"I expected something a bit deeper, but we can go with that," she answered.

"It doesn't make sense," I said, "and I don't think I can deal with that right now, so let's concentrate on something different. Izzy wrote that the Flynns seemed nervous. What if they knew that Mikey wasn't really killed and they were afraid to let out the big family secret?"

"I'm sure he died long ago, but I suppose some families are very protective about their ancestors. It's possible."

"I'd give my ancestors up in a heartbeat," I said.

"I don't blame you."

"So, another road trip?" I asked.

"Did Izzy say where they live? I seem to remember seeing Vermont, but I'm not sure where in Vermont."

"She had it listed as Brattleboro. That's only an hour or so north of here."

"Her itinerary is becoming clearer," said Sabrina. "She must have gone from New York to Vermont to see the Flynns, then on to Chicago to see Mario."

"And then her unfortunate trip to see me."

It was getting late and didn't make sense to head back to Boston if we were going to Vermont the next day, so we found a hotel nearby. I couldn't sleep in that house yet, and I didn't want to use my mother's house while she was away.

*****

In the morning we were on our way to Brattleboro. Having grown up an hour south, I was actually pretty familiar with the area. An old mill town, Brattleboro came to life in the sixties and seventies as a refuge for hippies and ex-hippies. It developed quite the counter-culture reputation. I was too young to experience it, but I was told that whether or not you agreed with what Brattleboro had become in those couple of decades, it certainly had personality. Before they split up, my parents spent a lot of time there and later filled me full of stories of that era.

But as always happens, the hippies grew older and started donning suits and ties (or the ex-hippie equivalent) and became bankers, store owners, and insurance or real estate agents. Many ran for public office, and although they wanted to stay true to their counter-culture ideals, the reality of compromise set in. Many even found themselves starting to believe in the very things that they had fought so hard against in their protest days.

These days the town was sorely in need of a personality. It was now a strange mixture of art galleries and dollar stores. I had only been through there a couple of times in the last ten years, but both times felt that the town had gotten dirtier. Maybe it was reverting back to its mill town roots.

I explained all this to Sabrina as we drove up Interstate 91.

"Now who's the travel agent?" she asked.

We found Bill and Amanda Flynn's address in Izzy's notes. Being a Saturday, we were hoping to find them in. We did, but not until late that afternoon. We spent the day exploring Brattleboro, coming back every hour or so to check to see if they had returned home. Finally, at about four o'clock, we saw a car sitting in the driveway.