it open?”
“I think they close up around ten. But one of the managers is a diner here. He said that if I wanted to go later he would let me in the back way. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. Just ask for Craig.”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
She didn’t reply and I suddenly thought that I really had read her wrong. How could I have been so obtuse? I hadn’t even planned on asking her right then, the words had just kind of leapt out of my mouth. Now they were hanging awkwardly in the air between us. I wished I could call them back but it was too late. There was nowhere to go but forward. “Would you like to come with me?”
Suddenly her look of surprise gave way to a pleasant smile. “Yes. I’d like that.”
Now I was the surprised one. It took me a moment to recover. “What time do you get off work?”
“Usually around ten. But I’ll ask Valerie if she can close for me. If she can, I could leave around nine thirty.” She glanced around, then said, “I’ll let you know before you go. I better take care of my other tables.” She walked off.
We didn’t talk much after that, even when
she brought me the huckleberry pie. When I walked up to the counter to pay, Aria came up to check me out. “Sorry, I got busy. Valerie says she can close.”
“Great,” I said, handing her my credit card. After she ran it I said, “So I’ll see you at nine thirty.”
“Nine thirty,” she repeated. I turned to go when she said, “Alex.”
“Yes?”
“It’s ice. And it’s night. Do you have another coat?”
I looked down at my jacket then back at her. “No. Just this.”
“You should probably get a real one.”
“This isn’t a real coat?”
“It’s ice,” she said again. “And it’s night.” With a smile, she returned to the floor.
She was right, of course. With the exception of my time at the inn, even with my car’s heater blasting, I’d pretty much been cold since I arrived in Utah. Like, chilled-to-the-bone cold. I planned on spending the first week back in Florida just thawing out.
I called the inn to see where I could find a coat. Lita told me that I’d have to go to Park City, which was only about twenty minutes from Midway.
I found an L.L. Bean outlet store near the Park City off-ramp where I picked out a rust-colored down parka with a hood and faux fur trim. I also bought a pair of their least expensive boots. Even being an outlet store, it wasn’t cheap, especially considering that I’d probably never wear either item again.
I went back to the inn to relax for a while, then left around a quarter after nine. When I drove up to the front of the diner, Aria was standing outside, her hands deep in her coat pockets. She walked up to my car, looked inside to make sure it was me, then climbed in.
“I think my fingers are frozen,” she said.
“Why didn’t you wait inside?” I asked.