N Is for Noose

the size of a double-wide trailer, with a Formica counter with eight stools running down its length and eight red Naugahyde booths arranged along two walls. There was one waitperson (female), one short-order cook (also female), and a boy busperson in evidence. I ordered breakfast for dinner. There's nothing so comforting as scrambled eggs at night; soft cheery yellow, bright with butter, flecked with pepper. I had three strips of crisp bacon, a pile of hash browns sautéed with onion, and two pieces of rye toast, drenched in butter and dripping with jam. I nearly crooned aloud as the flavors blended in my mouth.
    On the way back to my cabin, I paused to use the pay phone outside the office. This consisted of an oldfashioned glass-and-metal phone booth missing the, original bifold door. I used my credit card to call Dietz. "Hey, babe. How's the patient?" I said when he answered.
    "Dandy. How are you?"
    "Not bad. Now on retainer."
    "In Nota Lake?"
    "Where else? Standing in a phone booth in the piney woods," I said.
    "How's it going?"
    "I'm just getting started so it's hard to tell. I'm assuming Selma talked to you about Tom."
    "Only that she thought he had something on his mind. Sounds vague."
    "Extremely. Did you ever meet him yourself?"
    "Nope. In fact, I haven't even seen her for over fifteen years. How's she holding up?"
    "She's in good shape. Upset, as who wouldn't be in her shoes."
    "What's the game plan?" he asked.
    "The usual. I spent time today going through his desk. Tomorrow I'll start talking to his friends and acquaintances and we'll see what develops. I'll give it until Thursday and then see where we stand. I'd love to be home by the weekend if this job doesn't pan out. How's the knee?"
    "Much better. The PT's a bitch, but I'm getting used to it. I miss your sandwiches."
    "Liar."
    "No, I'm serious. As soon as you finish there, I think you ought to head back in this direction."
    "Uh-unh. No thanks. I want to sleep in my own bed. I haven't seen Henry for a month." Henry Pitts was my landlord, eighty-six years old. His would be the cover photo if the AARP ever did a calendar of octogenarian hunks.
    "Well, think on it," Dietz said.
    "Oh, right. Listen, my Florence Nightingale days are over. I have a business to run. Anyway, I better go. It's friggin' cold out here."
    "I'll let you go then. Take care."
    "Same to you," I said.
    I put a call through to Henry and caught him on his way out the door. "Where you off to?" I asked.
    "I'm on my way to Rosie's. She and William need help with the dinner crowd tonight," he said. Rosie ran, the tavern half a block from my apartment. She and Henry's older brother William had been married the previous Thanksgiving and now William was rapidly becoming a restaurateur.
    "What about you? Where're you calling from?"
    I repeated my tale, filling him in on my current situation. I gave him both Selma 's home number and that of the office at the Nota Lake Cabins in case he had to reach me. We continued to chat briefly before he had to go. Once he rang off, I placed a call to Lonnie's office and left a message for Ida Ruth, again giving her my location and Selma 's number if she should have to reach me for some reason. I couldn't think of any other way to feel connected. After I hung up, I stuck my hands in my jacket pockets, vainly hoping for shelter from the wind. The notion of spending the evening in the cabin seemed depressing. With only two forty-watt light bulbs for illumination, even reading would be a chore. I pictured myself huddled, squinting, under that damplooking quilt, spiders creeping from the wood pile the minute I relaxed my vigilance. It was a sorry prospect, given that all I had with me was a book on identifying tire tracks and tread marks.
    I crossed to the motel office and peered in through the glass door. A light was on, but there was no sign of Cecilia. A hand-lettered sign said RING FOR MGR. I let myself in. I bypassed the desk bell and knocked on the door marked MANAGER After a moment, Cecilia appeared in a pink chenille bathrobe and fluffy pink slippers. "Yes?"
    "Hi, Cecilia. Could I have a word with you?"
    "Something wrong with the room?"
    "Not at all. Everything's fine. More or less. I was wondering if you could spare a few minutes to talk about your brother."
    "What about him?"
    "Has Selma said anything about why I'm here in Nota Lake?"
    "Said she hired you is all. I don't even know what you do for a living."
    "Ah. Well, actually, I'm a field investigator