Chapter 23

23

P eter decided to call ahead after all, but couldn't find a listing for Jill Munroe or Libby Sawyer.

He wanted to take the trip alone, but his mother wouldn't allow it. He'd made a lot of headway in winning more freedom from his family, but this time his mom wouldn't budge.

"You are not traipsing across the country by yourself. Either take Roger, or wait to see her at Red Rocks."

So Roger it was. The next day, after flying into Atlanta, Peter and Roger drove to the tiny town of Pebble Creek. They drove down the quiet streets of the small town.

Libby was here, he felt certain.

"Are you going to keep driving up and down the main drag or are we going to stop and ask someone?" Roger asked .

"I don't know. I thought this would be easier, and that I'd just bump into her."

"We could call the local radio station and tell them Peter Jamieson's here. That should bring her out, but I don't think this town even has a radio station. How about the police station? They ought to know everyone in town."

"No, Libby ran away. She doesn't need the police in her business." Peter pushed a hand through his hair and thought about how to find her. Knock door-to-door?

"In most small towns you go to the barbershop or the local diner if you want to know something," Roger said.

"I hardly think she's a regular at the barbershop. Let's try for a coffee shop."

He drove slowly and searched for a restaurant. A couple blocks farther, where the road split, sat a quaint little restaurant, the Fork in the Road. He and Roger shared a grin. This felt right.

Peter pulled into a parking spot. "Do you mind waiting here? I'd like to do this myself."

"No problem, go ahead." Roger leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, weary from their early morning flight.

Peter stepped out of the car and approached the front door of the restaurant. He combed his fingers through his hair to tidy it and smoothed down his T-shirt. A large wooden fork served as the handle for the front door. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and opened it.

Inside, the café looked like a throwback to the sixties .

A long counter and stools faced the kitchen. Booths with faded red seats occupied each wall. Curtains decorated with tiny cherries covered the windows.

The place was busy for such a small town. A heavyset older woman bustled by, her arms loaded down with plates. "Grab a seat anywhere you want."

Peter wandered to the counter and sat on a stool. In front of him nested a napkin dispenser, ketchup and mustard bottles, and several menus in plastic sleeves. He gazed around the room, unsure where to begin. Should he start asking strangers if they knew Libby? Or Jill Munroe?

The waitress returned. "Do you know what you want, hon?" Her name tag read Penny.

"Uh, no," he stuttered. "Actually, I wanted to ask you a question."

"I'll be right with you." Penny grabbed five plates from the kitchen counter and stacked them up her arm. With the other hand, she grabbed a coffeepot and disappeared.

Peter spun on his stool and watched her deliver the food to a family on the other side of the restaurant and then top off coffees. At the opposite end of the counter, he noticed an older gentleman reading a newspaper. Penny rushed past.

"Hold on one more sec," she said. "Jerrold, you ready for a refill?" The man with the newspaper held up his cup. "You're running around like a chicken with her head cut off today," the man commented .

"Shorthanded for the next few days." Penny returned the pot to the burner and approached Peter. "All right, what'll you have?"

His hands began to sweat. Peter couldn't believe how nervous he was. Talking to strangers never rattled him, but the thought of seeing Libby again made him jumpy. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. I think she lives here, but I don't know where."

The woman tidied the counter as he spoke. "Her name is Jill Munroe." He held his breath.

The woman stopped and looked at him. "You're looking for Jill?" Penny exchanged looks with the man at the end of the counter. He arched an eyebrow.

"Do you know her?" He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Sure, I know Jill." She hesitated. "But she's off today."

"Yes!" Peter slapped his hands on the counter. He struck gold. She worked here.

Penny watched him, wide-eyed. "How do you know Jill?"

"I met her in Wisconsin, almost a year ago. We used to date."

Penny nodded slowly and glanced again at the man with the newspaper.

"Can you tell me where she lives?" Peter looked from one to the other and back again. The man nodded at Penny. "Sure thing. She lives at the Twilight motel on the west edge of town. Works in the office most afternoons . . ."

"Thank you so much!" He popped off his stool and headed for the door. "I can't thank you enough." He waved at Penny as he left, ran to the car, and hopped in.

"Roger, she's here. I mean, not here like at the restaurant, but she works here. Except she's off today. She lives at the motel and works there, too." Peter started the car and sped off.

He drove west to the Twilight motel, a cheap roadside dive not fit for fleas. Roger gave him a cockeyed glance as Peter pulled into the gravel drive and parked in front of a blinking office sign. He couldn't imagine Libby actually lived here.

"You sure you want to do this?" Roger asked.

"Are you kidding me?" Peter left the rental car and entered the rundown office. The trill of a bell sounded as the door opened. Fortified with determination, Peter crossed the cracked linoleum to the front counter.

"Afternoon. Y'all looking for a room?" a middle-aged brassy blond asked. Her sickeningly sweet perfume overpowered him.

Peter almost took a step back when he saw her heavily painted face complete with crusty mascara and overdrawn lips coated in pink gloss.

"No, thank you. Actually, I'm looking for someone."

"Are you now? I've been looking for someone, too."

Peter nearly laughed. He might need Roger's help after all. Heck, Roger might enjoy her. He offered his best mannered smile. "Actually, it's a friend of mine, who I believe lives here. Her name is Jill."

