Moodyville is one of those forgotten Massachusetts towns, not quite mid-state, not quite the Berkshires. Pretty in a rural way, not a suburban way. Train tracks bisect the country route we find ourselves on, the Albany to Worcester line no doubt. Freight, not passengers. We go over tracks and then, oddly, go under a trestle as the road curls and winds away from the Pike. I feel like I’m on a carnival ride as the road rises and swoops, narrows and straightens. We pass a golf course, a lone foursome playing a midafternoon game. The road flattens out and there are little mill houses lining the slightly wider road, antique duplexes with asbestos shingles and spartan single-family dwellings with narrow porches, all overlooking the road.

We come to a four-way stop. A gas station, a coffee shop, a post office, and a utilitarian brick rectangle that is the town’s administration building. Welcome to Moodyville. The coffee shop is open, and I suggest we stop and regroup, which is a euphemism for needing to use a bathroom.

“Maybe there’s a phone book in the coffee shop.” Mitch pulls into a convenient parking spot and we both climb out, a little stiff from the ride.

Two burly guys sharing a Sunday Globe sit at the counter, one stool in between. Mitch and I take a small booth that looks out at the parked cars. The waitress brings coffee and mugs, two menus tucked under her arm.

“Do you have a phone book?”

“Sure.” She fishes one out from behind the register and brings it, along with the creamers, on her next trip by our table.

Mitch opens it and quickly finds what he’s looking for. “Edward Parmalee, twenty-nine Old Path Road. Same number, and there’s only one Parmalee listed in Moodyville.”

Suddenly, I’m famished, and we both order the Hungry Man Special. I feel like I’m delaying Christmas with this, but we haven’t heard from the Parmalees yet, and I feel for Mitch, who has driven all this way on the strength of one cup of weak hotel coffee.

The waitress is quick with our order and is back in no time with platters of eggs and bacon, then freshens up our coffee.

“Can you give us directions to Old Path Road?”

“Sure. It’s easy.” She begins to outline a route that has more twists and turns than a video game.

One of the counter denizens chimes in. “Lil, they don’t have to go down Creighton; they can take the right at the old mill.”

“Either way, they have to end up on Cemetery Road.” This is from the second guy. “You folks going to hike the old path? You can start at the mill if you want.”

“No, we’re looking for Ed and Alice Parmalee. They found my dog.”