‘Yes.’
‘Good, the restaurant’s in the back.’ Maggie led them past a fuel desk toward the back half of the store, which contained long wooden tables with wooden chairs and benches, in picnic-style seating. Color enlargements of a rocky seacoast, a lighthouse, and a wide river hung on the walls, and there were a few booths along the back wall next to the kitchen. The restaurant was empty except for a family with three young children, digging into pancakes and eggs.
Kathy said, ‘I love breakfast for dinner. How about you, Caleb?’
‘I do too. I like pancakes.’
‘I don’t see a waitress.’ Maggie looked around, hopeful. She knew the odds weren’t good that PG would be working tonight, but they could get lucky.
Kathy gestured at the room. ‘Guys, where do you want to sit? You want a view of the snow or the chewing tobacco?’
Caleb pulled out a chair. ‘Here.’
‘You got it.’ Maggie pulled out a chair for her and Caleb, and Kathy sat across from them, unzipping her coat.
‘It wasn’t a bad drive. Except that we didn’t kill any moose.’ Kathy took laminated menus from a condiment carousel on the table and slid them to Maggie and Caleb. ‘Here’s your menus. I say we have the Chateaubriand with potatoes Dauphinoise and the molten lava cake for dessert. Then, of course, we shower.’
Caleb giggled. ‘I want pancakes.’
‘You would think a waitress would come out.’ Maggie twisted around to the kitchen entrance, and Kathy waved at her.
‘Yoo-hoo, are you even listening? I’m giving you my best stuff here. You were in outer space the entire drive.’
‘Sorry.’ Maggie rubbed her face, trying to keep her emotions at bay. All she could think about was whether Anna was dead or alive, her real daughter. It was as if she were getting a second chance, all over again. A waiter appeared from the kitchen, and walked toward them with the weary smile, deflating her hopes. She doubted there was another waitperson here tonight, given the conditions.
‘Hello, ladies,’ the waiter said, crossing to their table with a smile. He looked about eighteen years old, with clear blue eyes and a short haircut. He was wearing a white polo shirt with jeans, with a name tag that read BOB. ‘Can I get you some water? Or a nice hot coffee?’
‘Coffee would be great for me,’ Maggie answered, putting the menu back. ‘I’ll have the pancakes and so will my son.’
Kathy put her menu back, too. ‘Same for me, thanks.’
Bob nodded. ‘We use maple syrup from Hurricane, Maine. Up near Québec. It’s the best. You folks from New York?’
‘Pennsylvania,’ Maggie answered. ‘Bob, I’m here because my daughter was friendly with a waitress here, named PG. Do you know her?’
‘No.’ Bob frowned. ‘But I’ve only been here three days. She might be on day shift.’
‘Do you think anybody else would know her? Are there any other waiters or waitresses on tonight?’
‘No, just me.’
‘How about the chef, or anybody else? Would they know her?’ Maggie gestured to the general store. ‘Or maybe in front?’
‘I’ll ask the cook.’
‘Great, thanks. Can you let me know what he says before you bring the food?’
‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’ Bob ambled back to the kitchen, but Maggie couldn’t wait. She rose, patting Caleb on the head.
‘I’ll be right back, honey.’
‘I figured.’ Kathy smiled as Maggie got up, hustled back to the cash register, and waited for the clerk, an older man, to get off his cell phone. His eyes were hooded, and reddish capillaries covered his longish nose. He was bald with gray stubble, and his sunken cheeks were bracketed by deep lines. His frame was slight but wiry, and he had on an old black T-shirt and jeans.
‘Miss, you need somethin’?’ he asked, though he didn’t hang up the phone, but merely held it against his chest.
‘Yes, I’m looking for a waitress named PG. Do you know her?’
‘PG? Sure.’
‘Terrific!’ Maggie said, thrilled. ‘She’s a friend of my daughter’s, and I was trying to find her. I don’t even know her last name.’
‘It’s Tenderly.’
‘PG is a nickname, right?’
‘Yes. Her real name is Patti.’
‘I heard PG stands for Ponygirl.’
‘Ha!’ The man chuckled, which turned into a smoker’s cough. ‘You’re telling me something now. I didn’t know that. I didn’t even know she liked horses.’
Maggie didn’t bother to explain. ‘I know she’s not here, but do you know where she lives?’
‘Sure, right down the road. Broom Lane, it’s called. Go straight, take the second left. What’d you want to go see her for?’
‘My daughter was a friend of hers, and we can’t find her. I’m hoping PG will know where she is.’
‘Sorry about your daughter.’ The man tsk-tsked. ‘Mark my words. She’ll come back.’
‘I hope so.’
‘PG might be able to help you. She’s one smart girl. Makes friends where’er she goes.’
‘That’s nice.’ Maggie sensed it made it more likely that PG would have information about Anna.
‘She lives with her granny. Elma.’
‘Where are her parents?’
‘Her mother was never worth a damn. Never even met her father. You know how it is, with the pills.’
‘They were addicts?’
‘And drunks. Goes hand-in-hand, far as I can tell.’ He shook his head. ‘PG, she’s a good girl. The tips she made here, she give to Elma. Always nice to me, the customers, tourists. She’d ask after my wife and she’d buy a Powerball, ever’day. She even baked me a chocolate cake for my birthday.’
‘Doesn’t she work here anymore?’ Maggie felt confused, noticing that he’d started using the past tense.
‘No, she don’t. Hang on a minute. Lemme show you the cake she made me. Wrote my name on it and everything.’ The man swiveled around on his stool, shuffled through a pile of papers, then turned back with a photo, showing it to Maggie. ‘Here we go.’
Maggie looked down at the photo. She froze at the image.
‘You see, there’s me, and PG, and the cake, and she wrote “Happy Birthday, Sammy” in red, so it shows up on the chocolate.’
Maggie couldn’t speak. She felt her heart hammer. She recognized the girl in the photo. PG had short hair, big blue eyes, and a pretty smile that brought out her dimples. She looked a lot like Anna except for her haircut. The truth stared back at Maggie. PG was the girl she’d taken home, who’d impersonated Anna.
‘Ain’t that a nice cake?’
Chapter Seventy-five
Noah, After
Noah went up to the nearest CO, who was standing against the wall under the first tier. He was a huge forty-year-old with a brushy mustache, and his name tag read BOCANEGRA. ‘Mr Bocanegra, I’m Noah Alderman and I’d like to speak with Deputy Warden McLaughlin.’
‘Pardon me?’
‘I’d like to speak with Deputy Warden McLaughlin. I met with him last night.’ Noah was kicking himself. If he had known about Drover before, he would have dealt with it last night. But then again, now he had a bargaining chip.
‘Uh, he’s busy. Please, move along, Dr Alderman.’
‘It’s important. Can you contact him right away?’
‘I’ll make a note of it. We’ll get back to you.’ CO Bocanegra half-smiled.
‘This is very important. Can you take me to his office, and I’ll wait there until he’s available?’
‘Like I said, I’ll inform him of your request. We’ll get back to you about an appointment.’
‘This can’t wait.’ Noah knew the inmates were straining to hear the conversation. He was blowing his cover, but he had nothing to lose. On the contrary, the more public he went, the safer he’d be.
‘It will have to wait, Dr Alderman. We just got out of lockdown. There was a murder on this block last night, as you well know.’ CO Bocanegra glanced upward to Noah’s cell. ‘You see the bigwigs up there. We have our hands full. So please, move along.’