The Railroad (35 page)

“No. They, well they seemed in a hurry and she had to decide quickly. The little girl wanted to look, but one of the ladies with her told her she had to decide quickly. That’s why it stayed in my mind. She ended up taking one of the surfer bears, but I’m not sure she was really happy with it.” She pointed at one of the shelves where several bears were hanging ten on plush surfboards.

“Good,” I told her. At least I’ll be giving her something new when I see her.”

She rang me up and I left, feeling somewhat proud of myself for prying at least something from her, especially after my failure in Boston. I figured the doll store was a long shot, but worth a try. As it was the nearest to
The Right Stuffing,
I made a point of going there next.

I went through the same routine as I had before, talking about a family crisis, but I didn’t have the same luck. I had already written the store off when I saw the price tags. This wasn’t simply a store that sold dolls; it was a doll specialty shop. I had known a few women and one man who had made a second career out of dolls. Not that they didn’t have a passion for the dolls themselves, but dolls of this kind were like rare coins; they were collectible and could cost a ton of money. One doll was proudly displayed in a glass case and marked at $10,000.

The owner seemed to remember that Megan might have been there, but she wasn’t sure. I somehow doubted that Eileen would have wasted the time when it was unlikely she would buy anything for her daughter.

The craft shop was next. I figured it was possible that Eileen might risk the twenty minutes for a children’s craft class. KinderMountain was a small gingerbread confection with a giant sign on the roof showing a child wearing a king’s crown. I went to the counter and was met, this time, by a man with a ponytail in his late thirties. He seemed all smiles and good natured, the way you’d expect a man who makes his money by pleasing children to be, but something rang false. He seemed like he wanted to be somewhere else.

I showed him the picture and gave my “mild family crisis” story, this time throwing in a mention of the surfer bear. I figured it showed that I’d had contact with Megan if I knew what kind of stuffed toy she’d bought just minutes before coming to the store.

He ignored the photo and looked at the clock. “Do you have a child with you, sir?”

“No. I don’t. I’m trying to find my niece, actually.”

“Oh. I had wondered because we’re about to start our late morning class. We’re teaching bottle cap art. It’s a specialty”. He pointed to an example on the wall; a bottle cap rendition of Billy Bear.

I laughed, trying to seem calm. “I might be interested in buying that.”

“Why?”

I shoved the photo in his face again and this time he showed more interest. “The little girl in this photo loves Billy Bear. In fact I’m wondering if she was here.”

He flicked absently at his pony tail and studied the picture. “Yes, I believe that is her. She was very enthusiastic. She made the bottle cap art you’re looking at with the help of her mother and her mother’s friend.”

“I’m actually hoping to find her and her mother.” I repeated my family crisis story.

He gave it some thought. “I don’t remember anything about where they were going.”

“I’d just be happy to know they were here. Then I could pretty much assume that they were on their way to Cabot. She had the surfer bear with her?”

“Yes. As I remember it was very ugly. My wife and I tried to sell her mother a kit we have here. Much better results, but she seemed to like the toy. It
was
a bear on a surfboard as I remember. You’re right, sir. “

Bingo. “I thought so. Well I won’t take up any more of your time except I would like to buy the bear.”

He showed some resistance to selling it, claiming that it had brought in lots of customers for their crafts classes, but eventually he let it go for $30. “I hope the little girl comes back,” he told me. “She is very talented.”

And she’s good for business
, I added in my head. While I waited, he rolled up Megan’s artwork and tied it. I made a point of watching the beginning of the class, just so I’d seem unhurried and calm. As I casually made my way out of the store, something tweaked my brain. It was a man’s face and I could swear that I’d seen it in the previous two places I’d been. It was the blue baseball cap that had set me off.

I fought the urge to turn around and look him dead in the eye. I finally gave in just as I got to my car, turning around quickly and scanning the street; no blue baseball cap and no one else that looked like him. I sat in my car for a moment, drinking out of a Gatorade bottle I’d bought and waiting to see if he showed up.

It was beginning to get dark when I finally pulled out of the parking space and drove out of town. Like most of these small towns, McDonald’s was out on a route outside of the town proper, along with most of the other fast food places. As the darkness descended I started to feel more paranoid and a bit more stupid about the whole trip. What was I going to do in a McDonald’s that served hundreds of customers a day? No one would remember Megan and Eileen and no one would have time to talk to me during the dinnertime rush.

It turned out that I was more right than I had thought. The young woman I asked first looked at me blankly, her eyes straying to the customers as they trickled in. The manager was almost visibly hostile, giving me only a minute of his time and rushing off to oversee his staff. I decided that I wouldn’t be eating at McDonald’s that night.

My next stop would be in Vermont, so I decided that I’d just drive for as long as I could until I found a motel; I’d eat when I was ready. I’d consulted a map earlier and I headed east, hoping to pick up a northbound route somewhere in New Hampshire. The road I was on would take me to a major east-west route if I drove for another hour and forty-five minutes.

As I passed the homey lights of houses I started to feel lonely and hopeless. I guess the initial rush of the chase had worn off and I was remembering that I was on a fool’s errand, searching for people I’d most likely never find and not really knowing where I was going in the first place. The moon came up and lit my way, making things a little cheerier, but the families I passed, barbecuing or playing ball in their yards, forced me to come to terms with the fact that I no longer had a stable life, a family, or a set of good friends.

There was almost no traffic on the road which is probably what made me aware of how strange it was that one set of headlights seemed to be shining in the rear-view mirror for at least forty minutes. I drove on for about thirty more miles before I had convinced myself that it was the same car. I started to panic, speeding up for a moment before I realized that it would only let whoever was following me know I had seen them.

