A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(49)

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What do you wear to a job interview with a hollowgast hunter? I wasn’t sure, so I played it safe—jeans, my nicest pair of sneakers, and the most professional shirt I owned, a powder-blue polo shirt from Smart Aid with my name embroidered above the pocket. Emma elected to stay in her 1930s wartime clothes: a simple blue dress tied at the waist with a gray ribbon and black flats. I didn’t mention that H had told me to come alone. I didn’t want to go on any mission without her, so it only made sense that she be there. Telling her she hadn’t been invited would only make her feel awkward.

The friends I’d taken mall shopping earlier were trying on their clothes, and the rest of the peculiars were still in the Acre. It was easy to slip away unnoticed. By eight thirty, we were driving into town.

I hoped I had understood H’s terse instructions. “Abe’s spot” might’ve meant anything, but “his booth” and “his usual” put me in mind of one place in particular—the Mel-O-Dee Restaurant, an old-school diner out on US 41, that had been serving greasy burgers and blue plate specials since God was a child (or 1936, which was close enough). A happy fixture in my childhood memories, it had been my and Abe’s go-to place. I loved it, but my parents would never go (it was “depressing” and served “old people food”), so it was mine and Abe’s alone. We could be found in the same booth by the window nearly every Saturday afternoon, me with a gooey tuna melt and a strawberry milkshake and Abe with a plate of liver and onions. I hadn’t been back since I was twelve or thirteen. I couldn’t remember even driving by recently, and I found myself hoping it was still there. The town was changing fast, and most of the characterful old places had been torn down to make room for bland, modern shopping centers. I sped up, playing the radio and drumming the wheel to calm my nerves.

I rounded a curve and it appeared behind a cluster of live oaks. It looked like it was barely clinging to life, its parking lot nearly empty and its old neon sign partly burned out.

“This is where he wanted to meet us?” Emma asked, peering out the window as I pulled into the lot.

“I’m ninety-eight percent sure.”

She looked at me skeptically. “Brilliant.”

We walked inside. The place hadn’t changed at all. Yellow plastic booths separated by fake plants, a long Formica counter, a soda fountain. I looked around for people who looked like they might be H, but there was just a decrepit old couple in the corner and a raggedy-looking middle-aged guy nursing a cup of coffee at the counter.

The waitress shouted to us across the dining room.

“Anywhere you like!”

I led Emma to the booth by the window where Abe and I always sat. We picked up menus.

“Why is it called the Mel-O-Dee?” she asked.

“I think it used to be one of those singing-waiter places, a long time ago.”

The waitress shuffled over. She had a hunched back and a blond wig that didn’t match her wrinkles and she hadn’t put her makeup on quite straight. NORMA, her name tag read. I recognized her—she’d been working here a long time. She took off the reading glasses she’d been wearing and looked at me, then smiled.

“That you, junior?” she said. “My goodness, you got handsome.” She winked at Emma. “Speaking of handsome, how’s your grandpa?”

“He died. Earlier this year.”

“Oh, I’m real sorry to hear that, honey.”

She reached over the table and rested her spotted hand on mine.

“It happens,” I said.

“You don’t have to tell me. You know, I’ll be ninety next year.”

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

“It’s sure something. Practically everyone I used to know is dead. Husband, friends, brother, and two sisters. Sometimes I think these good genes are a curse from God.” She flashed her big dentures at us. “What’re you kids having?”

“Coffee,” said Emma.

“The, uh, liver and onions,” I said.

Norma looked at me, like my order had sparked something in her memory. “No tuna melt for you?”

“I’m trying new things.”

“Mm-hmm.” She held up one finger, then walked away from the table, ducked behind the counter, and came back with something in her hand. She leaned in and whispered, “He’s waiting for you.” She opened her palm and placed a small blue key before me, then turned and pointed toward the back of the restaurant. “Down the hall, last door past the bathrooms.”



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The last door past the bathrooms was made of heavy insulated metal and had a sign that read NO ADMITTANCE. I turned the key in the lock and opened the door, and we were embraced by a shroud of frozen air. Hugging ourselves against the chill we walked inside.

Shelves stocked with frozen food lined the walls. Icicles like the spikes of an iron maiden were aimed down at us from the ceiling.

“There’s no one in here,” I said. “I think Norma’s gone senile.”

“Look at the floor,” said Emma. There were arrows made with electrical tape leading to the back of the room, where a curtain of thick plastic flaps hung from ceiling to floor. Stencil-painted across them were the words MEATING ROOM.