When I returned to the car, Ryan and Boyd were already inside. I joined them, brushing rain from my hair.

'Would a broken water pump make a loud noise?' I asked.

Ryan shrugged.

'How come you're back from Ashevile so early?'

'Something else came up. Listen, I'm meeting McMahon for dinner. You can entertain us both with Bowman's parable.'

'Let's drop Rinty off first.'

I hoped we weren't going to Injun Joe's.

===OO=OOO=OO===

We didn't.

After settling Boyd at High Ridge House, we drove to the Bryson City Diner. The place was long and narrow like a railroad car. Chrome booths jutted from one side, each with its own condiment tray, napkin holder, and miniature jukebox. A chrome counter ran the length of the other, faced by stools bolted to the floor at precise intervals. Red vinyl upholstery. Plastic-domed cake bins. Coat rack at the door. Rest rooms in back.

I liked the place. No promise of a mountain view or ethnic experience. No confusing acronym. No misspeling for aliterative cuteness. It was a diner and the name said that.

We were early for the dinner crowd, even in the mountains. A few customers sat at the counter, grumbling over the weather or talking about their problems at work. When we entered, most glanced up.

Or were they talking about me? As we moved to the corner booth I felt eyes on my back, sensed nudges directing attention toward me. Was it my imagination?

We'd no sooner sat than a middle-aged woman in a white apron and pink dress approached and issued handwritten menus sheathed in plastic. The name 'Cynthia' was embroidered over her left breast.

I chose pot roast. Ryan and McMahon went for meat loaf.

'Drinks?'

'Iced tea, please. Unsweetened.'

'Same here.' McMahon.

'Lemonade.' Ryan stayed deadpan, but I knew what he was thinking.

Cynthia looked at me a long time after jotting our order, then tucked the pencil above her ear. Circling the counter, she tore off the sheet and pinned it to a wire above the service window.

'Two sixes and a four,' she belowed, then turned to look at me again.

The paranoia flared anew.

Ryan waited until Cynthia brought drinks, then told McMahon I had a statement from Luke Bowman.

'What the hel were you doing with Bowman?' There was concern in his voice. I wondered if it was there out of worry for my safety, or out of knowledge that meddling in the investigation could get me arrested.

'My car broke down. Bowman gave me a lift. Don't ask me why that inspired the baring of his soul.'

I unsheathed a straw and jammed it into my tea.

'Do you want to hear this?'

'Go ahead.'