On the way, they drove past the credit union to check it out, both of them shocked by the extent of the damage. They’d expected blown-out windows and maybe a little fire damage, but the entire place was gutted, blackened by what had to have been an extensive blaze, and even a significant segment of the adjoining Wal-Mart’s brown wall had been partially destroyed. Both businesses as well as the parking lot were closed off.

“That was a major bomb,” Jen said quietly.

“Yeah. It makes me kind of nervous. What if they planted other ones around town?”

Significantly, neither of them speculated as to who “they” might be. They both had a pretty good idea.

“I’m sure there are bomb-sniffing dogs checking everyplace. They’ve probably called in the FBI or some federal agency. I mean, wouldn’t this be considered terrorism?”

“It is in my book.”

They continued on toward B.B.’s, more subdued than they had been before seeing the blast site. The traffic was much lighter than at a normal lunch hour, and near the corner of Pine Street and First, they passed an abandoned car with its doors wide open and no one in sight. The vehicle’s presence was unnerving, and neither of them spoke as they put it in the rearview mirror.

When they reached the diner, the south side of the small parking lot was blocked off. The B.B.’s sign was down and two men were standing on the bed of a pickup parked at the base of the pole, apparently getting ready to put up a new one. There’d been wind last night, but not enough to do that much damage, and Anita wondered if maybe kids had vandalized it.

They walked inside, a sullen waitress behind the counter telling them to sit wherever they wanted, and Jen chose a booth near the last window. All of the waitresses seemed unfriendly, Anita thought. And young. It had been awhile since she’d come to the diner, and she wondered what had happened to the older waitresses she remembered. Jen must have noticed, too, because she asked the dour woman who brought them their menus where Rose was. The woman dropped the menus on the table. “You want Rose? Fine.”

The waitress left, walking the length of the counter and striding through the swinging door into the kitchen. They heard her yell “Rose!” above the sound of pots and pans and clattering dishes, and a moment later, a waitress Anita did recognize came over to their table.

She smiled. “Hi, Jen.” She nodded pleasantly to Anita.

Jen spoke quietly. “What’s going on? I don’t recognize anyone. Did the new owner bring in his own staff?”