Talk of the Town (7 page)

When Louise suggested they stop at the Coffee Shop, Alice agreed, eager to push away her morose thoughts.

The little restaurant was fragrant with freshly baked pies. As they looked around for seats, a waving hand caught their attention.

“There’s Maxwell,” Alice said. “Shall we join him?”

“Lead the way,” Louise said. “I’ll sit anywhere as long as Hope brings me a piece of that blackberry pie.”

“Hello, ladies.” The young man rose courteously as the sisters walked toward him. He wore pressed khakis and the rolled up sleeves of his blue Oxford-cloth shirt revealed a hefty gold watch that Alice suspected must be a Rolex. “Won’t you please have a seat?”

“Thank you.” Alice heaved a sigh. “What have you been doing today?”

“I was at the library doing a bit of research on their public computer,” he told her. “How about you?”

“We were in Potterston again looking for Wendell.”

“No luck?” He looked sincerely concerned. “I’m sorry. He may turn up yet.”

“I hope so,” Alice responded. “I’ve been praying about it. Mostly I’ve been praying for what I want, which is for Wendell to come home. And of course, I pray for him to be fed and warm and dry, but today I began to pray for acceptance, for God to soothe my sadness if Wendell is gone for good.”

Louise nodded. “I’m at the same point. Except that I am having a hard time not blaming myself for his disappearance. I keep replaying the way I fussed at Wendell.”

“Oh, Louise,” said Alice. “You must let that go. You are not to blame.”

There was a long silence. Maxwell looked around uncomfortably as if he didn’t know how to respond to their comments. Alice suspected that Maxwell had never experienced God’s love in a personal way, had never opened his life to Christ. After all, who would have guided him in a Christian path? By his account, his father had been largely absent from his life, and if the schools where he’d lived had given their students any sort of religious training, she had yet to see a sign of it. And since the young man had never mentioned his mother, she suspected that Mrs. Vandermitton either had passed away or left her family. Alice resolved to be a good role model during the remainder of his visit and to share her faith with him whenever the opportunity arose.

Louise cleared her throat. “Here comes Hope. What kind of pie would you like, Alice?”

“I’d like blackberry,” she told the waitress.

Louise ordered blueberry pie, while Maxwell declined.

“I’ve already had two pieces,” he said.

Hope smiled at him. “He’s rapidly becoming our best customer,” she told Louise and Alice.

As Hope left their table to get their order ready, Alice asked, “Have you heard about the tracks the two boys found yesterday?”

“Yes, indeed,” Maxwell responded. “And I understand you and Ronald Simpson are the only two adults to actually see them.”

“Unfortunately.” Alice grimaced. “I wish it hadn’t rained.”

“The tracks are all anyone in town is talking about today,” Maxwell said. “Apparently the woman from the paper went out to photograph them this morning, but the rain had obliterated all but some large, blurry depressions in the mud.”

“I was afraid of that,” Alice said.

“What did you see?”

After Hope returned with their order, Alice recounted her experience. As she spoke, she was aware of a slight stir over near the counter. Finally, the buzz grew so insistent that the sisters and Maxwell halted their conversation and turned to see what the excitement was about.

Bobby Dawson, a member of Grace Chapel’s youth group, stood in the midst of a small cluster of people. The teen was gesticulating wildly. Some people were responding with expressions of incredulity, while others nodded and smiled or shook their heads and frowned.

When Hope passed their table again, Alice said, “Hope, what on earth is Bobby saying that has everyone so stirred up?”

Hope laughed. “Apparently, he found an article at the library this afternoon that made him wonder if the tracks you found are from a Bigfoot.”

Alice glanced quickly at Louise. Louise had raised one eyebrow, although she remained silent.

Carefully, Alice said, “What would possess him to look that up?”

“He says he didn’t,” Hope reported. “He was there to research a history paper and he found the article lying near the computer.”

