“Just some kind of business,” said Stillman. “Let’s go back.”
They returned to Main Street. The town didn’t look any different from the other small, old places in the area. The single church had a stone set at the corner of it with the date 1787. The library had opened now, and Walker could see through the glass doors that the girls had already made their way past the librarian’s desk to an alcove full of tall, brightly colored books that had to be the children’s section. The boys had disappeared. As he passed, a pretty young woman with serious-looking glasses came from behind a counter and knelt on the floor beside one of the girls.
People passed by or went into the twenty-five or thirty buildings on Main, and Walker could see that they had little curiosity about a pair of tourists. But when they went into a coffee shop, the elderly man who waited on them said, “You haven’t been in before, have you?” He was staring at Walker.
“No,” said Stillman. He pointed to his Danish pastry. “If this is any good, you might see more of us.”
The old man looked at Walker. “You,” he said.
Walker froze.
“You look a lot like the Ellisons. I’ll bet you’re here to visit.”
“Do I?” said Walker. “No relation that I know of. We’re just here exploring.”
Stillman seemed eager to keep the old man talking. “How about you? Have you lived in town long?”
“Long? I was born here.”
“Really,” said Stillman. “That reminds me. I was going to ask somebody, so I’ll ask you. I didn’t notice a hospital.”
The old man shook his head. “Never had one. In the old days, the doctor would come out to your house. I was born a couple of blocks from here. No more, though. Now, if your wife is due, you drive her to Keene.”
“The world’s a different place,” said Stillman regretfully.
“You can miss those days if you want,” said the old man. “I sure don’t. I got a pacemaker.” He pointed to his chest. He noticed that a young man and woman had stood up from their table and were bringing their bill to the counter. He stepped around the other side to meet them.
Stillman spent the next few minutes eating his pastry and looking around him. Walker could tell he was trying to make eye contact with the people nearby. There were three well-dressed women in their thirties who looked like lawyers, a pair of boys in their late teens who were drinking some kind of whipped fruit concoction, and a pair of men about Stillman’s age who seemed to be sitting together to share a newspaper. Stillman seemed to have no luck, so he stood up and gave the old man his bill and some money.
As he pocketed his change, he said, “I was wondering. The place a couple of blocks over—New Mill Systems. What do they do there?”
“Do?” The old man looked confused, then a little embarrassed. “Oh, some high-tech stuff. It’s way beyond me. I can’t program my VCR.” His eyes seemed to stray from Stillman’s face and dart over his shoulder.
When Walker turned, he couldn’t pick out anyone who was paying attention. The three women were leaning forward talking and laughing, the two middle-aged men were still engrossed in their newspaper, and the boys were just standing up to come toward the counter too. Maybe that had been what had distracted the old man, Walker decided. Teenaged boys were always closely watched.
He followed Stillman into a drugstore and watched him go up the aisles picking out a small bottle of sunscreen and a pack of chewing gum. The only employee in the store was a man in a white coat who was at least as old as the man in the coffee shop, sweeping the floor. He put aside his broom, went behind the counter, and took Stillman’s money.
Stillman smiled and said, “Is this the only drugstore in town?”
“Yes,” said the man. “Got a big drug habit?”
“No,” said Stillman happily. “I was looking for those Dr. Scholl’s pads for inside your shoes, and I didn’t see any.”
The man pointed, his hand shaking a little. “Over there. That aisle.”
Stillman followed his gesture, then came back with a flat package that he tossed on the counter. “Thanks,” he said. Then he added, “I wonder if you could give me directions to New Mill Systems?”
The man’s brow furrowed a little and he looked up in the air for a second, as though he were trying to place the name. Then he said, “That way up Main, turn left at Grant, and you’ll already be there. You a salesman or something?”
“Sore feet gave me away, huh?” said Stillman. “Maybe you can help me. What is it they make?”
The old man shook his head. “Something to do with computers. I hear it’s mostly government contracts, though, so they may not even let you in.” He went back to his broom.
Later, at the end of a side street, they found another large, modern building; this one had COULTER SCHOOL emblazoned on a sign. It was summer, so Walker wasn’t surprised to see that the building was deserted and the windows dark. He could see that it must have been built to accommodate all of the town’s children. One side of the building had a small playground with swing sets and monkey bars and slides, but at the other end there were full- scale athletic fields.
There seemed to be only one real restaurant in town. It was in a big turn-of-the-century brick building across the bridge on the other side of the river, and the sign on the door said simply FINE DINING. There were about forty tables, twenty of them set with crisp white linen, and three waiters who hurried back and forth carrying trays and folding stands to set them on.
Walker studied the old photographs on the wall above their table. There were men in high collars, pinch- shouldered, rumpled suits, and derby hats standing beside a horse and wagon, a gathering of women in full skirts, wasp-waisted and wearing feathered hats, in some garden. There was one that had men standing in the street outside a building he had seen on Main that still bore the sign BANK OF COULTER, but the street in the picture was cobblestones. There was another picture that seemed to be the building they were in.
Stillman asked their waiter, “What was this building originally—a mill?”
“Yes, sir,” answered the waiter. “People call it the Old Mill. But that was a hundred years ago.”
“That explains that place we saw before. New Mill Systems. You happen to know what they sell?”
“Electronics. Something to do with communications.”
When they had finished their lunch, they walked back along the river to the other side of Main, and made their way up the side streets there. As they reached Maple Street, Stillman looked at his watch. “It’s after two- thirty. Let’s get back to Keene. We can stop at Foley’s and get your new glasses, then go to the hotel and get some sleep. When I wake up, I’ll call you.”
30
Walker awoke in the dark, already looking at the telephone. He wondered if that was what had awakened him, but he waited for a few seconds and it didn’t ring. He looked at the digital clock beside the bed. It was already ten-fifteen.
He considered calling Stillman, but he remembered that Stillman had definitely said he would do the calling. He went to his suitcase, opened it, and laid out fresh clothes, then went into the bathroom for a shower. He left the door open so he could hear the telephone.
He dressed quickly, then left the room and counted the doors as he walked down the hall to the exit. When he reached the parking lot, he counted the windows from the end of the building to find Stillman’s room. The light was on.
He went inside and knocked on Stillman’s door. He heard Stillman say, “Just a minute,” and the door swung open. Stillman walked back to his desk and picked up the phone that had been lying there off the hook. “It’s just Walker,” he said into it. “He and I have got to talk. I’ll call again when I can.” He hung up and turned his attention to Walker.
“I thought you were going to sleep,” said Walker.
“I did. When you get to a certain age, you don’t need as much. When was the last time you talked to Serena?”
“Just before we went to Coulter. It was . . . what? Three-thirty A.M.”
“Nothing since then?”
