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The plane began its descent just before eight, Vegas time. Kalispell was just an hour ahead. What would the O’Dooles be doing now? Was there somewhere near their lodge they’d go for the evening, or would they pick this night to stay put and make matters even harder? Beth knew where she’d try first.
With no baggage, she was clear of the airport in less than twenty minutes and at the front of the taxi line in the freezing cold rain. It was fortunate, as there were only two white SUVs waiting there.
“Any bags?” The cabby half opened his door but didn’t look like he wanted to emerge.
“No. It’s fine.”
As she left the shelter, she was shocked by the sensation of the freezing moisture on her exposed head. She wiped it away as she settled in the back seat. The denim-baseball-capped driver turned so she could see the grey bristles that seemed to cover most of the features below his peak. He nodded when Beth gave him her destination and reacted to her accent and shivering.
“Been to Montana before?”
“Never.” She was in no mood to be treated like a tourist.
“We have a saying here – if you don’t like the weather, just wait five minutes.”
Beth didn’t respond, only pulled her leather jacket tighter around her and used the weak yellow streetlight to squint at the time on her watch: 8.23 Vegas time. Nothing stopped there. Everyone would probably be in bed here.
Her cabby remained silent for the remainder of the thirty-five-minute journey to West Glacier. She wondered if it was because she’d been rude, or if he was picking up on her agitation. She sat rigidly back in the seat, occasionally glanced at the dipped peak of his cap in the mirror and clasped her hands in her lap.
Their journey revealed little of her surroundings, the headlights picking up the dark wet asphalt and yellow lines of the expansive road, and occasionally catching tall pines and the green reflective signs on US 2. The scenery skulked within the darkness and it felt like they were hissing down a black tunnel. She could have been anywhere but Flathead County. She wished she were.
“You staying at the Belton?”
“No. Could you just drop me off when we get to the centre of town.”
“The centre?” the driver said incredulously.
She wasn’t sure what he meant by it until the wooden buildings of West Glacier started to appear at the sides of the road. There didn’t appear to be anyone on the street. She spied an inn and the general store and saw old signs for the railway. She was about to ask him about Elkhorns restaurant when its carved sign illuminated by tiny yellow bulbs appeared to their left.
“Here’s just fine. How much do I owe you?” He told her and she gave him a generous tip, but he said nothing as he turned the taxi and headed back the way they’d just come.
She could hear Bob Dylan getting “Tangled Up In Blue” inside Elkhorns and smell mesquite and burgers. The rain fell harder and Beth trotted quickly across the road to the cedar-wood-panelled building, and pushed on the heavy glass swing door.
The aroma and music became overpowering inside. A fibreglass grizzly greeted her. It held a sign that said: Today’s saying – “You look like you’ve been chewed up by a wolf and shit over a cliff.” It looked like a staff joke to relieve the boredom. Most of the wooden chairs were stacked upside down on the dining tables.
“Help you?” But it sounded like the last thing the girl at the waitress station wanted to do. Was she the one Beth had spoken to on the telephone? She was diminutive and compact, her solid bust too big for the crimson shirt she was wearing. A dyed black bob cupped her canine features.
“I’m looking for some friends of mine. The O’Dooles.”
The girl’s eyes went dead. “Only a few regulars in tonight, so we’re closing early, so unless you want to order right away...”
“I called here recently...’
“I know, and I told you I don’t know them.”
Beth opened her mouth.
“And as we don’t take reservations, I can’t help you any further. Now, Chef is about to turn the grill off so...” She raised her eyebrows and chewed something invisible.
“Thanks a lot for your help.” Beth found herself back in the street, pulling her leather jacket over her head. She turned left and headed along the sidewalk in the direction the cab would have taken her if they’d carried on. The music was quickly gulped by the darkness, and the impacts of her boots on the wet paving stone and her own breathing inside the tent of leather were the only sounds. Not even a solitary dog barked. Where the hell would she try next?
She suddenly stopped by a parked car and braced herself by putting her palm against its cool, wet metal. Another surge of nausea. Not again. Probably brought on by the aroma of food. Was her smell becoming oversensitive? Her legs wobbled and felt suddenly fragile. She tried to remember the last time she’d had solids. Apart from a tiny bag of pretzels she’d consumed on the plane, Beth knew she hadn’t eaten properly since LA. How long ago was that?
Beth waited for her ears to stop burning and the sensation to pass, but it felt like an hour. Eventually, she straightened and sniffed the night air. The rain was just drizzling now, but it was getting cold fast, probably because they were near water.
Near water. Beth recalled the water through the window in the photo of Mrs O’Doole that Kevin had posted on the Facebook page.
