As Hannah had predicted, the restaurant was nearly empty. We sat in a far corner, at a window table overlooking the street, a good distance from the other diners. I placed my cell phone screen up on the table next to my plate, waiting for Max’s call. I wondered if he’d talked to the sheriff yet, if they’d decided how we’d pursue the case. With every breath, I thought about Delilah and what might be happening to her while I did nothing.
As a distraction, I looked about at the other patrons.
Across the dining room sat an elderly couple who could have been the models for American Gothic, white-haired and dressed in traditional garb. The man looked familiar, and before long I recognized Michael Johansson, whose family owned the big bison ranch on the outskirts of town. She’d changed, but I pegged the woman as his first wife, Reba. She stared at me, and I smiled. She stood up and took another chair at the table, one with her back to me. When Mr. Johansson recognized me, he scooted over next to her.
Heads together, I had no doubt I was the topic of their conversation.
The restaurant’s other customers—a young woman in tennis whites and her children—weren’t familiar. The mom had bare legs, concrete evidence that she hadn’t grown up in Alber, and the three children—all elementary school age and in shorts and T-shirts—nibbled on chicken nuggets and sweet potato fries.
“There’s a tennis court in Alber?” I asked.
“Not that I know of.” Hannah shrugged. “But there may be. The town is transforming faster than I thought possible. It’s hard to keep up with the changes.”
“And yet the attitudes of some are still the same.”
“Absolutely,” she agreed. “In fact, there are a substantial number of people fighting tooth and nail to return Alber to its roots.”
I thought of my family, of the scowl on my mother’s face when I surprised her at the trailer door. “Mother’s in that group, I’m sure.”
Hannah sighed. “I’m sure Ardeth regrets much of what’s happening. And I can’t fault her for that. Her world is changing around her. This is no longer the cloistered town our ancestors founded, the one she grew up in, the one she raised her children to live in.”
Hannah’s words rang true. I thought about my mother, how frightening the town’s metamorphosis must be for her.
Our dinners arrived as I watched the tennis mom eyeing the Johanssons across the room. When the old-timers moved to avoid eye contact with me, they’d positioned themselves directly across from the young mother and her children. Both stared suspiciously at the family, and the old woman whispered to her husband.
I picked at my food, hungry but too worried to eat. I could think of little else other than Delilah. Where was she? I took a notebook and pen out of my bag, and I lowered my voice to be sure no one else heard. “Hannah, I need to know what you know about Delilah.”
To my surprise, Hannah appeared reluctant to answer. She took a sip of her wine, paused as if considering, and then admitted, “I’m usually pretty good at confronting reality, I know, but this is difficult.”
“I’m listening,” I said.
She hesitated again, perhaps deciding what to say. We had a lot of history, but this side of Hannah I hadn’t encountered. I’d always thought of her as something of a superhero, one of the few people I knew who was never fearful, or at least never showed it. Something, perhaps simply life in this strange town where there were so many rules and so many secrets, had changed her.
“There’ve been a lot of bad things in Alber over the years, Clara. We both know that.”
“Absolutely.” I waited.
“But there’s something different now. I’m worried that there’s something truly bad here.”
“What?”
“Something evil.” She stopped talking, and I felt her resolve wavering. That she hesitated chilled me.
“Hannah, you need to tell me what’s wrong.”
“I’m afraid to,” she admitted.
“Why?”
Hannah took another sip of wine. “I know this sounds irrational,” she whispered. “But talking about this makes it feel real, and that it might be terrifies me.”
“Tell me what you know,” I said.
Hannah swallowed hard, and then shook her head. “I… Give me a few minutes.”
“If I’m going to help, I need to know,” I pushed.
Again, Hannah sighed. “I understand that.”
I checked my phone. Max hadn’t tried to call. I watched Hannah warily, eager for her to open up. Rather than catch up like the old friends we were, talk about all that had transpired in our lives since we’d last seen each another, neither one of us spoke. Hannah looked as tense as I felt. Danny collected our plates, mine covered with the barely eaten pot roast.
“You didn’t enjoy it? It’s my wife’s special recipe.”
“It’s great,” I said. “Just not hungry.”
Bannion tarried for a few minutes making small talk, oblivious to the tenseness at our table, or attempting to defuse it. He explained that he and his wife, Jimi, found the old building listed for sale on the Internet. They decided to move from Salt Lake to Alber after he heard about the bargains on foreclosures. “I think it’s going to become a popular resort area, family vacations.”
“If all the rumors come true, you’ll have a gold mine here, Danny,” Hannah predicted. “I heard today that there’s talk of building a ski resort.”
Looking pleased, Danny wandered off. The
