Chapter 3
As it turned out, it took two days, not one, for Hadley to get on the road with the chief.
First she had to preload for Granddad and the kids—if she didn’t have dinners in the freezer, he’d take them to Burger King for every meal.
Then, it was pulling out all the clothing she thought might be suitable for the High Peaks in December, and, once Van Alstyne had loaned her a backpack, putting two-thirds of them back again.
He kept muttering about warm and dry feet, so she brought more socks than anything else.
Finally, MacAuley insisted her turning in all her overdue paperwork was the price for two days off, and she wasn’t finished until after noon on Tuesday.
Their late start didn’t bother the chief, who adored outdoor activities.
He grew more animated the farther they drove.
Hadley had been inside the fabled Blue Line—the bounds of the Adirondack Park—before.
Lake George, where she took the kids for the great beach and mini golf, fell entirely within the Park, and she’d even been up to Lake Inverary in Essex County one memorable time.
But those places had been entirely civilized, or at least felt a lot closer to home.
Once the chief exited off the Northway near the end of Schroon Lake, they were in a whole different world.
Endless woods, broken by steep rockfalls and snow, scrolled by. Hadley leaned forward, looking for some break in the forest, but … nothing. No houses, no businesses, definitely no hotels. “You said we won’t have to camp.”
“I brought the equipment as a just-in-case. We’ve got two rooms confirmed at the Inn at Santanoni.” He took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at her. “You know, winter camping can be a lot of fun. Great family activity for you and your kids.”
“Really? Does Clare feel the same way?”
“Well…” He scratched his nose. “I’m still working on that.”
They went past a sign declaring NEWCOMB, THE HEART OF THE PARK. She started to see a few houses, driveways leading straight onto the state highway. The chief pointed as they crossed over a shallow, rocky stream. “That’s the Hudson River.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, the headwaters are only fifteen, twenty miles from here.”
The landscape to her right began to flatten and open a little.
It was hard to tell the difference between what was commercial and what was residential in the scattered clearings between tracts of leafless trees—they were probably one and the same in most cases.
They drove past a school and a church and finally turned off the highway to their destination.
The inn was an older house, prettier than most she’d seen on the way.
Hadley gratefully got out to stretch. “I always thought Millers Kill was a small town, but next to this place, we’re practically New York City. ”
The chief laughed. “The folks who live out here like it just fine.” He double-checked and tightened the tarp covering the please-God-unnecessary camping gear in the truck bed, while she pulled their bags from the crew cabin, leaving a box of groceries for later.
They stepped through the side door into a kitchen and dining space decorated, like the porch outside, for Christmas. Hadley scuffed her way along a generous mat. “Hello?”
“Oh, hello!” A woman in her mid-fifties truckled down a flight of stairs leading to the cozy living room. “Sorry, I was just making sure everything is set in the bathrooms. I’m Sue Hansen. You must be Russ and Hadley.”
“Yep.” The chief thumbed in the direction of his truck. “Okay parked out there?”
“You’re fine, you’re fine. You’ve got the whole place to yourselves—you hit us just between the fall hikers and the cross-country skiers.
Not that there’s not plenty to do in Newcomb!
We have some restaurants still open, and there are some adorable home crafts for sale, and we have a historical museum—”
The chief broke in. “Actually, we’re trying to find my son. He’s gone with a group, a sort of militia, that’s camped somewhere around here. Would you know anything about them?”
Sue’s expression, which had been as twinkly as the fairy lights swagged around the living room, closed in on itself. “Oh,” she said flatly. “Those people. You’re not going to find many in this town who want to know anything about them.”
“We’re not—” Hadley struggled for the right word. “We’re not sympathizers. We’re trying to get our—my-my ex back.” It felt incredibly weird saying that in front of Van Alstyne, even though he didn’t know Flynn really was her ex.
“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you with any of that. Let me show you your rooms and how the kitchen works before I leave.”
“You’re leaving?”
Apparently, the genial and welcoming hostess had already left. “We’re two houses down, and our number’s right on the phone if you need anything. My husband or I will be back in the morning.”
The rooms upstairs would have been charming if not for the cold wave rolling off Sue.
The bright white kitchen was cheery with red and green dishes, and kitted out with everything except food.
“If you want to make your own dinner, you’d better get shopping.
Closest place that’s open this hour is in North Creek, about forty minutes away.
” Sue unhooked two old-fashioned metal keys from a batten board near the kitchen door.
“Here are your keys. Good evening to you.” She paused halfway out the door.
“I’d appreciate you not bringing anyone else into the inn without my knowing. ” Then she was gone.
