I followed Dolly’s patrol car up 131 toward Leetsville, thinking about Lena Smith and food. I couldn’t figure out Lena. If she was scared, why did she agree to meet us? Then meet us and not tell us things she obviously knew? Maybe, I thought, it had something to do with the ways of the tribe coming up against her caring for a friend. It wasn’t always easy to understand a different culture. Just coming here from Ann Arbor had been a form of culture shock for me. Some of the values of the people up here seemed better, more human, than I’d known. Some of the things were maybe not as good—like not reading books much and making fun of new people.

Still, people here cared for each other; got involved in each other’s lives; stood by during times of trouble. Even I, living alone back in the woods on my little lake, didn’t feel as isolated up here as I had after Jackson and I split up.

I drove past Sorrow’s vet on my way into town, reminding me he needed a manicure. I passed The Skunk Saloon, the gas station, a church, and a few stores. My mind quickly switched to food. I saw the lighted EATS downward arrow ahead and began to salivate. Like one of Pavlov’s dogs, just the thought of food made my stomach rumble. Tuesday night. Meatloaf night. The rumble changed to anticipatory flops. Yuck!

But maybe Eugenia would surprise me. Summer was coming. In peak season Eugenia could really put herself out and offer things like beef stew, or roast chicken. Maybe, just this once, she would have something spectacular on the menu. Maybe—just this once—the service would be slower and the food cooked individually, with thought and careful preparation. Maybe just this once I wouldn’t think of Alpo when the meatloaf arrived.

Dolly was inside by the time I parked between the pickups. She sat in a corner booth, menu propped in front of her. I waved to people I knew as I cut through the tables. Anna stopped me to remind me of the library readings.

“Next Tuesday,” she said, and smiled a wide smile. “I’m getting flyers up all over town. Cate, the librarian from Kalkaska, is coming. Lots of people from Mancelona and Elk Rapids and other places will be there to support us. It will be a very good night for you, Emily. Get your name out. People will be looking for your books after this.”

I gave her a skeptical half smile and pushed on toward Dolly. A few others waved and inquired, “How’s it going, Emily?” I knew they would like it if I stopped and discussed bones with them, but I wanted to get some food and figure out what we were going to do next.

I slid in across from Dolly and looked at the specials, handwritten on typing paper and shoved in the little metal holders on each table. Even my brain wanted to groan when I read: Meatloaf, Mashed Potatoes, Gravy, Corn, and Jell-O.

“Glad it’s meatloaf,” Dolly murmured at me. “Meatloaf’s my favorite thing.”

Gloria stood with her pad ready, not asking questions though I could tell by her tightened face she was dying to. We ordered and talked a little about Lena Smith. I wasn’t the only one wondering what made her so nervous, and why she met us if she’d been warned away. Dolly didn’t have any better answers than I had.

The meatloaf came in four minutes though the corn looked a little shriveled and cold. Not that it made any difference to the taste. I was hungry. Sometimes life gets that simple: got to eat something; might as well be half-frozen corn.

Over red Jell-O, I told Dolly about calling Brent in Gaylord and getting the feeling he wanted us off the case.

“Yeah, sure, like we’ll be scared away when it’s my own husband who was murdered,” she said, scraping the bottom of her Jell-O dish, then licking the spoon. “I talked to him after you did. He’s worried. That phone call you got. He doesn’t want us getting in over our heads. That’s all. Standard stuff. He’s got his hands full and this is a tough case. Dealing with old bones. I get the feeling Brent would be really grateful if we came up with anything at all.”

“I’m worried, too.”

“Don’t be a baby. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“Why aren’t you getting the phone calls? I have nothing to do with releasing the bones. They should be calling Brent.”

“You think maybe it’s because you’re a reporter?” she asked. “I’ll bet they don’t want anything in the paper. You know, keep it private. Or maybe it’s just that somebody’s afraid of the law. That’s what I represent here and that can be intimidating.”

I looked hard at her open and eager plain face, at the flat striped hair. I looked in her trusting blue eyes, and wondered who the devil would be intimidated by Dolly.

“All the way back here I was thinking about what Lena Smith told us.” She leaned in closer and put a hand up to cover her mouth. Protection from the lip-reading Leetsvillians.

“If this Mary Naquma lived out at the lake, there should be a house somewhere close by. I called Eloise, the county assessor, but she couldn’t find any property under that name. Even going back, nothing around Sandy Lake showed under Naquma. Eloise said the oil company owns all of the property out there, including the lake. Nobody else on the tax roles.”

“Had to’ve been a house, a shack. Something.”

“You want to go look?”

“Wouldn’t hurt. See what we can find. When do you want to go?” I asked.

“Morning, I guess. I’ve got to fill in at the station tonight. The chief and his wife got a retirement party in Traverse City so somebody’s got to hang around.”

I made a face, thinking of Jackson and his manuscript. I’d slacked off, probably out of boredom. The only one of that group on their way to Canterbury that I liked was the Wife of Bath and Jackson had moved on beyond her. The other pilgrims didn’t have the spirit or the personality of the Wife. Most were sanctimonious and dull—as they probably should have been on a pilgrimage. Still, though the work was tedious, I wanted to get it done. And I had to go over what I would read at the library event. “Can it wait until Thursday? I’ve got so much …”

“You want to drag this out? Maybe give whoever’s after you more time to get mad?”

“OK. OK,” I agreed. “Do I need to bring anything with me? I mean, to go hunting for a house on Sandy Lake?”

“What do you mean? Like a Geiger counter or something?” I thought she was sneering.

I sighed. “No. I meant, like a bathing suit. Are we looking for anything in the lake? Or … ?”

She laughed at me. “Just bring yourself, and shoes for walking in sand.”

Gloria brought us separate bills as Dolly counted out quarters for a tip from her small-mouthed change purse.

“You enjoy the meatloaf, Emily?” Eugenia demanded of me, her face screwed up into one of those “don’t you dare” looks.

I smacked my lips.

She turned to Dolly who she didn’t need to ask. It was Eugenia’s home cooking, like the meatloaf, that kept Dolly coming back year after year.

“You know,” Eugenia came around to stand at the side of the counter, “I’m going to keep looking for somebody in your family. I’m doing a search of the Flynns all around Detroit. That’s where you’re from, right?”

“You’re not putting anybody from my family up on that wall, Eugenia.” Dolly cocked her head toward the vestibule. “Everybody knows that family of yours ain’t all your family. Don’t go pulling tricks like that on me.”

“No, no,” Eugenia looked contrite. “I wouldn’t do that. It’s just that, who knows, I might really find something.”

Dolly gave her a disbelieving look, a threatening sniff, and turned on her heel, stomping out of the restaurant.