“Relax, why don’t you, for Chrissakes.” He turned to Helen and grinned. “Just being neighborly.”

After he retreated to the far end of the place and sat down, Helen realized she had backed herself slowly into the corner. She walked forward purposefully and sat down at the end of the counter, ignoring the shake in her knees. Silly to get so worked up, she thought. What am I so worried about anyway?

“Sorry about that.” The waitress had made her way down to where Helen was sitting. “He used to be a harmless little schoolboy, if you can believe it. People are changing mighty quick around this town. Don’t know what it is. MTV rock and roll, or something.” She sighed, her large bosom rising like twin boulders within the uniform top. “Don’t worry, he wouldn’t cause any real trouble or we wouldn’t let him set his foot any farther than the welcome mat.”

Helen, though she wasn’t completely convinced, smiled and nodded.

“Name’s Angie Fisher. I sort of run the place here, such as it is. Haven’t seen you around, have I?”

“No.” Helen waited while the bowl of soup she had ordered was delivered, thick and steaming. The younger waitress set it down in front of her, smiled, and left.

“That there’s homemade.”

“Really?” Helen hoped she didn’t sound too surprised.

“Yes, ma’am, I do it myself. Old family recipe, you know. We get the clams fresh from the coast. There’s a man who comes around driving a truck of seafood, selling it to us inlanders.”

Helen smiled, took a spoonful and sipped it gingerly. The creamy liquid warmed her throat and sent welcome shivers of heat to her arms and legs. It was buttery and thick, reminding her of the big, soft pieces of fresh-baked bread her grandmother used to make when she was a kid.

“It’s excellent.”

“Good, love to hear it. So where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My husband and I just drove up from New York. He’s got a job at the new hydroelectric plant in Jackson.”

“That place?” Angie frowned, her brow creasing. “I guess I don’t know much about it, other than it being shut down this winter.” But her demeanor had changed, her voice hardening.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude,” she continued after a moment. “It’s just that there’s been some strange things going on out there in Jackson lately.”

“Really?” Helen glanced at the bulletin board. The girl stared back at her from the photograph.

“That’s Marie. I suppose you know all about that.”

“No, only that she got lost.”