2
He begged off a home-cooked meal at Mrs. Lang's house. Her husband had been a handyman his father had requested the services of on more than one occasion, but Mr. Lang had passed twelve years prior and his spunky little widow was lonely. She protested until he promised to sup with her on the upcoming Sunday, and then he donned clean casual attire and drove into town.
The most likely eatery along the most probable path McKenna had taken was a small red brick corner site across from a little park downtown. Henry had been there before, long ago when it had been a pharmacy and candy shoppe.
The interior had changed considerably, and the place had taken on an old basement smell. The walls were stained and broken floor tiles marked where heavy fixtures had once stood. Ignoring the little bell that announced his arrival, he quickly scanned the faces of the few early-bird diners seated around small, plain tables in mismatched heavy wooden chairs. The enormous wooden counter with its intricately detailed pillars and white marble countertop had been replaced by a stainless-steel glass-front case displaying the desserts du jour. A slender young man with thick dark hair beneath a peaked paper cap gazed at him expectantly, though with no real anticipation.
"Hey, son, is there a table available?"
Instead of offering to seat him, the teenager gestured toward the dining area and Henry deduced he was meant to select a seat for himself. He chose one beside the large front window and sat watching both vehicular and pedestrian traffic.
An older woman in a snug, short-skirted uniform arrived to fill a glass with water from a sweating pitcher and set it before him. "What can I get ya, hon?"
The customer smiled at her and suggested, "Perhaps a menu?"
Repositioning herself, she read loudly from a huge display board mounted above the kitchen window behind the dessert case. "Well, we have salads with your choice of dressings with or without meat depending on what you like, then we have soup and our soup of the day is…oh, it's tomato. You can get that with a salad or a sandwich, or just get a salad and sandwich if you want it. Or just sandwiches, meatloaf, fried chicken-"
"Coffee," Henry interrupted, a tad embarrassed. "Just coffee, please."
The woman's volume dropped as she jotted his request on a notepad she produced from a pocket of her half apron. "Would you care for a slice of pie or cake with that? We might still have a few doughnuts left over from this morning."
He was disappointed, but genuinely hungry. "What kind of pie?"
"Well, there's coconut custard-"
"Sold," he told her. "By chance, do you recall seeing a younger man around here today? Red hair and a porkpie hat with matching vest. He may have only asked for the restroom."
The woman eyed him strangely from behind her thick eyeglasses as she scribbled the specific variety of pie on his ticket. "Don't think so. He supposed to meet you here?"
"No. He was asking about renting a house-"
"Anna!" the waitress snapped, and a woman seated at a nearby table with an elderly couple turned abruptly her way. "You have anybody asking around about house rentals? Red hair?"
"No," the woman replied, turning farther for a better look at Henry. She smiled politely and wiggled her fingers at him. "You lookin' for a place to stay?"
"No," he sighed, aware they had the attention of everyone within the establishment. Looking up at the waitress, he asked, "Could I get my order to go?"