After Anna(107)

‘Coffee would be great for me,’ Maggie answered, putting the menu back. ‘I’ll have the pancakes and so will my son.’

Kathy put her menu back, too. ‘Same for me, thanks.’

Bob nodded. ‘We use maple syrup from Hurricane, Maine. Up near Québec. It’s the best. You folks from New York?’

‘Pennsylvania,’ Maggie answered. ‘Bob, I’m here because my daughter was friendly with a waitress here, named PG. Do you know her?’

‘No.’ Bob frowned. ‘But I’ve only been here three days. She might be on day shift.’

‘Do you think anybody else would know her? Are there any other waiters or waitresses on tonight?’

‘No, just me.’

‘How about the chef, or anybody else? Would they know her?’ Maggie gestured to the general store. ‘Or maybe in front?’

‘I’ll ask the cook.’

‘Great, thanks. Can you let me know what he says before you bring the food?’

‘No problem. I’ll be right back.’ Bob ambled back to the kitchen, but Maggie couldn’t wait. She rose, patting Caleb on the head.

‘I’ll be right back, honey.’

‘I figured.’ Kathy smiled as Maggie got up, hustled back to the cash register, and waited for the clerk, an older man, to get off his cell phone. His eyes were hooded, and reddish capillaries covered his longish nose. He was bald with gray stubble, and his sunken cheeks were bracketed by deep lines. His frame was slight but wiry, and he had on an old black T-shirt and jeans.

‘Miss, you need somethin’?’ he asked, though he didn’t hang up the phone, but merely held it against his chest.

‘Yes, I’m looking for a waitress named PG. Do you know her?’

‘PG? Sure.’

‘Terrific!’ Maggie said, thrilled. ‘She’s a friend of my daughter’s, and I was trying to find her. I don’t even know her last name.’

‘It’s Tenderly.’

‘PG is a nickname, right?’

‘Yes. Her real name is Patti.’

‘I heard PG stands for Ponygirl.’

‘Ha!’ The man chuckled, which turned into a smoker’s cough. ‘You’re telling me something now. I didn’t know that. I didn’t even know she liked horses.’

Maggie didn’t bother to explain. ‘I know she’s not here, but do you know where she lives?’

‘Sure, right down the road. Broom Lane, it’s called. Go straight, take the second left. What’d you want to go see her for?’

‘My daughter was a friend of hers, and we can’t find her. I’m hoping PG will know where she is.’

‘Sorry about your daughter.’ The man tsk-tsked. ‘Mark my words. She’ll come back.’

‘I hope so.’

‘PG might be able to help you. She’s one smart girl. Makes friends where’er she goes.’

‘That’s nice.’ Maggie sensed it made it more likely that PG would have information about Anna.

‘She lives with her granny. Elma.’

‘Where are her parents?’

‘Her mother was never worth a damn. Never even met her father. You know how it is, with the pills.’

‘They were addicts?’

‘And drunks. Goes hand-in-hand, far as I can tell.’ He shook his head. ‘PG, she’s a good girl. The tips she made here, she give to Elma. Always nice to me, the customers, tourists. She’d ask after my wife and she’d buy a Powerball, ever’day. She even baked me a chocolate cake for my birthday.’

‘Doesn’t she work here anymore?’ Maggie felt confused, noticing that he’d started using the past tense.

‘No, she don’t. Hang on a minute. Lemme show you the cake she made me. Wrote my name on it and everything.’ The man swiveled around on his stool, shuffled through a pile of papers, then turned back with a photo, showing it to Maggie. ‘Here we go.’

Maggie looked down at the photo. She froze at the image.

‘You see, there’s me, and PG, and the cake, and she wrote “Happy Birthday, Sammy” in red, so it shows up on the chocolate.’

Maggie couldn’t speak. She felt her heart hammer. She recognized the girl in the photo. PG had short hair, big blue eyes, and a pretty smile that brought out her dimples. She looked a lot like Anna except for her haircut. The truth stared back at Maggie. PG was the girl she’d taken home, who’d impersonated Anna.

‘Ain’t that a nice cake?’





Chapter Seventy-five


Noah, After

Noah went up to the nearest CO, who was standing against the wall under the first tier. He was a huge forty-year-old with a brushy mustache, and his name tag read BOCANEGRA. ‘Mr Bocanegra, I’m Noah Alderman and I’d like to speak with Deputy Warden McLaughlin.’

‘Pardon me?’

‘I’d like to speak with Deputy Warden McLaughlin. I met with him last night.’ Noah was kicking himself. If he had known about Drover before, he would have dealt with it last night. But then again, now he had a bargaining chip.

‘Uh, he’s busy. Please, move along, Dr Alderman.’

‘It’s important. Can you contact him right away?’