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Jaxson
A few hours of shut-eye and a hot shower made Jaxson feel slightly better. Coming out of the bathroom and getting hit in the face with the scent and sight of a dozen carnations did not.
They sat on the small round table by the window, an assortment of white and red flowers in a pale blue plastic vase, trying unsuccessfully to brighten his day.
Just like her.
Penny. An interesting name for an interesting woman.
No, not interesting, he corrected. Irritating.
Also talkative. Perpetually cheerful. Nosy. Wholesome.
In other words, not his type.
And what kind of name was Penny anyway? Was it short for something else, like Penelope? Had her parents come up with the name, knowing that when the sun hit her hair at just the right angle, it would reveal streaks of shiny, metallic reddish-brown highlights? Or that when she got riled, her eyes would glow like burnished copper?
Perhaps it was appropriately symbolic, suggesting she would bring luck to those who happened upon her?
He snorted, thinking of his encounters with her thus far. She was more like the proverbial bad penny, the one that kept turning up everywhere.
The good news was, after his behavior, she’d probably go out of her way to avoid him.
Not that he blamed her. He hadn’t exactly been charming. He’d been tired and hurting by the time he’d hit town, having ridden through the night without the benefit of his pain pills, wanting to stay alert, and he wasn’t in the friendliest mood to begin with. This morning’s events had only made things worse.
In retrospect, he should have just thanked her for returning his watch and firmly continued to decline her breakfast invite.
Had he alienated a potential source of useful information? Probably.
Perhaps it was for the best. Not only was she the curious sort, but she also had white picket fence written all over her despite the flare of lust he’d seen in those pretty eyes. While that wasn’t a bad thing, it wasn’t his thing. As soon as he got the information he’d come for, he’d be on his way, and he’d do so with a clear conscience.
No, he thought as he grabbed his jacket and wallet. He’d do this just like he did everything else—the hard way.
He’d already discovered that entering a first name and a town into a search engine wasn’t likely to yield useful results, especially when that information had been gleaned from letters written thirty years earlier. Hence, the reason for his impromptu road trip. Finding out more about Ilsa would require hands-on research. If he could manage a last name, then he could employ the benefits of digital technology to go from there.
The morning’s unfortunate events notwithstanding, he was glad he’d made the trip. Being in Sumneyville felt right. He couldn’t explain it, but his gut told him he would find what he was looking for here.
Bonus: the town was even smaller than he’d hoped, which meant that if Ilsa had lived in the area for any period of time, someone would remember.
The challenge was getting that information. If Sumneyville was anything like Campbell’s Junction, his biggest obstacle would be getting the locals to talk and share with an outsider. Small-town folk were protective of their own and tended to be closemouthed.
With a few notable exceptions, of course. Like Penny. She hadn’t been averse to chatting him up, had she?
Just like that, Penny was at the forefront of his thoughts again.
He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He had a mental to-do list, and Penny wasn’t on it.
The man working the motel’s front desk looked up from whatever he was streaming on his phone when Jaxson approached. It was the same guy who’d checked him in earlier. Mid-thirties, on the heavy side. He was as good a place to start as any.
With some reluctance, the guy turned his attention away from the screen and the empty box of carry-out doughnuts. Within minutes, Jaxson learned that he was the current owner of the place and that his name wasn’t Mel, but Harry.
Harry didn’t know of anyone named Ilsa, but he seemed happy enough to point Jaxson to those who might—the church, the library, the local newspaper office, the township building, and of course, the local bar. According to Harry, everything was within walking distance.
Might as well check them out, Jaxson thought. He had nothing to do for the next thirty-six hours anyway.
“There won’t be anyone at the township building today,” Harry told him helpfully. “It’s open Monday through Friday. And the newspaper only comes out on Thursdays, so there won’t be anyone there either. Oh, and there’s the big Stoltzfus wedding at the church today, so you won’t catch Reverend McFinley until after services tomorrow.”
“I guess that leaves the library and the bar then.”
“Drop by O’Malley’s later tonight, and I’ll buy you a beer.”
“Maybe I will, thanks.”
Jaxson set out on his quest. The day was overcast but dry; the air was on the comfortable side of humid. Jaxson walked the couple of blocks to the Sumneyville Public Library, taking in the feel of the town. Definitely old. Clean. Well-maintained. Lots of small, individually owned businesses. Among them, Hoffmeier Floral.
Jaxson might have cast a glance in the window as he was walking by. There was no sign of Penny—thank God—but there was an older woman fussing with the window display. She raised her hand in a friendly wave, but then her eyes grew wide. Jaxson turned away and quickened his steps, but based on the resemblance, he’d just seen Penny’s mother.
Had Penny told her what happened? Or was the woman simply surprised to see someone she didn’t recognize walking by? He was drawing his share of curious attention, but whether that was because of his leather jacket, his limp, or something else remained to be seen.
The library was located in an old stone building and boasted high ceilings and polished dark wood. A stern-looking woman looked up when he approached the desk, the hint of a scowl on her face.
“May I help you?” she asked in a cool, polite voice.
“I hope so,” he said, reaching deep for his manners. “I’m looking for information on someone who might have lived here at one time. You wouldn’t by any chance have records on that kind of thing, would you?”
She lifted her nose into the air as if affronted. “Young man, this is a public library. Of course we have records. For whom are you looking, may I ask?”
The woman—whose pinned name tag identified her as Agnes Miller, Head Librarian—looked almost as old as some of the buildings he’d passed. He’d guess she’d spent her entire life in this mountain valley town, which meant asking her might be quicker than digging through thirty-year-old public records.
“Her name is Ilsa.”
She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she prompted, “Last name?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out,” he admitted. “She would have lived here around thirty years ago. Do you know of her?”
“Thirty years is a long time, Mr. ...”
“Adams. Jaxson Adams. And, yes, I realize that.”
He also had the distinct impression that she knew exactly who he was talking about. This woman knew a lot of things—he’d bet his Nova on it. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to puzzle out why he wanted to know.
This was where things got tricky. Jaxson was interested in getting information, not providing it—at least, not until he knew more. However, in this case, he felt he had to give her something.
“She knew my father,” he added.
Once again, she looked like she was working out a particularly complex math problem.
“I see. Your father has passed, I take it?”
Jaxson nodded once in response.
“Sometimes, the past is best left in the past. Are you sure you want to go down this path, Mr. Adams?”
Her cryptic words sounded like a warning.
“Quite sure, Ms. Miller.”
She sniffed. “Very well. Our microfiche room is downstairs and to the left. We close at four o’clock sharp.”
Four o’clock. That gave him a couple hours to work with.
“Thank you.”
She sniffed again.
He felt her eyes burning a hole into his back until he was out of view.