“Oh my God.” Hadley sat on one of the tall stools beneath the kitchen island. “We’re in a horror movie. Tiny town in the middle of nowhere, a warning about how nobody will speak to us, and then the innkeeper rushes to get away? There’s going to be a monster coming out of the woods for sure.”
“That would be the Flying Head around here.”
“The what?”
“Iroquois legend. It’s a flying head with tangled hair and teeth like knives. It eats people.”
“Just a head?”
“Yeah, but it’s a really big head.”
She spun around on the stool. “Don’t tell me any more. I’m going to have nightmares as it is. Should we get the food out of the truck?”
“Yeah, but we’re not making dinner. I want to find a place where we can get a few answers along with a meal.”
That place was the Cozy Cafe and Shoppe, less than a mile—or as Van Alstyne put it, “walking distance”—from the inn.
She had to admit, he had pegged it; there was barely room for them in the small dining area squeezed between the prep counter and the tiny general store.
A sign next to the cash register announced they sold New York State fishing licenses, for maximum convenience.
They dropped their parkas at the only open table and went to the counter.
“One-stop shopping,” Hadley said, surveying the wall décor, which leaned heavily toward photos of stags and snowmobiles.
“Well, you put your hook where the fish are biting.” He nodded to the line cook. “I’ll have the Big Bite burger and fries. Medium well.”
“Mac and cheese with a side salad, please.” The chief was getting very folksy.
She hoped she wasn’t going to have to listen to hunting stories over dinner.
They threaded their way past the other five tables to get to theirs and sat down.
“How did you figure there’d be a crowd here on a Tuesday night? ”
“Three kinds of people live in tiny little places like this.” He ticked off one finger.
“The ones who make a full-time living here; they teach at the school, or they own the gas station or the Cozy Cafe.” He touched another finger.
“The ones who work away, which probably means an hour commute every evening.” He tapped the last finger.
“Retirees. Those last two like to eat out because they don’t want to bother with cooking, but it’s a tourist area, so they don’t come out on weekends. ”
She tried to case the room without staring. Two white-haired couples, a pair of guys who looked like linemen fresh off the job, and another couple in their early thirties. The only table that didn’t match the chief’s reasoning was a young foursome who looked like high schoolers on a date.
“Okay, so how do we find out where the racists are? Stand up and say, ‘Hey, where are de white women at?’” He looked at her, puzzled. “Blazing Saddles, Chief.”
The line cook dinged a bell. “Burger mac ’n’ cheese up.
” Van Alstyne stood. He said something she couldn’t make out to the cook, then headed back with just one plate in hand.
On the way, he paused between the two oldster tables.
He smiled and said, “’Scuse me, folks, but I’m looking for the local militia that’s camping around here.
If you know anything, I’d appreciate the information. I’m staying at the inn.”
He slid her plate neatly in front of her and returned to the counter for his burger. This time, he stopped by the thirty-something couple and the linemen to deliver his spiel.
He set down his own plate, overflowing with fries, and sat down. “How’s that?”
“To be honest, you kind of look like a cop.”
He gestured at his flannel shirt and jeans. “I’m in civvies.”
She forked a huge bite of the mac and cheese. “It’s not the clothes.”
“You sound like Clare.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She nodded toward the foursome near the door. “You missed the teens.”
“You think they might know anything?” He looked skeptical. “When I was a kid, I wasn’t thinking about anything except girls and basketball.”
“You’d be surprised. Hudson follows the news more closely than I do.
” Her son was certainly different than she had been at twelve, thank God.
“Let me.” She weaved her way through the tables, conscious that the rest of the diners were watching her now.
A shelf beneath the counter held condiments, and she grabbed the Sriracha hot sauce.
She looked out the door, where a light snow foretold a less-pleasant walk back to their lodging, and then pivoted toward the kids’ table. “Hi.”
One of the girls giggled nervously.
“You might have heard my, uh, friend asking about the local militia. I’ve got a high schooler at home, so I know nobody knows what’s going on around town like you guys do.” One of the boys lifted his chin. “We’re at the inn if you or anybody else knows anything. Thanks.”
The other diners jerked their attention back to their meals as she crossed to her table. “How’s that?”
“Well, you didn’t look like law enforcement.”
She sprinkled a little hot sauce on her mac and cheese. “That’s not surprising. It’s hard for me to look like a police officer when I’m in uniform.”
“It’s the glamorous actress thing you have going on. That’s what Clare says.”
“Clare’s a priest. She has to be nice.” A stir of movement caught her eye.
One of the old couples was leaving their table.
“Do you think anyone is going to talk to us in here?” He shook his head.
“Then let’s get a couple of takeout boxes and head back to the inn before the snow gets up to our knees.
The sooner we find out something, the sooner we get to Flynn. ”