When Alice looked at Maxwell, he was just setting down his coffee cup. “From what Alice just described, they certainly weren’t from a little foot, no matter what kind of animal it was,” he said.

Hope laughed. “Not a big
foot
, a
Bigfoot
. One word. Haven’t you ever heard of Sasquatch? Huge man-ape creatures that no one’s ever conclusively proved exist?”

“Oh, right. Bigfoot,” Maxwell said. His eyes widened as he looked at Alice. “Do you think that’s what the footprints could have been from?”

Alice shook her head. “I really couldn’t say. It was certainly a large creature, whatever it was.”

Maxwell leaned forward. “Did they find any other evidence that would lead them to believe that it might be some unknown animal?”

“I didn’t hear about anything else,” Alice said. “Did you, Louise?”

“No. I can’t imagine what else they might have found,” she said dismissively.

Maxwell looked disappointed. “I would like to go over there and inspect the site. Would either of you be interested in joining me?”

Louise shook her head. “Not I. I have a piano student coming at four-thirty for a lesson.”

“I’ll go with you,” Alice volunteered. “But after I finish my pie, we’ll have to go back to the inn to get my car.”

“Hello there!”

They turned their heads to see who was interrupting their conversation.

“Here comes Florence,” Louise announced. She rose. “Hello, Florence. I was just leaving. Would you like my seat?” Louise asked as she slid from the booth.

“Why, thank you, Louise dear.” Florence Simpson was dressed in a navy, two-piece outfit with nautical trim and a wide, white sailor collar. From her chubby wrist dangled an expensive-looking gold bracelet with sailboat charms. Florence dismissed Louise with a wave of her hand and turned her attention to Alice and Maxwell. “Alice, dear. I have not been introduced to this young man.” Then, without giving Alice a chance to draw a breath, she thrust out her right hand. “You must be Maxwell. I’m Florence Simpson. My family has been in Acorn Hill for more than one hundred years.”

Maxwell rose and took Florence’s hand, holding it gingerly. “That’s quite interesting. My family also has a long history in Pennsylvania. My father is the sixth generation of Vandermittons to live in my family home.”

Florence looked a bit deflated, although his statement had been delivered in the most pleasant tone. “Yes. Well. My friend Ethel, Alice’s aunt, told me that you are staying at the inn for some time.”

“Yes, I am.” Maxwell smiled, waiting until Florence squeezed her bulky body into the booth beside Alice before reseating himself. “I am finishing a research project for my doctoral program, and Grace Chapel Inn is proving to be a very pleasant place to work.”

“Well, yes, I can see that it would be,” Florence said.

“Alice and I were just leaving,” he told the older woman. “We thought we would head out to Fairy Pond for a look around. Would you care to join us?”

“Why, I’d love to.” Florence’s gray eyes sharpened. “My car is right outside. Ever since Ronald came home yesterday all I have heard about is those tracks. Now that silly Dawson boy is stirring up everyone with talk about mythic creatures.”

“Mythic or not, I’d like to see the place where the prints were found,” Maxwell said.

Alice picked up her purse, and Florence took the hint, sliding out of the booth. “I have a duty to go,” she announced. “After all, it was my husband who found those prints in the first place.”

Alice cleared her throat. “Well, actually it was Charles and Jason—”

“The first
adult
,” Florence stressed. “Everyone knows children’s impressions can’t be trusted.”

As they were walking out of the Coffee Shop, Nia Komonos and Carlene Moss were about to enter and stood aside to let them exit.

“Good afternoon, Nia, Carlene.” Alice smiled. “
Hmm
, a researcher and a reporter. What could you two be cooking up?”

Carlene gave Alice a dimpled smile. “If you’re coming out of Gossip Central, you probably already know.”

Alice laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re giving credence to this Bigfoot theory.”

“One must keep an open mind,” Carlene said. She winked. “And the rumor does help to sell papers. Nia aided me in doing some research this afternoon. I’m going to publish a special edition of the paper tomorrow devoted to the prints you found and the possibility that such a creature exists.”