"Oh." The desk clerk stood up. "She stays in number six, since the phone doesn't work. Says she has no one to call, but if I had a young man as sweet as you on my tail, I'd sit by the phone all day waiting." She batted her oversized lashes; he wanted to run.

Peter eyed the door, his heart longing to be in room six, but the flirty old woman prattled on.

"DarLynn, that's my daughter-in-law, lets Jill stay here. She babysits the boys and watches the office while DarLynn's at beauty school. She's gonna be a hairstylist. Don't know why she needs to do that when she's got the Twilight to run. This is my son Jimmy's place," she whispered as if it were a big secret. "If it's good enough for him, it should be good enough for her. Of course, Jimmy ain't happy about her schoolin', but he's still got two more months to serve at county—"

"Excuse me, ma'am," Peter interrupted for fear the woman would never stop. "I think I'll go down to number six and say hello."

"Of course. Look at me jabberin' away while you're eager to see your friend. And she's a pretty one, too."

Peter moved toward the door. He couldn't wait to see the look on Libby's face when she saw him.

"Oh, she ain't there," the woman called after him .

"She's not?" he nearly croaked in disbelief. How could he be this close and miss her?

"Nope. She and DarLynn left in Jimmy's old Chevy early this morning; somethin' about a prize in Colorado. I think she won the lottery, but I don't know why she had to go way 'cross the country to turn in her ticket."

What was she talking about now? "Is she going to Red Rocks by chance?" he asked hopefully.

"That's right, now how'd you know that, with her not having a phone?"

"Just a good guess," he grinned.

"Well, I've got a secret about her that I bet you'll never guess." She leaned forward.

"Her name isn't really Jill," she whispered, then paused for effect.

"No way?" Peter said, playing along and matching her quiet tone.

"It's Lynnie. She's been hiding out, but now with the lottery thing, she has to use her real name again."

He fought back a smile. "I never would have guessed that." He needed to prevent her from starting another long diatribe. At this rate, Roger would come looking for him. "Well, I should be heading out." He moved quick to the door before she could begin again.

"Wanna see her room?" the woman blurted.

Peter stopped in his tracks and slowly turned back to her, a huge smile on his face. "I'd like that very much." If he couldn't see her in person at least he could see where she lived and make sure it was really her, even though his heart told him it was .

"By the way, my name's Beatrice, but my friends call me Bea." She snatched up a key and led him outside, standing a little too close for Peter's comfort.

He held his breath to avoid inhaling her odious perfume. He gave a pained look at Roger and waved him over. The large man hesitated but joined them.

"Bea, I'd like you to meet a very good friend of mine.

This is Roger."

"Why, what a pleasure! Two good-lookin' men in one day. You must be the older brother." She held out her hand for Roger to kiss. He nearly choked, but shook her hand, which featured claw-length painted fingernails.

"Bea is going to show us Jill's room. Jill's not here right now. She's on her way to Colorado," Peter recited to Roger.

His friend nodded; understanding lit his eyes.

"She goin' to turn in her lottery ticket," Bea chimed in. Roger turned a confused look on Peter.

"That's right." Peter grinned.

They followed Bea past a handful of rooms and paused at room six where she inserted the key. Bea turned to them. "You won't tattle on me, will you?" Her eyes focused on Roger. "I wouldn't want to get in trouble with DarLynn. She'd never let me watch the place again, and I love meeting new people."

"Not a word," Roger promised. "It'll be our little secret." He placed one hand on the door frame and leaned close to Bea. Peter's pulse quickened as he pushed the door open and stepped into Libby's room.

So this is where she'd been. He walked through the small room. He ran his fingers over the faded bedspread. On the dresser sat a stack of books. Schoolbooks. Statistics, world history, psychology. Pride filled his heart. Libby stayed in school. He knew she was smart, but to live in this crummy motel, waitress, and still go to school, amazed him.

Roger blocked the doorway while Bea performed her best moves.

Peter turned and noticed a framed picture on the nightstand. His breath caught in his throat. He recognized a young, carefree Libby, her arms draped over a younger girl who could only be her little sister, Sarah. Her parents stood on each side of them. They were a beautiful family. The weight of all Libby had been through struck him full force. God, he wished she was here right now, but they'd be together again soon.

Reluctantly, he put the photo back in place.

Peter noticed Bea pressed up against Roger. "So then I went to Nashville to sing for this big record producer. He said he liked my style, said I had real panache, whatever that is." Bea fluttered her peacock lashes again.

He didn't have the heart to watch Roger suffer any longer. An assault from Bea had to be worse than Roger's tour of duty in Desert Storm.

"Roger," Peter interrupted. "I just realized we're going to miss our flight if we don't head out." He efficiently pushed the two apart. "Bea, it's been a pleasure and I can't thank you enough for all your help."

He beelined to the car and started the engine. Roger literally leapt over the hood, slid in, and slammed his door. Bea flitted after Roger, her words still flying. Peter backed up, sped away, and pretended not to notice.

Roger glared at Peter. "You owe me big-time for that."

Peter howled in laughter and honked the horn as he cruised out of town, one step closer to Libby.