Gallery to gift shop, to T-shirt store, to art-glass shop, to bakery, along residential streets and back to the main drag, Jane explored, not sure what she was seeking, compounding observations that might help her ascertain the nature of this town and what relation it had to the walled estate that stood miles from here.
She was intrigued by the perfection of the crafted buildings and amazed at the cleanliness of everything. She marveled at the matched ranks of graceful trees and wondered about the scarcity of children and the apparent absence of dogs.
As the cool day grew cooler and the clouds curdled darker, the light-sensitive solenoids controlling thousands of tiny low-wattage white bulbs on the trees brought a holiday glow to the street two hours ahead of twilight, and Iron Furnace showed why locals might call this the Town Where It’s Always Christmas.
Jane stood on the sidewalk, looking north and south. Although the display dazzled, the effect on her was not Christmasy. Instead, she thought of the pulse and flash of Las Vegas, where the neon was meant to paint a veneer of glamour over the sordid truth of gambling addiction and financial self-destruction. These were Christmas-lights-as-distraction, because in spite of its wholesome aspects, Iron Furnace had a dark vibe that she could feel if not explain.
Having skipped lunch, she went into an Italian restaurant at just 4:15 and was escorted to one of the empty high-backed booths.
Phalanxes of red-white-and-green flags hanging from the high ceiling. Wall murals of historic sites in Rome. Red-and-white checkered tablecloths. Candles in red glass votives. They hadn’t missed a décor cliché, but the place looked clean, and mouthwatering aromas threaded the air.
According to the name embroidered on the display handkerchief in the pocket of the waitress’s uniform blouse, her name was Freya. A pretty girl in her twenties. Coffee-and-cream complexion spotted with cinnamon-colored freckles. She might have had both Ireland and Africa in her heritage. She was quick to smile and shared with her townspeople a demeanor that was pleasant and welcoming.
Jane ordered a glass of good Chianti while studying the menu, and when Freya returned with the wine, she was willing to be chatted up here in the lull before the dinner rush.
“Quite a town,” Jane said.
“It’s just like a picture postcard, isn’t it?”
“Totally. Have you lived here long?”
“All my life. I’ll never move. No one would who’s lived here.”
“Never? Wow. Never is a long time.”
“Not in Iron Furnace. It’s so nice here all the time, the days just go by lickety-split.”
“If someone was thinking of moving here, you’d recommend it?”
“Oh, sure! Is it you thinking about it?”
“My boss. He visited last year, thinks he wants to move here if I can find him a place. He works from home, he can live anywhere.”
“Move from where?” Freya asked.
“Miami.”
“Miami must be real nice, huh? Palm trees and beaches.”
“Mosquitoes, killer humidity, flying cockroaches,” Jane said.
“Oh, you’re just poking fun.”
“Maybe a little. My problem is, I don’t see many suitable properties around here. I mean for a guy with his expectations. I guess there’s undeveloped land for sale, he could build a place.”
Freya shook her head. “Don’t know from real estate. Lionel and me have a place his folks left him, never did need to go looking.”
“Lucky you. It’s no fun. Anyway, there’s an estate out on Lakeview Road might suit my boss.”
“Estate? Big old stone wall around it, right on the lake?”
“That’s the place. I drove past it and thought it might suit him. Ever hear of it being for sale?”
Freya frowned. “I don’t think it would be. That’s the school.”
“School? Oh, someone said they thought it was owned by some megarich guy named David Michael.”
“Never heard of him. It’s been a school for a long time.”
“Like a private school or something?”
“Something like, yeah. For kids with personality disorders, mental problems, they need therapy and teaching together.”
“That’s sad, isn’t it?”
Freya said, “Well, I guess maybe it would be sad if they weren’t getting the help they are.”
“True enough. Poor kids. So much autism anymore. This school must be expensive, grand as it is.”
“I guess it would be. You know what you’d like for dinner?”
Jane ordered a caprese salad followed by a double order of the chicken marsala. “Hold the side of pasta, give me extra veggies.”
“We serve big portions,” Freya warned.
“Yeah, well, I’m eating for two.”
“Pregnant? Sorry for asking, but should you be having wine?”
“Not pregnant. I’m just eating for two. I always have.”
“Gee, and you have a real cute figure.”
“Crazy-fast metabolism runs in my family. Plus I’m wearing an industrial-strength girdle.”
Freya laughed. “That’s no girdle. You’re as real as it gets.”
After Freya served the salad and returned for the empty bowl, Jane said, “I have a nephew with a personality disorder. Maybe that school would be good for him. But I didn’t see any sign on it. You know the name of the place?”
“I don’t, really. That’s funny, isn’t it? We just call it the school.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure I can look it up online.”
When Freya brought the double entrée, she said, “I warned you, we serve big portions.”
“Looks fabulous. Just smell that! I might want a third.”
“Gee, if you were pregnant, I guess maybe you’d be eating for triplets.”
“I wish I were. I wouldn’t mind a bit having a full house. You and Lionel have children?”
“No, and don’t intend to, the way the world is, with all the horrible terrorism. Anyway, there’s too many people already, and the climate changing.”
Jane shrugged. “The climate always changes, always has. I plan to have kids. Didn’t notice any around here, except those with tourists.”
“Town people here are mostly older. Lot of their kids are grown and gone.”
“Not a lot of children around, maybe it wouldn’t be the best place for my kids when I have them.”
“You thinking of moving here, too?”
Jane smiled. “I should have said, my boss is also my husband.”
“I suspect no one’s the boss of you. Anyway, I hope you find a place. Be nice having you in town.”
Later, after the waitress cleared the table and returned with the check, Jane said, “Ben and I—Ben’s my hubby—we’re dog people. How do folks around here feel about dogs?”
“Dogs? Nobody doesn’t like dogs.”
“I haven’t noticed any,” Jane said, as she counted out cash from her wallet, being generous with the tip.
“Me and Lionel had one for a while. A yellow Lab.”
“I love Labs. Beautiful dogs.”
“His name was Jules. But he got sick. There was this fever thing went around, it was terrible.”
“I don’t like the sound of that. Fever thing?”
“People lost their dogs. I don’t even like to think about it. But that’s done and gone.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“You could ask the vet over to Mourning Dove if it worries you. His name’s Dr. Wainwright.”
“Thank you, Freya. I might just do that. Wouldn’t want to put our dogs at risk. They’re family.”
“I miss my Jules sometimes.”
“Nice meeting you, Freya. You take good care of Lionel.”
“I will. I do. You take care of the boss.”
As Jane returned her wallet to her handbag and transferred her napkin from lap to table, a man got out of the booth behind hers and glanced at her and headed for the exit.
He was tall, black, and dressed as if he were a little effete, maybe a college professor. But there was nothing effete about him. He was formidable, carrying himself with the confidence of someone who had been in tight corners and had always come out of them with just a scratch or two. The look he gave her appeared casual, though it was calculated, and his eyes were detail magnets, gathering in more at a glance than most people saw in a minute of study.
She steeled herself for trouble.