“Landsake,” Florence said. “A special edition for this? The last time you did a special edition was right after that hurricane hit the East Coast.”

“A special edition?” Alice was instantly diverted. “Will you put in a notice about Wendell if I bring it by today? The sooner we can spread the word about his disappearance, the better the chance we have that someone will see or hear something.”

“I’d be happy to. Now who is this young man?”

“I’m so sorry. I’ve forgotten my manners.” Alice drew Maxwell forward. “Carlene, Nia, this is Maxwell Vandermitton. He’s a graduate student staying at the inn while he works on a research paper.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Carlene said.

Nia smiled. “We met this morning, Alice, although I was busy and we didn’t get a chance to talk.” She smiled at him. “Please let me know if there is any way I can help with your research. Our library may be small but, as you’ve discovered, we’re connected to the world via the Internet and I have subscriptions to a number of significant research sites.”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to see you ladies.”

“Vandermitton is an interesting surname,” Nia said. “I’m fascinated by genealogical studies. Is it Dutch?”

“Yes, my family—”

“Come on, you two. You can visit another day. My car is right over here.” Florence clearly was impatient with the small talk. Alice suspected Florence feared that a discussion of Maxwell’s roots would show that there were other people whose American ancestors were older than Florence’s.

Bidding Carlene and Nia farewell, Alice and Maxwell followed Florence to her car.

As Florence drove past the inn and on to the pond, Alice’s thoughts strayed from her companions. Once again, she wondered how Wendell had fared during the rainstorm yesterday. Sadness squeezed her heart as it did so much of the time now. She found it hard to believe that the pudgy gray tabby would never lie on her bed in a patch of sunlight again.

“Gracious! It’s muddy here, isn’t it?” Florence took mincing steps as they left the road and began to head around the pond.

“We don’t have to go very far,” Alice said. She was glad she had on her practical old tennis sneakers, which were her most comfortable walking shoes. “The tracks we saw were right ahead. But don’t get your hopes up. Carlene said that the hard rain we had did quite a bit of damage.”

“Holy cow!” Maxwell was looking upward. “That is a huge bird. I wonder what it is.”

Alice looked in the direction he pointed, as did Florence, but missed seeing the bird. “We have hawks around here,” she said. “They get pretty big.”

“I once saw—well, my lands, what on earth is that?” Florence interrupted herself to point at something just over their heads in a tree.

Alice shaded her eyes with her hand, seeking what Florence had seen. “Where?”

“Right there.” Maxwell sounded awed. “What is that, do you think?”

“Hair,” said Florence. “Although how a clump of a hair got hung up on a branch so high above the ground…” She trailed off uncertainly. “You don’t suppose it’s hair from
the creature
, do you?”

Alice stifled a laugh as Florence’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“No,” she said, “I don’t.”

Maxwell was looking up at the clump of brown caught in the tree branches above them. “Alice,” he said, “where did you say you found those footprints?”

“Why, right over there.” Alice pointed to the muddy area in the path. As she’d expected, little was left except for two indistinct depressions in the soggy soil that could have been made by just about anything heavy. Then the significance of Maxwell’s question dawned on her. She turned to him. “Surely you don’t think—”

He looked at her. “I don’t know what to think.”

“Young man,” Florence said imperiously, “go up there and retrieve that hair, won’t you?”

Maxwell looked at her. “Me?” He eyed the tree dubiously. “Uh… I suppose I can try.”

As it turned out, there was a low, sturdy branch that made it easy for him to get into the tree, and several others fortuitously placed so that he could stretch out and pluck the hair from the end of a branch with relative ease.

He jumped down a moment later and presented the brownish bundle to Florence with a grimace. “Remind me to wash my hands thoroughly when we return to the inn,” he said to Alice, “several times.”

Alice could not prevent the smile that formed. He certainly was amusing at times, whether or not he intended to be. She stepped closer to Florence’s side and the three of them appraised their find.