I forced myself to calm down and think. If Benoit had stolen that postcard, then it stood to reason that some of his friends might know where I was headed. Now it seemed that I might be all alone on a country road with someone following me.

I decided that the best thing for me was to find a restaurant of some kind and stop there to see if the car behind me got off the road. If things got bad, I could always call the police and tell them that I thought that the car was following me. I might look like an idiot, but at least whoever was following me might be scared away.

I drove with my hands tight on the wheel, wondering if I should simply turn off on some road to see if I was followed. Part of me wanted to just get it over with and face whatever was out there.

About twenty minutes passed before I hit a town. It wasn’t much of one, being about four blocks long, but I knew it might be an hour before I got to another one. I passed a homey town square with a gazebo before I saw my destination off to the right. On the other side of the square, opposite from the road I was on, there was a diner. I caught a right at the end of the square and worked my way back. My pursuer passed the square and missed the last turn toward the diner, moving onward. I watched as carefully as I could in the rear view mirror while I drove slowly; he made a clear bobble as his car slowed for a second, then moved on, seemingly on his way out of town.

I drove through the deserted town center, feeling exposed and strangely like I was in some movie I wouldn’t want to watch. I thought of that bobble, knowing that I had caught him in the act of following me. An eerie chill passed through me as I slowly got out of my car.

The diner had a small parking lot. At that hour there were only a couple of cars there. If I’d been fresh from New York City, I would have wondered where the nightlife was in town. But, after months in Bardstown, I knew it would be off on the larger routes, in hotels and motels.

I felt that unmistakable small town feeling as I left the car. The crickets were going full blast and the wind was warm, caressing the deserted streets. I could feel everyone at home watching television with their families or maybe having affairs with someone they might not care about in a few months. The diner was nothing like the City View. Back in Manhattan, a place like this would have been packed full of people who saw dining out as the finest of recreation. This was more reminiscent of an Edward Hopper painting, though a little too rural to be like “Nighthawks”.

I felt eyes on me as I walked to a booth in the back. The place was close to empty and the lights were bright and intrusive, but only someone from out of town would get any stares; I didn’t look like I came from anywhere within thirty miles of the place.

The waitress seemed hesitant to come to my table. A couple of minutes went by before she dropped a menu on my table and did her best not to look at me.

“You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll come back and get your order.”

I nodded, watching the street outside. If my friend in the baseball cap had any brains, he wouldn’t simply drive by again and tip me off; he’d walk back to see what I was doing. Of course I was assuming he was smart. I sipped coffee and continued to watch the parking lot.

The waitress came back. She seemed to have softened a bit; maybe I didn’t seem so threatening after all. “You know what you want?”

I had made a point of opening the menu and giving it as much of a look as I could without losing sight of the street. “I’ll have an egg salad on rye and fries.”

She gave me an odd look as though I’d just ordered boiled bat. I guess egg salad and fries weren’t popular in her town. While I pretended to drink coffee and look at nothing, I saw her talking to the owner out of the corner of my eye. Once in a while they’d turn a quick glance in my direction. I supposed I was the most interesting thing they’d seen all day.

She confirmed my suspicions when she came back with the food. “You passing through?” she asked, clearly a bit nervous. Did I look that frightening?

I figured it was best to calm her. “Yes,” I answered smiling. “I just went to the Apple Festival. I’m on my way to meet my sister in Vermont.”

Her face brightened a bit. “Oh! I was there today. My cousin lives in Covington. She works at one of the bed and breakfasts there. The Haven Cottage?”

“I passed it. I suppose bed and breakfasts are big business in that town.”

“You’re from New York City, aren’t you?”

I smiled. “How do you know?”

She dimpled prettily. “I had a boyfriend in college who was from Brooklyn. I can tell the accent and just the way you talk.”

“I can’t get away from it, I guess. Is it so strange to see someone from New York here?”

She blushed. “Oh, no! Well…” She looked back at the owner who was watching us with great interest. “I guess we wonder when someone comes to the ass end of the world to eat. It just seems odd.”

“People pass through the ass end of the world and I was hungry.”

“Okay. Enjoy your food.”

I hadn’t let my eyes leave the parking lot for more than a second. I wasn’t seeing anything out there, but that didn’t mean much. I ate my food slowly; keeping my eyes on the window in a way I hoped would let my pursuer know I was aware of him. At one point I went to the bathroom and made a point of pausing by the window and smiling.

An egg salad sandwich and fries could only buy me so much time before I had to leave. As I paid my bill, I finally got a smile from my waitress who, I suppose, had cleared me of my outsider status. I felt exposed as I walked out to my car. I actually looked in both the front and back windows to see if there was anyone on the floor. Once in the car I let out the breath I’d been holding and took a last look around before starting the car.

In the first few seconds of backing out, I felt
wrongness
. The car jumped a little, letting me know that the back right tire was flat. I knew what I would find when I knelt next to the tire and I wasn’t disappointed: a flap of rubber where the tire had been cut. I had thought I had a good view of my car while I was in the diner, but now I saw there had been a blind spot where someone could have duck walked from around the front of the diner to where my car was. I stood there for a second and dreaded the reaction from the folks in the diner when they saw me changing a tire; somehow that would just confirm their suspicions that I was trouble.

Why I cared what they thought was beyond me, but at that moment I was pretty low on dignity. I opened the trunk and pulled out the tire and the jack, my eyes flicking toward the window to see if anyone was watching me. It took only fifteen minutes to change the tire and by the time I was done, it occurred to me that I was a major fool. What had I expected when I went looking for two women no one wanted me to find? Maybe it was Moskowitz who was trailing me; it didn’t seem impossible.